Wedgewick Woman (3 page)
Chapter
5
After his morning bath, Laird Carmichael called the staff together in the library. He settled into James’ chair, opened the account books and gathered papers scattered across the desk.
Looking up he heard the scuffle of feet, the whispers in the hallway.
Mrs. Calvert appeared in the doorway. “We’re assembled, Laird Carmichael.”
“Enter.” He called and waited while the group of twenty-seven servants eased themselves just inside the door.
He stood. “I regret to inform you that we have one person who has lost their position.”
A collective shock ran through the group, each looking to the other.
“Let me explain. Blithers will you bring James from the pantry.”
The Laird lifted his hands to quiet the whispers. James’ bedraggled appearance at the door caused a hush.
He watched as, one by one, the people covered their mouths in disbelief when he revealed the man’s deeds, for James was a respected member of the Laird’s clan.
“It has been said that a scoundrel as yet unknown has been collecting dues, as it were. Who among you has paid?”
He waited, arms crossed over his massive chest, while each looked to another. Slowly, most raised their hands. “And in what amounts, may I inquire?”
Suddenly there were figures flying at him from every direction, mostly whispered.
“Why do you whisper? We have the culprit…do not fear telling your Laird when you have been thieved right under your noses in this manor. What is it ye all fear that ye could not come to me?”
Mrs. Calvert spoke, “Aye, it was told throughout that Lady Carmichael had someone among us who, when she was absent from the manor, watched and reported to her. And if we did not pay, she would see to it, through this person, that we all lost our positions. Aye, that’s why we said nothing to ye, Lord Carmichael.” She dropped her head. “We thought to catch the culprit ourselves.” She admitted.
“I see.” He sat, steepled his large fingers, elbows atop the desk and thought quietly for a moment. “Well, see to it that ye never mistrust your Laird again.”
“Ah, James. Come meet your accusers.” He waited while James gave wide space and walked meekly to the front of the crowded room.
A sense of stunned dismay passed through the people.
“Here stands your man. What say all of you that we do with him?”
When a few moments passed, with only whispers, “Well speak up.” Lord Carmichael stood. “What say you?” He asked again more forcefully.
A small voice came from the back. “I say we should let Mr. Sinclair continue to work and pay us back.”
Others began to speak now. “Let him work off his debt in the fields.”…”Pay us back double what he stole.”…“I say we send him to the gallows.” The latter raised the Laird’s eyebrows.
Quickly, he lifted his large hands and quieted the group. “We’re a peaceable people in this clan. It does no good to hold grudges for centuries, let alone generation upon generation. Ye have all experienced the hatred that has passed from father to son and seen the results of it for far too many years. We are proud Scots and well you know it. But as long as I am Laird of this clan, we will seek peace among our brothers.”
The people quieted and began to nod amongst themselves.
“Would the one who suggested we allow Mr. Sinclair to work and pay back the dues, please step forward.”
A small young girl, hardly out of her braids, face red as an apple, made her way forward but did not come away from the crowd.
“And where might you hail from?” Lord Carmichael softened his hearty voice and waited patiently for the girl-child to speak.
“From the McDougals.” She said while two or three hissed loudly, until the Laird’s sharp green-eyed gaze quieted them.
“Speak your mind, lass.”
“I have seen my mother and father fight until their deaths because they hated the Muldoons. I wish to end my sorrow and that of others, that is why I came to be with you Lord Carmichael…because of your kindness.” She ended on a whisper.
Humbled by the soft words of the waif, Lord Carmichael declared. “It shall be as you say.”
The wee one’s face turned even redder, if that were possible; but he would not let her step back. “Wait…what say you about the man? Shall he work and every pence be given back or should he work and keep some for himself?” She looked around, thinking the Laird was speaking to someone older than she.
“It is you I address.” He nodded.
“Sir, if you would allow the man to work and pay some back each time he is paid, then it would not harm him and he would be the better man for it…if his soul is good.” She added.
“Then let it be done as you have declared. And you are called?”
“Clare McDougal, my lord.”
He nodded, pressing her name to memory. “James you may enter your plea among those from whom you’ve stolen.”
James Sinclair walked, head down, toward the huge desk and turned slowly to face his accusers.
“I have been swooped into the arms of sin through a most devious woman…but it was I who agreed, out of my own weakness.” He admitted. “I am guilty.”
Lord Carmichael felt a certain pity for the man, for he, too, had been yanked into service by that same cunning, calculating woman.
“Sinclair, if you’ve got the forgiveness of God, you’ve got ours. Our people have agreed to let you work on, paying them back all that you took of them, if you will.”
An audible sigh escaped the accuser’s lips. The other secret he held reproached his heart… moreso than the benevolence he had just received of the people he’d wronged so well. “I shall be forever grateful to have the opportunity to make right what harm I have done.” He said staring at his boots.
His shame was almost too great to bear, for these people and Laird Carmichael were of good stock. But, he rationalized reasonably, he had given his word to Lady Carmichael. His own signature had been required upon the promise he sorely made one year ago. Surely the Laird would understand that a promise given was a promise kept, James reasoned. Hoped.
Chapter
6
The household reverted back to its routine shortly after the incident. The entire staff had now come to acceptable terms with a certain Mr. James Sinclair, who, to his credit, worked tirelessly to repay all that he’d taken.
Even Mrs. Calvert was pleased, for James now took his meals with the staff in the kitchen and didn’t seem a bad sort of fellow. Lord Carmichael noticed a new apron or hat upon the kitchen help’s head now and again, a sign that they were no longer fearful for their positions and had a few extra pence to spend for frivolities.
With all the new building soon to begin on the lands he received as dowry from his most unfortunate marriage, there was plenty yet to be done.
“Sir shall I send word to bring your mount? The people of Bothwell have awaited your visit for many months.”
“Aye.” Blithers was off to find Ross, the Laird’s Chief Commander.
“Blithers,” the Laird’s voice echoed off the stone walls of the castle. “We’ve forgotten the assembly of the builders. They await us now in the North wing.”
“Indeed we have…I have forgotten…your lordship.” He turned red-faced.
Lord Carmichael instantly regretted his words, for it was he who had forgotten, not Blithers. He raised his hand and shouted , “It is I who did not remember. Send Sean McBenson in my stead. He’s well to be trusted and a builder better than I. Make certain he reports back to me and send my apologies for having called on him so late.”
“I shall see to it.” Blithers hurried away.
“Aye, but I’m dastardly tardy for my other meeting with the people of Bothwell and I abhor tardiness.” The Laird hurried to the kitchen to call the other servants into service. “Begin the packing of the cart. Fresh cheese this time, if you please.” He thundered, effectively correcting a foolish lass’ error in sending moldy cheese last time. The kitchen staff hurried to the business of seeing to their Laird’s provisions for the journey.
In moments he’d dashed through the hallways and into the courtyard where he mounted Knight, his black stallion. Followed by The Four, his trusted first guards and a small company, they rode through the stone gates and over the bridge toward Greenoche to the North.
Nearly two hours into the journey, Fergus, one of The Four, rode forward at breakneck speed and pulled his mount to a stop, “Lord, Duncan MacDougal is having conniptions.”
Lord Carmichael turned from his thoughts and leveled his gaze at the red-faced, enormously muscled man and nearly laughed. “Take him to the physician, then.”
“He’s…he’s swallowing his tongue, sir and the physician says he’ll die without help from the surgeon.” Fergus’ wide blue eyes stared out from his full red-bearded face, his thick head of blonde hair awry and his enormous size gave the Laird pause. The huge man whose main desire was to cross swords in a first-rate battle, looked rather ill himself; the Laird could not keep his lips from turning up slightly.
“Ye are smiling?” he nearly shouted, forgetting himself.
“Not at poor MacDougal’s concerns, but at your face, Fergus.”
A proud and angry look replaced the fear in Fergus’ face, for he did not wish to be known as he truly was and that was squeamish at the sight of any man’s pain, even though he was an excellent warrior.
“See that MacDougal is taken back to the castle.” Lord Carmichael said sternly and galloped to the lead.
“He laughs at my weakness.” Fergus said under breath and knew his face burned red as fire.
When the sun began to set over the mountains, Lord Carmichael called for camp. “We’re near the Campbells’ road and we dare not pass at this late hour, for I’m certain we will be put upon by the wild men.” He announced. “We’ll water the horses at the river and travel past the Campbell lands by daylight.”
“We are in our own right to pass anytime be it black of night or bright of day,” Fergus muttered.
“And well I know it.” Laird Carmichael told him eye to eye. “ I do not wish to incite any sort of bad blood between the Campbells, who you well know are all too anxious for a good skirmish.”
“Well, I know.” Fergus returned, thinking of a battle or two he’d fought in his younger days. “They’d as soon chew your fingers off as set eyes upon other clansmen.”
“Aye, my thoughts entirely, Fergus. We’ll set the tents down under that stand of cottonwoods below the hill, out of their watchful eyes and enjoy the evening.”
Several tents went up, the Laird’s first. Food was set over the fires, for they had not stopped to eat since morn, the Laird hoping to make the journey in one pass. Preferring to spend his time beneath the setting sun, Lord Carmichael left his men to do their duties, dismissed his guards and bathed alone in the blue waters of a small loch. His men stood watch near the bushes. Settling himself upon the new grass below a white birch, he stared across the fields of clover, wild daisies and buttercups in a muse at his life…and what it had become.
Settling his dark brown head against the tree, his eyes closed against the sun and he dozed.
His dream…or nightmare, as it was, was of his wife Helen. And glad he was to awaken…the sun having nearly set. Shaking his mind free of the memories of the screaming woman, he stood, unclamped his tightened jaw, stretched his taut muscles and made his way back to camp.
“Ross, are we prepared for darkness?” he asked his eldest and closest guard.
“We are indeed. Guards are at their watch, the fires put out. Your repast is waiting.” He waved a hand and cook brought a plate and set it upon a flat rock. Lord Carmichael seated himself upon a smaller rock and ate, and as was his custom took his plate and utensils back to the cook, knowing full well it was the servant’s job; but chose instead to keep the words his mother had taught him
. Not to think of oneself better than another, even though they serve you.
Seating himself next to the burned out fire, the orange embers giving little light, he called The Four together, Ross, Fergus, Ewan and Cameron to draft their methods for next day.
“Ross, do you know the Bothwell people well? I fear my father rarely spoke of them to me.”
“Aye, they are a peaceful, small clan, descended from the Glencoe Massacre.”
Lord Carmichael kept his peace for a time then spoke. “Unfortunate mess, that one. Do the people still hold the grudge?”
“It seems that they do not forget but are not a people who like war and have chosen to stay away from the big clans.”
“Wise they are, I say.” Lord Carmichael gazed into the embers burning low.
“Indeed.” Ross agreed.
“They have been asking for a visit from their Laird for months now, but I have not taken the time to attend them.”
“We do not lay blame at your door.” Ewan said quietly. “You have been busy preventing the Carmichaels and Muldoons from murdering each other, not to cite the not-so-wee task of keeping the Campbell’s from taking the last of the Mulhannon lands, which now belong to your dead wife’s sister.”
“Twice someone has brought that up to me.” He stood to his feet, his anger burning.
“Tis only that the small piece of Mulhannon land would put us in good stead. It would separate our lands from the Campbells. And…we would be the largest clan in the south and west of Scotland.” Ewan said, a proud look upon his face.
Pacing back and forth, his large hands clasped behind his back, Lord Carmichael conceded, “You are right to say so. ‘Tis the truth and you say it well.”
Ewan smiled quietly, his spare frame making no motion as he sat easily, waiting.
“He is correct in his words.” Ross agreed.
Fergus grunted, seeing no need to say more.
Cameron shook his head in agreement, but uttered not a word, as was his way.
“I will have it known I will not marry another Wedgewick woman. You must know that I have had enough of them….even to gain the last of the Mulhannon land.” His pacing stopped abruptly and turned to his men.
He heard four “Ayes.”
Changing the topic, for he had no allusions about marrying anyone, having so recently become a free man, he sat down and said, “’Tis our object to reach the Bothwells tomorrow before midday. I say we sleep, rise before the sun and be gone before the Campbells have stirred.”
The Four agreed and each stood. After their Laird had given his signal the men went to their posts for the night. Some slept in tents, some beneath the carts, and others beneath the stars…which Lord Carmichael himself chose.
“Sleeping out again?” Ross kept his vigil next to his leader as they gazed over the hills where the stars were beginning to appear.
Lord Carmichael nodded and handed his sword to Ross, while he spread his own rugs upon the new spring grass. The sound of lapping water lulled his eyelids downward but his senses remained true.
His training had taught him well and this eve he was well aware the Campbell borders lay only a few paces to the east. Outside the perimeter of their lands, he felt most assuredly they would have no trouble; but it was his thought that one was never to be so vulnerable as to lose one’s own life over a minor stupidity.
It was while he was still thinking about his father’s training that his ears caught wind of a slight sound. Immediately he and Ross crouched into position, peering into the darkness, lit faintly by a high moon, not yet full.
“Tis only a rabbit.” Ross declared after a few moments. “Rest. I will watch.”
Clapping Ross on the shoulders, he lay again and slept.
