Just Beyond Tomorrow (24 page)

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Authors: Bertrice Small

BOOK: Just Beyond Tomorrow
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“What's
that
supposed to mean?” Flanna said low.
“Am I a fool, then, niece?” he replied.
“I am nae certain,” she said softly.
“I am,”
he responded, “and if ye are nae, Flanna Leslie, it is because ye plan some mischief yet and dinna wish to acknowledge yer condition. Tell yer husband when ye return, or I shall tell him.”
Flanna looked contrite. “When I return I will be certain in my own mind, Angus, and I will, indeed, tell my husband then.”
When I return,
she thought,
but I shall not return until I hae recruited men for the king.
He nodded, satisfied, unaware of her deception. “Eat,” he said, setting the plate in front of her.
“Ye'll make certain my Patrick is well served in my absence?” Flanna said. “And be sure that Aggie helps out Biddy wi' the bairns, and that they keep to the schedule I hae set for them.” She began to eat, surprised to learn that she was very hungry.
“The only thing that will be missing from Glenkirk will be its fair mistress,” Angus said quietly. “Dinna remain after the old man is buried. He will nae need ye to mourn for him. His sons and their women should do it, though I wonder if they will. Tell Aulay to establish his authority firmly even before the old man dies, and hae his father confirm it to the others else all hell break loose after Lachlann Brodie has gone to meet his maker. His sons will quarrel amongst themselves nonetheless; but if Aulay keeps a tight rein on them, all will be well at Killiecairn, and naught will change but the voice of authority,” Angus Gordon finished.
“I'll speak wi' him as we ride, but ye know as well as I know that my sister-in-law, Una, will nae let any of my other brothers usurp her man's dominion over Killiecairn. She has waited years for Aulay to come into his own,” Flanna observed wisely.
Angus smiled grimly. “Aye, lassie, and that be a truth!”
Aulay Brodie had finished his pipe, and now he laid it down, standing up as he did so. “Are ye ready, sister?” he asked her.
“Aye,” Flanna replied, shoving a final piece of cheese into her pocket to eat along the way. She arose and, turning to her husband, said, “I thank ye, my lord, for allowing me to go to my father now. I will return after he is buried, but nae before, wi' yer permission.”
“Ye hae it,” Patrick said, and then he tipped her face up to his. “I wish yer da nae a minute less than God has given him, Flanna, but I hope ye will be back wi' me soon. I'll come for ye myself.” Then he kissed her lips softly. “I already miss ye.” His warm look caused her to blush, and he laughed softly as he released her. “Think of me each night,” he told her wickedly.
“Oh, I will, my lord, and ye, I am certain, will think of me . . .” and then she added,
“and my black pearls.”
“Vixen,” he chuckled, and turned her about, smacking her bottom lightly. “Go,” Patrick Leslie told his wife.
Her lilting laughter seemed to echo in the hall even after she had departed it. Patrick Leslie climbed to the north tower of Glenkirk to watch her ride off with her elder brother and Fingal Brodie.
She could feel his eyes on them as they rode out, but she did not look back to wave a final farewell. It was too difficult, she suddenly realized, and she was torn. Her love for her father had never been great, for Lachlann Brodie's passion had been only for her mother. The little attention he had given the daughter they had made had been offered in her mother's lifetime to please his Meg. Once her mother had gone, Lachlann Brodie hardly remembered he had a daughter. Flanna had been practically lost in the crowd of her clanfolk, but for Una and her uncle, Angus Gordon.
That she now rode from Glenkirk, and the man she had come to love with all of her being, was but a filial duty to the dying laird. She was Lachlann Brodie's only daughter. It was her obligation if not for his sake, but for the love she had borne her mother, to return to Killiecairn and be by his side in his final hours. She didn't want to leave Patrick now. But she had to as a dutiful daughter to her father.
At least the weather held, she considered, as they rode along. Fingal couldn't seem to stop talking as he told his father of life at Glenkirk, of how different it was from Killiecairn, of the lessons he was learning along with Lady Sabrina and young Lord Frederick. “Brie is as braw as any lad,” he told his father. “Flanna taught her to shoot wi' the longbow. She is nae as good as Flanna, but she can hit the target, Da, and is getting better.”
Aulay nodded. “Ye're a fortunate lad,” he told his son. “Dinna lose the opportunity ye hae been given.” He turned to his sister. “The duke is pleased wi' him?”
“Patrick is kind to him, but Fingal is nae his responsibility, brother. He is mine as my kinsman. As long as Patrick is nae displeased wi' him, and he continues to behave himself, he will do well at Glenkirk. My husband has said if he learns more than his tutor can teach him, then Fingal can go to university at Aberdeen.”
“Who teaches the bairns?” Aulay asked.
“The old Anglican priest. The Leslies will nae send him off, and while we follow Scotland's church now, the priest is an educated man. He obeys the law also, so there is none to complain of his presence.”
Her brother grunted his satisfaction, and they rode on toward Killiecairn. She wanted to speak to Aulay as Angus had advised, but it was obvious to her that now was not the time. As they moved around Loch Brae, the sun came from behind the clouds to shine on the castle there. A smile touched Flanna's lips. She would begin Brae's restoration when she returned home. She intended using it to marshal her levy for the king. That way Glenkirk and the Leslies need not be involved at all. Her smile broadened. Everything was going exactly as she wanted it to go. Everything was perfect.
They reached Killiecairn late in the afternoon. Flanna gazed on her childhood home dispassionately. It looked strange to her now, and so very small. Smoke rose from the gray stone chimneys, but it was oddly quiet as the clan kept their deathwatch for Lachlann Brodie. Aulay's wife, Una, was awaiting them as they came into the hall. Had she always looked so worn? Flanna asked herself.
“He's still alive,” she told them, “and he's waiting for ye,” she said to Flanna. Then her brown eyes went to her son, and she smiled.
“I'll go right up,” Flanna said, and hurried from the hall.
Entering her father's bedchamber, she saw her sister-in-law Ailis sitting by his bed. “Good day, Ailis,” she said.
“So ye're finally home,” came the sour reply.
“As quickly as Aulay could bring me,” Flanna said.
“Lassie!”
her father's voice croaked from the bed.
“I'm here, Da,” Flanna told him, coming to his side.
“Get out!”
he said fiercely to Ailis, who looked outraged, and as if she was going to break into one of her tirades.
“I think he would speak wi' me alone, Ailis,” Flanna quickly said. “I know ye dinna mind and could probably use some rest yerself. I can only imagine how ye hae all looked after him. He's nae easy, is he?” She gave her sister-in-law a friendly little smile and put a hand upon Ailis's arm and squeezed.
To her surprise, Ailis smiled back. “Nay,” she agreed. “He isna easy, and I could use some food.”
“I'll stay wi' him until someone returns,” Flanna promised.
“Thank ye,” Ailis replied, rising from her place and exiting the bedchamber.
“Ye've softened,” her father said.
“Nay, but I hae learned how to manage others, especially those below my station,” Flanna told him bluntly. “Are ye really dying, Da, or was it just an excuse to make them all jump to yer satisfaction?”
The old man cackled, but then he grew serious. “I'm dying,” he responded in answer to her question. “I would nae hae sent Aulay to ye otherwise. We hae some unfinished business, ye and I.”
“Is it the matter of Meg Gordon's property?” she asked him candidly.
He nodded. “I couldna face yer mam if I did nae gie ye her wee bag. As much as I would like to believe it now Brodie property, I know 'tis nae. 'Tis yers, Flanna.”
“Is it still beneath the stone in the hearth?” she inquired.
“Who told ye? Angus, of course,” he said, answering his own question.
Flanna shook her head. “Aggie told me. Mam spoke to her before she died so I would know one day.”
“Did Aggie come wi' ye?” he wondered.
“Nay.”
“She is my granddaughter,” he remarked pensively.
“Aye, she is, but she said ye never cared so why should she?” Flanna said frankly.
He nodded his white head. “She's right,” he agreed, “but 'tis more a Brodie attitude than she would want, I'm thinking.” He cackled again, but then he began to cough.
Flanna set her arm about the old man, raising him up, and with her other hand put a small pewter cup to his lips. “Drink it,” she ordered him, and he did, gulping the liquid eagerly. She smelled the scent of whiskey on his breath as the cough subsided.
“Get the bag,” he ordered her as he fell back against his pillows. “And secret it lass, so
they
dinna see it.”
Flanna went over to the hearth where a fire now burned and, with her father's direction, found the loose stone on the edge of the flame. Carefully she pried it up and, reaching into the cavity, pulled the velvet bag out before replacing the stone. Opening the bag, she looked inside and saw a jumble of jewelry. She pulled the strings of the soft pouch shut and stuffed it into the pocket of her breeches.
“My conscience is clear now,” Lachlann Brodie said quietly.
“Dinna tell me that's all that ye hae on yer conscience, Da,” Flanna teased him wickedly.
He cackled again, and his eyes danced for a moment.
“Ye hae to confirm Aulay in yer place,” she told him.
“He's the eldest,” her father replied.
“ 'Tis nae enough,” Flanna said. “If ye dinna bring them all in here, sons, and wives, and grandchildren, and tell them outright that Aulay is now the Brodie of Killiecairn, they will quarrel amongst themselves, even though they know better. Dinna gie Aulay that burden to carry, Da. He has been a good son to ye, and Una has run yer household ever since my mam died. Make certain Aulay is recognized by the others. Make them gie ye their words to accept him. He's a fair and decent man and will bring nae shame upon yer name.”
“I never thought I would see the day when ye would speak up for Aulay,” her father noted.
“I hae learned at Glenkirk the importance of rightful authority,” Flanna admitted to him.
“Tell them to come in, then, lassie,” Lachlann Brodie said.
“Now?”
She was surprised.
“Aye, now, for I will nae last the night, Flanna. I waited for ye, lassie, for when I meet yer mam again, I wanted to be able to tell her that ye're happy. Are ye?”
“Aye,” she told him. “I am verra happy, Da.”
“But ye hae nae given Leslie a bairn yet,” he fretted.
“By late summer,” she told him. “Ye're the first to know, and dinna tell the others, or my husband will come roaring across the hills from Glenkirk, and I'll be wrapped up in cotton wool. I am a strong lass and will gie Patrick Leslie strong bairns, but I dinna want to be shut away.”
“Then, I'll go to my grave wi' this wonderful secret, but I'll tell yer mam, lassie. She'll be happy for ye,” Lachlann Brodie said. “Now go, and tell them all I want to see them now.”
What on earth had made her tell her father the secret that until now she hadn't even admitted to herself? Flanna wondered. Then she went out and down into the hall to announce, “He wants to see us all. Sons, and wives, and grandchildren. Ye'll nae all be able to get into his chamber, so sons and wives first,” she told them, and she led the way herself, returning back up the narrow staircase.
They grouped themselves about his oaken bedstead. The linen and velvet bed hangings were grubby and worn, Flanna suddenly noted. Her brothers also seemed worn with their hard life. They were not young men. Aulay, the eldest at fifty-nine, bordered on old age himself. He was followed by Callum, who was fifty-eight; Gillies, fifty-six; Ranald, fifty-four; Simon, fifty-two; and Bhaltair, who was fifty. Together her six brothers had fathered thirty-seven children, who were now giving the family another generation. As only seven of her brothers' children were girls, and long wed, there were over one hundred people living at Killiecairn. Her nieces were gone to their husbands' families. Coming from such a large family of males, the girls had been prized as wives, and their modest dowries overlooked. They had all married well and already proved their worth to their husbands' families by birthing sons.

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