On a Highland Shore (5 page)

Mother shook her head. “Ye’ll watch Fergus. Ye’d only be in their way.”

“I’d be a help.”

Mother snorted. “Ye’d be glad of a day in the hills rather than staying here and working as ye should, wouldn’t ye? Dinna pretend it’s otherwise. Ye’ll stay here and watch Fergus.”

“Inghinn can watch Fergus. She never minds.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Ye’ll stay here. Margaret, comb yer hair, Lachlan’s just arriving.”

Margaret’s pleasure was obvious. “Again?”

“Ye should be pleased to have yer betrothed so attentive,” Mother snapped.

“I am, I am. Just surprised that he’s back so soon.”

“Mother, please let me go…” Nell began.

Mother shook her head. “If ye ask me once more, Nell MacDonald, I’ll set ye to minding the geese. Come downstairs. I’ve work for ye to do.” She spun on her heel and let the door slam behind her.

Nell sighed, then rolled her eyes at Margaret. “See, it’s not just ye. I wish this baby would come.”

“It dinna help that ye mentioned Inghinn.”

“Oh, aye, just pretend she’s not here at all, like Mother does?” At Margaret’s surprised expression, Nell continued. “I’m not a child, ye ken, although everyone treats me like one. I hear her crying, I hear their arguments—we all hear their arguments. I know what Inghinn is to Father.”

Margaret sank to the bed. “I guess ye do. I guess I was trying to believe ye dinna ken all that. I’m sorry that ye do.”

“I know everything that happens here. Everyone ignores me. They talk in front of me, like I dinna understand.” Nell sat on the bed next to her. “And dinna tell me I’ll understand when I’m older or I’ll scream!”

“I remember being yer age. That’s how I felt too. I just thought perhaps ye dinna need to ken quite yet…”

“Inghinn says her babe is Father’s.”

Margaret sighed heavily. “Aye.”

“Perhaps Father finds other women because Mother is always yelling at him.”

“Perhaps Mother is always yelling at him because Father finds other women.”

“Will it ever get better between them?”

“I dinna think so.” They sat in silence for a moment, then Margaret straightened her back. “Off with ye before she comes back for us.”

Nell left morosely, leaving Margaret thinking of her parents’ marriage, then her own, wondering if she and Lachlan would be happy. How had her parents come to such a place as they were now? Peering into her tiny but precious hand mirror, she sighed, resolving that she and Lachlan would be different. She combed her hair and pinched her cheeks before going downstairs, hoping she looked better in person than in her reflection.

Her betrothed sat with Rignor in the hall, a cup of Somerstrath’s fine ale in his hand. Lachlan was quite wonderfully handsome; everyone said so. She felt a wave of pride in his sophistication, in his tall, lean form, in his arched eyebrows and thin, patrician features. He was, as always, beautifully dressed, his dark hair pulled back by a ribbon woven with gold, his linen tunic edged with embroidery.

He rose to his feet when he saw her, his smile wide and his hands outstretched. “Margaret! Ye look bonnie, as always.”

She curtsied. “Thank ye, sir. What brings ye back to us so soon?”

“What else but that I have missed yer company? I bring news. King Alexander will send two of his own musicians to our wedding as his bridal gift. Is that not fine news?”

“Ye told us that last time,” Rignor said.

Lachlan’s smile faltered.

“It is very fine news, my lord,” she hurried to say, although Rignor was right; Lachlan had told them that on his last visit. He was using the news as a ruse to see her again. Which meant that he’d ridden for three days to come here. He must have missed her terribly. She smiled her satisfaction. “I’m sure they will be wonderful.”

“Would King Alexander have anything but the best?” Lachlan asked.

“The king sends his musicians,” Rignor said.

She heard it this time, the unmistakable note that meant he was spoiling for an argument. She drew Lachlan away, but Rignor raised his voice to follow them.

“Oh, aye, the king sends his musicians,” Rignor said, “but does not deign to join us himself. Ye’d think he would, would ye not? Is Margaret not the niece of William, the Earl of Ross, one of the most powerful men in Scotland? And is our uncle’s wife not one of the Comyns, another important family? And is Lachlan not one of the king’s own cousins? Does this marriage not benefit both Alexander and William by allying their lines once again? William is coming to see ye wed, but the king willna be here. It’s an insult!”

“The king canna be everywhere,” Margaret said, throwing a stern look at Rignor. “I’m just as glad he willna be here for the wedding. Mother’s worried enough without having to house and entertain a royal party.”

“She’d love it,” Rignor said.

“She’d hate it.”

“It would have been an honor, of course,” Lachlan began, “but the king…”

“Has more important things to attend to,” Rignor finished.

“Of course he does!” Margaret glaring at her brother. “And we’ll be seeing King Alexander often when we’re at court. There’s no need for him to come here!”

Rignor shrugged and Margaret moved Lachlan quickly away. She and her brother would talk about this later. Or perhaps not, she thought, taking Lachlan’s arm. She was leaving. Rignor and his moods would stay at Somerstrath. She was off to see the world.

Lachlan smiled. “Come, let us find yer father.”

Margaret nodded, pleased both that Lachlan was not angry and that a walk through the village would give her a chance to exchange a word with Fiona. “I thank ye for yer forbearance, sir.”

Lachlan led the way down the spiral stairway to the ground floor, through the room there that served as both guardhouse and storeroom, and into the stone-floored courtyard, where her father’s men stood with Lachlan’s in small groups, trading news. She heard snippets of it as she and Lachlan threaded their way to the gate. Something had happened in the north. There had been some unrest in Ireland.
The head on the beach
.

“Is there news?” she asked Lachlan.

He shook his head. “Naught that affects us.”

“Did Rignor tell ye about the Norseman’s head we found on the beach?”

“Aye. But, Margaret, Norsemen sail past ye every day on the way to Skye and Man. Someone fell overboard is all.”

“Aye,” she answered, content to let the subject drop. Lachlan was here, and that was what mattered.

They turned right, toward the harbor. Next time, as a wedded couple, they would turn left, would take the path that led through the upper village, through the glen and the mountains and eventually across Scotland. Soon, she thought, pressing his arm to her side.

“How lovely to have ye back again, Lachlan,” she said.

“I couldna stay away,” he said, his smile warm.

“Only a few more weeks, sir, and I willna let ye out of my sight.”

“Aye, ’tis almost here.”

“Will we have any time before we go to court to…” She felt her cheeks flush. “To become more fully acquainted?”

He laughed. “I assure ye, Margaret, that we will become completely acquainted.”

She tossed her head. “I wish to learn all there is about becoming a wife.”

“Do ye?” His tone was amused. “And I’ll be pleased to teach ye. But ye do ken that I will often have to be away on the king’s business? And ye canna always accompany me.” His gaze drifted to her mouth. “Much as I would want it.”

“Aye, ye’ve told me. I shall have to find other ways to amuse myself when ye’re gone.”

“Most wives do.” He smiled again and kissed her cheek. “I just want ye to remember that ye’re mine, no matter how many men try to turn yer head with their compliments.” He stroked her cheek. “Ye are verra beautiful, Margaret, and there will be men pursuing ye at court. Ye ken that.”

“I will see none of them.”

“See to it that ye don’t,” he said, and smiled widely.

She smiled in return. When she’d been at court she’d heard the love songs, the chansons that the French bards sang, full of lovers who sighed at the mere sight of their beloved, of men who did rare and exciting deeds to prove they were worthy of a woman’s love. She thought of Aunt Eleanor, whose parents had arranged her marriage. She’d been a reluctant bride, but a happy wife whose face had lit up whenever her husband walked into the room, as did his whenever he saw her. Margaret had watched them, knowing that whatever it was that Eleanor and her husband shared, it was strong and heady and she wanted the same for herself. She glanced at Lachlan. She was sure they would have it.

Most of the houses of Somerstrath lay between the keep and the sheltered harbor. Lachlan was greeted cordially and stopped several times to tell the news from the east, of the king’s latest visitors, of the unrest in England and how it distressed Scotland’s Queen Margaret, who worried for her father Henry, King of England, and her brother, Prince Edward, who now led the English army in her father’s stead.

At the weaver’s house Fiona was waiting on the doorstep with a ready smile. Lachlan greeted her and her father warmly, saying all the right things when Fiona’s father displayed his latest creation, a finely woven length of lichen green wool that would be his bridal gift to them. Lachlan and Margaret praised it, and Fiona’s father beamed, showing Lachlan the recent improvements he’d made on his loom.

Fiona, standing with Margaret, sighed as she watched Lachlan and her father deep in conversation.

“Are ye no’ truly the most fortunate of women, Margaret?” Fiona asked, her voice low. “Is yer betrothed no’ the most handsome man ye’ve ever seen?”

Margaret smiled fondly. “Ye’d tell me the same even if he had only four teeth and one eye, would ye not?”

Fiona laughed. “That’s true, I would.” Her smile widened as Lachlan joined them. “Welcome, my lord. I’m hoping yer visit means that there will be music and dancing in the hall this night.”

Lachlan’s eyes were merry. “Somerstrath always entertains me well. I’m sure we’ll all enjoy ourselves this day.”

“I look forward to it,” Fiona said.

“We all do,” Margaret said with a smile, letting Lachlan lead her away.

That evening the hall was filled with music and laughter. Her father was always a warm and generous host, and, as usual, all of the villagers and half the clan outside the walls were in attendance. The meal was noisy, the people crowded at the long benches and tables, eating venison and the fish caught that day as well as soup and summer’s fruit, accompanied by ale and the wines her father imported from the Continent. Trenchers were filled and filled again, shared with smiles. Iron chandeliers glowed with candles, the soft light illuminating the tapestries her mother had lined the walls with, tapestries that only a wealthy man like her father could afford. In the corner a harpist played softly, a prelude to the wilder music to come. Underfoot the rushes were clean and fragrant with herbs and the summer flowers strewn among them, and more flowers graced each table, leaning from their pots to touch the scrubbed pine surfaces.

Margaret was pleased to see that Lachlan’s men seemed to appreciate the splendid hospitality her father was known for, and told herself that she would host evenings like this in her own home, full of music and laughter, meals more lavish than this hastily arranged one. She’d fill Lachlan’s hall with comforts and the finest of things. And someday, children. She threw him a glance. She was, as she’d told him, ready to learn every wifely duty. Handsome man, she thought, watching him laugh at Rignor’s jest. Not everyone liked Lachlan—certainly Rignor often made disparaging remarks—but tonight she was pleased to see her brother and betrothed laughing together.

“Ye look so pleased, child,” Mother said.

“I’m thinking of the future,” Margaret. “And enjoying this night.”

Mother nodded absently, her attention already on to something else. Margaret did not mind. She watched the sennachie gathering the children for a tale of the old days. The priest had blessed the meal and said a prayer in which all joined, but more than one made the blessing gestures of the old gods, the spirits and deities of sea and shore, of trees and burns and the creatures who lived there. Christianity might have been the recognized religion here for centuries, but the old ways were still practiced in every glen. Above the hearth the crossed antlers of red deer shone white against the stone, a reminder of the land they shared with God’s creatures. And of the ancient days, when a king might rule for only a season, then be sacrificed for the good of his people. When shapeshifters roamed the earth and trolls and fairies lived among men instead of underground. When seeing too much or venturing into the wrong place could result in a spell or a curse that would haunt generations.

It was those stories that the sennachie told now, her younger brothers among the children gathered before him. Tonight it was the tale of valiant Somerled, from whom they were all descended. The mighty warrior, known for his valor, love of peace, and for founding an empire in Scotland and its islands. Margaret stepped nearer, listening, although she knew the words well enough to tell the tale herself. Somerled, Lord of the Isles, who married the daughter of a king, who fathered Angus, whose descendants ruled nearby Moidart, whence her father’s family had come. And fathered Dugall, from whom sprang the MacDougalls. And Ranald, who himself fathered Donald, whose deeds were so dark that he’d had to go on pilgrimage to Rome. The bard went on to explain her family’s patrimony for ten generations, a history that the boys were meant to learn and pass on to their own children. As she would someday pass it on to hers.

The music changed now, the harpist retiring, replaced with the Scottish drums and whistles, and the lute from the Continent. Which meant the dancing would soon begin. She would dance, she was sure, but for now she sat with her parents and Nell and Rignor, listening to Lachlan’s news of the world.

“There’s trouble in Ireland,” Lachlan said. “Problems on the Antrim coast. I dinna pay much attention to it, but I’ll discover what it is when I go back.”

“There’s been trouble there for a while,” her father said. “They canna decide who to follow, the old Celtic families, or the Norman lords with the lands and titles.”