by Amy Jarecki
“Bloody insolent milksop,” Aleck grumbled as he turned and marched toward the keep.
“MacIain,” Eoin called after him.
The man stopped and turned his ear.
“If you hit my galley, I’ll expect you to pay for the reparations.”
One of Helen’s favorite pastimes was collecting shells along the Mingary beach. The melodic sound of waves rolling to and from shore soothed her. And as of late, her mind had been troubled. Aleck’s clear disdain for her had grown much worse since Maggie’s birth. Worse, his open affection for Mary was an affront that insulted Helen to her very core. The tactics she’d used in the past to seek congenial ground and subdue Aleck’s temper seemed to be no longer effective. He’d grown more belligerent, negative and spiteful. She had no idea how she could live up to his expectations. It was as if he wanted her to fail.
She’d always tried so hard to maintain kinship and goodwill at Mingary—to ensure that Aleck and all of the clansmen and women lived harmoniously, but since Sir Eoin had arrived, there was an underlying tone of angst amongst everyone. Not that there was anything wrong with the Chieftain of Clan Gregor. Simply put, Aleck was jealous of Eoin, and resented his presence.
Regrettably, that resentment has put an even greater strain on our relationship than there was before.
Helen bent down to pick up a sea sponge, then held it up. My, this is a large specimen. Glenda will be impressed for certain. She placed it in her basket beside the flame shells she’d found earlier.
Overhead, a flock of black guillemots squawked. Helen watched the seabirds land on a rocky outcropping, the white feathers under their black wings flashing with their every flap. It reminded her of a ship’s signal from across the sea.
At least spending an hour or two alone on the beach brought her peace and a welcomed respite from her worries.
Aside from Aleck’s increased pugnaciousness, Helen enjoyed having Eoin at Mingary. He, too, could bring a moment’s enjoyment simply with a smile, or a kind remark.
Eying a conical snail shell, she stooped to retrieve it.
Boom!
A blast from atop the battlements shook the ground. Helen’s heart flew to her throat. Her entire body startled with a jolt. Before she could exhale, a high-pitched whistle soared through the air, growing increasingly louder.
She froze.
It’s heading straight for me.
Before Helen could run, the cannonball thundered into the beach. Rocks and sand hurled into the air.
Flinging her hands over her head, Helen did her best to protect herself from the flying debris. She shrieked as stones and sand slammed into her body with such force she stumbled to the ground. Something hit her head, her arm, her shoulder. Everything hurt. She crumpled into a heap and wailed. Had she become so much of a failure, Aleck had decided to fire a cannonball at her?
“Lady Helen!” Eoin roared, sprinting along the beach.
She swiped a hand over her crown only to be met with warm moisture. Holding her palm in front of her face, it was covered with blood.
“My God.” Eoin dropped to his knees beside her. “You’ve been hit.”
“M-my head’s bleeding.” The world spun.
“Christ almighty, you’ve blood streaming down your face.” He used the cuff of his shirt to dab it.
She hissed, her hands trembling out of control. “T-the cannon ball…ouch…and I didn’t h-have time…and rocks h-hit me. And—”
“I know, lass. Where else does it hurt?”
Her mind raced. “Everywhere.”
“Can you move your arms and legs?”
“I-I don’t know.”
Another blast boomed and whistled overhead.
“Get down, m’lady!” Eoin flung his body atop Helen, shoving her into the stony shore.
Her heart hammered so hard, it nearly burst from her chest. But Eoin protected her from another pummeling. The lead ball hit the surf this time, showering them with a spray of saltwater.
“Stop firing, you bastards!” Eoin yelled, rising to his knees and waving his arms over his head.
The men working on the galley all started hollering in a chorus to stop.
Eoin gathered Helen into his arms and stood. “I must carry you out of harm’s way, then we’ll see to your injuries.”
He raced toward the sea gate. “Forgive…me for…being so familiar…m’lady,” he said while sucking in deep breaths.
“’Tis all right.” With her fists under her chin, she curled into him. “Thank you for coming to my aid, m’laird.”
Another cannon shot boomed from the bailey wall.
Eoin nodded at his henchman. “Fergus, run up there and tell them Lady Helen has been injured. And tell them to look where they’re aiming before they fire that blasted thing again.”
He pushed into the courtyard and regarded her face. “I’d best see you inside, m’lady.”
If I allow him to carry me further, Aleck will launch into a rage. “I think I can walk.”
“Are you certain? You’ve had an awful blow to your head.”
“Let me try.”
Eoin carefully set Helen on her feet.
The courtyard spun and she wobbled. He grasped her elbow.
“Ow.” She pulled her arm away and rubbed.
His eyebrows drew together with a concerned expression. “Your arm is hurt too?”
“Just bruised, I think.”
He pressed his fingers to the edge of her hairline. “You’re still bleeding and there’s a nasty knot.”
“Why the bloody hell are you touching my wife?” Aleck cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled from atop the wall-walk.
“You nearly killed her with your cannon fire,” Eoin bellowed back at him.
Up on the battlements, Fergus trotted up to MacIain, flailing his arms and pointing in the direction the cannon fire.
Aleck threw up his hands and glared down at Helen. “Stay off the beach the next time we fire the cannons, you mindless wench!”
Wiping more blood from her forehead, Helen wanted to melt into the cobblestones and die. Can I do nothing right?
Eoin placed his palm in the small of her back. “Come, m’lady. We must apply a cloth to your head to staunch the bleeding.”
Nodding, she couldn’t bring herself to look up. Aleck had fired a cannon in her direction and then had berated her in front of everyone for being in the way? She tested her legs—at least nothing hurt so much she couldn’t walk.
“Bring a bowl of water,” Eoin ordered and grabbed a cloth from the kitchen workbench as he led her to the same antechamber where she had stitched up his wound. He pulled out a chair. “Please sit, m’lady.”
Helen did as asked and buried her face in her hands. “I had no idea Aleck was planning to test the cannon today.” Another boom ricocheted so loudly the entire chamber shuddered. She pressed her fingers against her temples. “My heavens, that thing is going to make the castle walls crumble.”
Eoin chuckled. “I doubt it will. Mingary walls were built to withstand attacks by battering ram and catapult. I doubt the recoil from a cannon will do more than loosen a few masonry stones.” He touched the cloth to her head.
“Sssss.” Helen pulled back. “That hurts.”
Peter came in with the water. “What on earth happened?”
“Lady Helen was thrashed by a cannon shot,” Eoin replied, peering closely at her wound.
The cook set the bowl on the table beside them. “Do they not look and take aim before they fire that hideous contraption?”
Eoin dunked the cloth in the water. “Apparently not around these parts.” He wrung it out. “This might sting a bit, but I must cleanse away the blood so I can see how bad the cut is.”
“Very well.” Helen remained very still while he carefully dabbed her head. “Is it bad?”
He leaned forward and looked closer. “’Tis nowhere near as bad as I thought. Cuts to the head can bleed something fierce.” He looked at her eyes. “Does you
r head hurt?”
“’Tis throbbing a bit. Perhaps I should have Peter bring in some willow bark tea.”
“Once you’re situated in your rooms I’ll ask him to send some up with chamomile added to calm your wits. You had quite a fright.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth and blinked back her tears. “Aye.” But her humiliation dove far deeper than the initial fear she’d felt on the beach. “Why could he not utter one word of apology?”
Eoin’s lips formed a straight line and he shifted his gaze aside, as if there were a great deal he wanted to say but chose to hold his tongue. Helen wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it—most likely, he pitied her. Oh poor, forlorn Helen whose husband is a roguish beast. Too bad she was sent to Mingary for an arranged marriage and ended up an unhappy matron. Well, she needed no one’s pity.
She started to stand, but Eoin put his hand on her shoulder. “Sometimes people do things that are nonsensical. In my opinion, your husband has acted abominably and should apologize profusely.”
She drew in a sharp breath. “Oh no, you mustn’t approach Aleck and ask him to apologize to me. It would put him in an unimaginably foul mood. He’d lash out at you for certain.” Then she looked away. “And me,” she whispered, praying Eoin wouldn’t think less of her for such an admission.
“I do not fear anything Aleck MacIain can dole out, but if he were to further raise a hand against you on account of this incident, I’d…I’d kill him.”
“Please, Sir Eoin, promise me you’ll not confront him. I will check with the guard before I take a walk on the beach to ensure they won’t be firing the cannons.”
He flung his arm in the direction of the courtyard. “But—”
“Please let it lie.”
He regarded her for a moment with a hard line forming along his jaw. “If that is what you wish.”
Daring to reach out, she lightly brushed her fingers over his heart. “It is. No good can come of calling him out. No good at all.”
10
Helen hummed while she wrapped Maggie in linen swaddling clothes. She’d embroidered this set with a border of yellow primroses during her confinement. “I have decided ’tis time the lass was introduced to the clan.” Regardless of what Aleck thinks.
Sarah twirled Maggie’s black tresses around her finger. The bairn’s hair had grown just long enough to make a darling curl atop her head. “You chose a good day for it with the minstrels coming—twill be a grand gathering.”
Maggie wiggled with a darling squeal. She raised her head twice as if she wanted to be picked up. Helen’s heart squeezed. After she tucked in the end of the swaddle to secure it, she gathered the babe into her arms. “Hopefully the extra bit of cloth we’ve stuffed between her legs will keep her from piddling through the fabric.”
Sarah chuckled. “I do not think you can count on it, m’lady. Piddling is what wee ones do best.”
Maggie laughed. The joy in her tiny infant voice tickled Helen’s insides and she chuckled. Oh, how this little one could warm her heart.
Helen gaped at the nursemaid with a wide-mouthed smile. “I think she agrees with you.”
Holding out her arms, Sarah inclined her head to the bairn. “We’d better haste to the great hall. You wouldn’t want to be late and upset the chieftain.”
Helen placed Maggie in the nursemaid’s arms, then straightened her red silk veil. “We do not want to do anything to raise Sir Aleck’s ire.”
“Not to worry, m’lady.” Sarah started for the door. “As soon as Sir Aleck sees Miss Maggie, his heart will melt.”
Helen opened the door and followed the nursemaid out. “I hope you are right.”
“Who wouldn’t instantly fall in love with such a darling face? Her blue eyes and black curls will enchant everyone in the hall.”
“I do like your exuberance.” Helen followed Sarah down the stairwell. “Now remember—we’re to parade her around the hall and then take Maggie to the dais. We don’t want to overdo her premier appearance. At the first sign of fussiness, spirit her back to the nursery.”
“All right, m’lady.”
“And we mustn’t whirl around the hall like we’re dancing a reel. Wait for me at the bottom of the stairwell.” Goodness, Helen shouldn’t be this nervous. As they descended the wheel-stairs, the noise from the crowd grew louder. She drew in a calming breath just as she rounded the last few steps. “Let us wait at the back of the hall until they notice us.”
“Aye, m’lady.” Sarah grinned. “They’ll be overcome with ooh’s and ah’s any moment.”
Helen grasped Sarah’s elbow and together they stepped into the great hall. As usual on the third Friday of the month, there was excitement in the air. The men told their stories with more animation and the women laughed with a hearty fullness in their voices. Yes, everyone knew the minstrels would play and there would be dancing and drink aplenty.
Looking out over the hall, the servants noticed them first. They stood at attention, gazing Helen’s way. Gradually, the hum of voices ebbed. Upon the dais, Aleck pushed back his chair and stood. Eoin followed suit.
When Aleck planted his fists on his hips, Helen gulped. But it was time. Miss Maggie would not be imprisoned in the nursery for the duration of her childhood. Helen gestured to the bairn and smiled. “Please allow me to introduce Miss Margaret Alice MacIain.”
As if on cue, the bairn squealed while Sarah raised her elbow so the crowd could better see Maggie’s face. Everyone audibly sighed at once.
“She’s a handsome bairn for certain,” someone called from the crowd.
“She has the chieftain’s tresses.”
“Aye but her mother’s beauty.”
Indeed, the clansmen and women gushed with admiration.
Helen gestured to Sarah and together they proceeded through the center aisle slowly so everyone could take a good look at Maggie. As they neared the dais, Aleck’s fists remained on his hips, his face unreadable.
I will not allow him to intimidate me.
Raising her skirts to her ankles, Helen ascended the stairs with Sarah following. Aleck strode to her side, but didn’t offer his hand. Instead he pressed his lips to Helen’s ear. “I told you I didn’t want to see the bairn.”
Helen turned to the crowd and spread her arms to address them. “I thought there would be no better time than a gathering with music and dancing to introduce Maggie to the clan.”
Sarah held the bairn to Aleck, giving him no option but to reach out and cradle her. He looked up with a forced smile. “What the clan needs is a lad,” Aleck growled, none too softly.
“You’d best head above stairs and make one, m’laird,” a male voice bellowed from the crowd.
All went silent.
Helen could have withered where she stood. Please let there not be a scene. She clapped a hand over her mouth and scanned the faces to see who had uttered such a bold remark, but no one stood out.
“Mind your own affairs,” Aleck groused.
Maggie’s face grew red and she launched into an ear-splitting wail.
Aleck thrust the babe toward Sarah. “Take the brat back up to the nursery. She has no business in the hall until she can sit at the table and hold a knife in her hand.”
Shrieking at the top of her lungs, Maggie didn’t settle. Sarah shot Helen a panicked grimace, as if she’d just been scolded by a humongous troll.
Helen stepped in, smoothed a hand over her daughter’s crown. She would see that Maggie’s first appearance ended on a positive note. “Thank you, dear Sarah,” she said so all could hear. “Maggie made quite an impression for her first appearance and I am ever so happy to have your assistance. I believe it is time for her to retire now.”
Sarah dipped into a brisk curtsey. “As you wish, m’lady.”
Helen affixed her regal smile while Sarah proceeded to the stairwell with the howling Maggie. Honestly, the wee cry was music to a mother’s ears. The clansmen and women also watched and applauded appreciatively. Besides, no one ever ex
pected a bairn to be silent.
When Helen turned to the high table, Aleck had resumed his seat, but Eoin remained standing. In two strides, he took her hand and led her to the lady’s chair. Helen recalled her father had paid such a courtesy to her mother often.
“Miss Maggie is delightful, m’lady.” Eoin grinned as if nothing were amiss—as if it were a common occurrence for the chieftain to shun his daughter and ignore his wife. “Thank you for bringing her for an introduction.”
Helen took her seat. “I’m ever so glad you approve, Sir Eoin.”
Aleck gestured to the empty chair with his knife. “Sit your arse down, MacGregor, and stop acting like you’re groveling to the Queen of Scotland.”
Eoin’s pleasant exterior waned. “This is a well anticipated gathering is it not?”
“Aye, everyone enjoys the minstrels when they come.” Aleck poured himself a tankard of whisky. Evidently, he’d decided ale wasn’t strong enough this eve.
Eoin reached for the bread. “I, too, enjoy music and dancing.”
Aleck snorted. “You seem like the type who would prefer to kick up your heels and rub elbows with the lassies rather than take part in more manly pursuits.”
Stopping mid-chew, Eoin rolled his eyes toward the chieftain. “Let us say I enjoy all manner of pursuits.”
Aleck took a long draw from his tankard. “Do you enjoy swivving buxom lassies?”
How utterly inappropriate. Helen’s face burned. If only she could slide under the table and hide, but she could never do that, and chiding Aleck would only serve to rouse him further.
Without a modicum of emotion etched on his face, Eoin reached for the ewer of ale and filled his cup. “With all due respect, this is not suitable conversation for mixed company.”
“So you consider it appropriate banter for an alehouse, do you?” Aleck threw his head back and laughed.
Could things grow worse? Helen glanced at the faces of the clansmen at the table. Every single face appeared uncomfortable and not a one looked her way.
Suddenly not hungry, she pushed her food around her trencher to the sound of idle chatter from the crowd. Still, no one on the dais uttered a word. When she at last looked up, Aleck eyed her from behind his tankard. She tensed as he leaned forward to speak. “If you continue to disobey me, I’ll have no recourse but to lock you in your chamber.”