Highland Courage (Highland Brides) (17 page)

Flan knelt beside it, looking at the damage more closely. “I don’t see how this could have happened in the move.”

“Well, it did, and I’m sure it can be fixed. I think your concern over my harp is another ruse to stay up. Go on, now.” She ushered him out of the solar. “The sun will rise too quickly for both of us as it is.”

~ * ~

The following afternoon, the rushes were being changed in the great hall in preparation for Christmas. Mairead and Oren sat in the steward’s study discussing the final preparations that needed to be made for the upcoming feasts when Finola tapped at the door. “My lady, our priest, Father Keenan, has returned.”

“Splendid. Thank ye, Finola. Please ask him to wait in the great hall, and I will be right down.”

“Certainly, my lady.” Finola started to leave, and Mairead stopped her. “Finola, after ye have done that, would ye see that someone stokes the fire in my solar? ’Tis a bitter cold day and I have some work to do.”

“Aye, my lady, I’ll see to it.” Finola turned and left. When Mairead turned her attention back to Oren, his brow was furrowed. “Is something amiss?”

“Nay, my lady. We can finish these plans later. Ye go meet Father Keenan. It is good that we will have our priest back for Christmas.”

When she reached the great hall, she was surprised to see two priests waiting by one of the hearths. She approached them. “Good afternoon, Fathers. I am Lady Matheson.”

The plump and bookish priest gave a small bow. “My lady, it is a pleasure to meet ye. I am Father Keenan.” He gestured to the other priest. “I would like ye to meet Father Mungo, another priest in my order.” They exchanged pleasantries before Father Keenan said, “I am so sorry I couldn’t be here for the wedding.”

“Ye need not apologize, your family needed ye and I’m glad ye were able to go. How fares your father?”

“Alas, my lady, he passed away but I am grateful I was there. My mother is old and very frail as well. This has been quite a strain on her.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“In fact, I have asked my superiors for an assignment closer to home, so I can be nearer to her. This is why Father Mungo has joined me. He will take my place here. I returned to gather my possessions and say farewells.”

“I’m sorry we’ll be losing ye, but I’m sure it is a blessing for your mother to have ye near. Father Mungo, ye are most welcome. At least I won’t be the only new addition to Cnocreidh anymore.”

“Aye, we’ll forge our way together, my lady.” He smiled warmly.

“If ye will excuse us, my lady, I would like to show Father Mungo the chapel and the chapel garden, while there is still daylight.”

“Would ye mind if I joined ye? I would like to see the garden, too.”

Father Keenan flushed a little. “I suppose ye could join us. Certainly, I’d love to show ye my garden.”

“That is a splendid idea, and it would give us a chance to get to know one another a bit, as well,” said Father Mungo.

They chatted as they walked. Mairead immediately liked both priests but while Father Keenan seemed introverted and scholarly, Father Mungo was outgoing and affable. She was secretly glad he would be the one staying. Although most of the tender vegetation in the chapel garden had succumbed to the cold December weather, Father Keenan showed both of them where he dried and stored his harvest. They talked for quite a long time, longer than Mairead had intended.

“Pardon me, Fathers, the time has gotten away from me and the afternoon grows late. I must get back to the keep now, but please join us at the laird’s table tonight.” They agreed, and she hurried to the keep through the deepening afternoon gloom.

Elspet approached her as soon as she entered the hall. “My lady, the watch has spotted the laird’s party approaching.”

The day had been damp and cold with ever thickening clouds and snow flurries suggesting a storm was on the way. “Thank ye, Elspet. It has been a raw day to be traveling. Would ye make sure some mulled wine and a hot bath are sent up before the laird arrives?”

“Of course, my lady.”

The last servant was leaving their chamber when Tadhg entered. He grinned and pulled Mairead into his arms. “I didn’t think there could be a more welcome sight after a long day of travel than a warm drink and a hot bath, but my sweet little wife, ye are.”

“Well, husband, I will still be here after that bath grows cold, so I suggest ye take advantage of it first.” Mairead laughed as she unfastened his plaid and began undressing him.

He captured her lips in a kiss, but allowed her to remove his clothes while he kissed her. Finally she broke the kiss when she pulled his tunic over his head. Reluctantly he climbed into the bath but groaned as the warmth penetrated his cold limbs.

She began to bath him, kneading the muscles in his back, shoulders, and arms. He closed his eyes as he moaned with pleasure. Grinning at his response, she became bolder. Moving in front of him, she ran her soapy hands over his chest in a small circular pattern, allowing her hands to slip lower and lower over his belly to his groin. Before they reached their goal, he grabbed her hands. “I think ye need to join me in this bath.”

Bracing herself to keep him from pulling her in, she laughed. “Nay, there isn’t room and I am fully dressed!”

He chuckled and released her. “Then finish this damn bath without unmanning me.”

She finished bathing him quickly and had barely toweled him off before he had her clothes off and tossed her on the bed. They had only been apart for one night, but she had missed him terribly and now yearned for his touch. She needed his love and his strength. He buried himself in her, driving fast and hard, and she responded by meeting every thrust with abandon and pushing him for more. Together they reached the height of ecstasy, afterward they lay spent in each other’s arms.

He pulled her close and nuzzled her neck, breathing her scent in deeply. “I missed ye, my love.”

She smiled coyly. “I could tell.” At her cheeky remark he nipped her neck. With a squeal and a giggle, she added, “I missed ye, too.”

He lay back on the pillows, linking his hands together behind his head. “What has happened while I was gone? How did Oren take your suggestion about letting Caitlin work with Ide in the kitchens?”

“I didn’t actually make the suggestion.”

“Really?” He arched an eyebrow at her. “I had hoped it would work out. I can speak to him if ye wish.” He sounded a bit disappointed.

She grinned. “I didn’t have to make the suggestion. I just helped Oren think of it himself.”

“Ye are jesting. Shea has always looked down her nose at the idea of Caitlin working in the kitchens.”

“I suspect Oren knows his daughter has been unhappy and just needed the opportunity to act.”

“Well done, Mairead.” Mairead blushed at his praise.

“Is there any other news?”

She stretched and rose from the bed. “Aye, but I will tell ye as we dress. Supper will be served soon.”

He reached for her hand, pulling her back onto the bed. “I think we should forego supper in the great hall. I want to spend the evening alone with my charming, clever wife.”

“As much as I would like to stay here with ye, we can’t.”

“I’m the laird, we can if I say we can.”

“Well, Laird, we have this one little problem. I told ye there was more news. Father Keenan returned today.”

“Father Keenan won’t mind. I will welcome him home tomorrow.”

“He might not normally mind, but he will be leaving us tomorrow. His father died and he asked his superiors to assign him to a position closer to his home. Father Mungo, another priest in his order, accompanied him and will be staying on in his place. I invited them to dine at our table.”

Tadhg sighed heavily. “Ye are right. I can’t let Father Keenan go without a farewell.” He rose from the bed reluctantly. They dressed and descended to the great hall. At the outset of the meal Tadhg’s attention was on Father Keenan and Father Mungo. During a lull in the conversation, he looked around the table and his eyes rested on his squire’s bruised face. Leaning close to Mairead, Tadhg asked, “Was Flan in a fight?”

“Aye.” Mairead nodded but said no more.

“Do ye know what happened?”

“Generally.” Again she offered no details or explanation.

Tadhg’s brow furrowed and his voice contained more than a hint of frustration “Were ye going to tell me about it?”

“Nay.”

Tadhg arched an eyebrow at her questioningly.

Mairead sighed. “Ye are his laird and I think it isn’t always easy to be both the laird’s squire and my brother. If ye wish to ask him about the fight it is your right.”

“Mairead, I’m your laird too and I am asking ye about it.”

Before she could respond the resounding crack of wood breaking rent the air. Looking toward the sound, Mairead watched as one of Tadhg’s men retrieved something he had stepped on from under the rushes. She gasped when she recognized the crushed remains of her recorder in the large man’s hands. Marshaling her emotions, she made her way to the stunned warrior.

The room grew silent. She took the splintered wood from him, turning it slowly to assess the damage. Badly crushed, the instrument was beyond repair. Until this moment she had truly believed the Mathesons’ opinions about her were changing, and she ignored the occasional rebuff she still received. She was wrong, and the evidence lay in her hands. This had been done intentionally to hurt her. Hardening herself, she vowed not to let the clan see how badly it had.

The man looked confused. “My lady, I—I’m sorry. It was under the rushes.”

“Mairead, what is it?” asked Tadhg.

As Mairead turned to her husband, Flan, who was on his feet trembling with rage, started to answer, “It’s her—”

“Flan!” She cut him off sharply.

“But—”

“It’s nothing, Flan,” She gave him a warning look as she walked toward the hearth.

“Mairead, stop. I asked ye a question,” said Tadhg quietly.

She held the fragments up so he could see them. She responded with a controlled calm she didn’t feel. “It was an instrument. Now it is kindling.” She turned back to the hearth intent on tossing the splintered remains of her beloved recorder into the fire.

However, old Jock was in the hall for supper that night. He maneuvered himself between Mairead and the fire with remarkable agility. “Nay, lass.” He voice was gentle and he took the ruined instrument from her. The look of affection and sympathy in the old man’s eyes was her undoing. She needed to leave the hall or risk embarrassing herself with the tears that threatened.

“Where did ye leave it that it ended up under the rushes?”

Flan became indignant at the laird’s question. “Mairead never leaves her instruments just lying around.”

“Flan, watch your tone with me,” Tadhg warned. “Mairead, answer me. Where did ye leave it?”

Her back was still toward him, and she didn’t want to turn around. She didn’t think she could stand it if he looked at her with pity, or even worse, censure in his expression. “In the cabinet in my solar. Please excuse me.”

He ignored her request. “Mairead, if it was in the cabinet in your solar, how could it have ended up down here?”

His question seemed to imply that she was mistaken about having put the recorder away properly. However, he was wrong. She had put it away. She always put it away. She certainly didn’t leave it lying in the great hall. The only possible explanation was that someone removed it from her solar and placed it under the rushes intentionally. Telling him this, admitting his clan despised her so, was more than she could do and still maintain her composure. She could feel every eye in the room boring into her, waiting for her to respond.

She shook her head, defeated. “I don’t know. Please excuse me, Laird.” This time she left the great hall without waiting for his permission.

Thirteen

Tadhg watched, stunned, as she fled the hall. Before he could follow her, Jock drew his attention. “That was a daft question, Laird.”

“Aye, it was daft, Jock, because she certainly isn’t going to admit to being careless with her precious toys,” said someone seated at one of the trestle tables.

“If ye believe such nonsense, Archie, ye are an eejit,” said Jock. “Laird, what young Flan there was trying to tell ye is this pile of splinters used to be a recorder yer wife’s grand-da made for her, and ye can be sure she didn’t leave it where it could be trod upon.”

Tadhg couldn’t believe his ears. It was ludicrous. Who would do such a thing? “Are ye suggesting someone put it under the rushes on purpose?”

“I’m not suggesting it, Laird, I’m telling ye it is a fact.”

Tadhg tried to reason with him. “That makes no sense. Why would someone do that, Jock?”

“Ye really don’t know, do ye? Do any of ye fine Mathesons have the nerve to tell the laird openly what some of ye whisper to each other?” Jock glanced around. “Nay? Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He shook his head in disgust. “I’ll bet yer squire knows, Laird. Don’t ye, lad? Heck tells me ye got those bruises on yer face defending yer sister.”

Tadhg’s frustration grew. He wanted answers. “Jock, what is this about?”

“Well, Laird, this might shock ye, but many in the clan didn’t approve of yer bride choice. They think ye should have married within the clan.”

“That is ridiculous!”

“Nevertheless, it is true.”

Tadhg glanced angrily around the room and Jock continued, “That being the case, it might make sense if they took their disapproval out on ye, but they don’t. They vent their jealousy on the wee lass ye married. Many of them snub her and gossip about her. What are the current rumors, Eavan? Is it that she is a helpless pampered child who can do nothing herself? Nay, that is old news. Was it something about Lady Matheson being a whore because she was seen naked with her husband in their private chamber, Finola?”

There was an audible gasp from the assembly and Tadhg’s jaw clenched in fury.

“Why are ye all so shocked? Is this not what ye heard, Taban? Nay, I believe ye said the laird had gone soft because he let Lady Matheson talk him out of beating Meriel and Kester. Wait a minute, that wasn’t it, was it, Hazel? Lady Matheson couldn’t have talked the laird out of beating Meriel and Kester. Ye said the reason the lass was quiet that evening was because she was angry the laird
didn’t
punish them more severely. Of course, her reserve couldn’t have had anything to do with the fact that the shy, wee lass was mortified.”