Authors: Mageela Troche
She fiddled with the side of her nightgown.
The answer she needed to hear was the one he couldn’t speak. Her sinew spiraled tighter and tighter until all of her was bound up and a solution never appeared. Alec wasn’t blind. He knew what his problem was but solving it was the one thing that eluded him.
Aye, he couldn’t be in the same space without a surge of desire. Hell, even now, his eyes shot to her full breasts. Men spoke of women feeling like silk but even that failed to capture how wonderful she felt. The feminine heat of her body…the feel of her flesh conforming to the pressure of his touch. His mark on her skin claiming her as his.
A cry went up. He almost thought it came from him. Running footsteps blared from the corridor along with shouts. Alec whipped a plaid from the bed and flung it about Portia’s shoulders. He threw open the door.
“Raid,” Quinlan yelled.
Alec rushed out behind him. Portia’s panicked calling halted him.
“Be careful.”
Chapter Nine
Portia loved the scent of the air, the blend of peat, leaves and a hint of freedom. She let the fragrance stretch her lungs. Nothing had smelled sweeter. Warm winds breezed over her and burrowed into the weave of her plaid. She thought about raising her face skyward to soak in the sunlight but decided that was dramatic. Even though, Alec had yet to return, she beamed, finally strolling the scenery she had memorized from the chamber’s window. This morn began her life as the lairdess and her first duty was finding Brus a wife. Leah played her guide, sharing details about the land and people and Portia forgot most of what she shared. Portia vowed to learn all.
“There is your husband,” Portia said.
Hurley stood in the middle of the tract, speaking with a boy who appeared old enough for his independence yet hadn’t grown a full beard. Portia spotted the longing glances and the hop added to Leah’s step. Portia changed direction toward him.
At his side, Hurley kissed Leah, a quick peck given without embarrassment and no one seemed shocked by the display.
Walking away, Portia asked, “Newlyweds?”
“Nay, we have been wed for two twelvemonths. Our relationship seems odd to a few however, when I accepted him he made me promise to always show my love for him before all and anyone.”
“Aye, I have seen him pin you in a corner and kiss you.” Stephen displayed his love in private. As nobles, they must lead and set an example. Besides, such displays were for peasants. She would have loved for all to see what they had shared. Alec held no such tenderness for her. She wagered she would never receive a kiss from him before the clan.
Leah let out a playful giggle. “In the beginning of our marriage, I never finished any of my chores.”
“Was it difficult when you first arrived?” Her arrival at Fenwick had been joyous. Here, she arrived a captive and represented a threat to the clan. As lairdess, she worried over her reception.
“I missed my family but I had a new one. I was from the Marches and when I arrived, the clan wasn’t very welcoming, all but Cairine. But I proved myself to the clan and soon I found a new family here.”
“What do you mean
was
from the Marches?” Portia laid a hand on Leah, halting her.
“I am a Cameron and that life no longer exists. I had to leave those years behind in the lowlands if I wanted to be happy here. You should do the same if you wish to be happy.”
Laird MacLean mentioned that Ailsa was no longer a Cameron but a MacLean. In England, blood ties increased the worthiness of a marriage. So here in the highlands, did Portia hold more worth than her dowry ever could? “I’m no longer English?”
“Nay, you are a Cameron. Ah, I had hoped to arrive before the carrion. That’s what Hurley calls them,” she explained after seeing Portia’s questioning look. “The ladies gather every day at Brus’ cottar, each trying to outdo the other. Hurley finds it laughable but he doesn’t understand the danger it is.”
Women departed the well-maintained home while others took their place. As one woman left the home, another knocked into her and threw her off-balance so she nearly stomped the scant blooming flowers planted outside. “Ach, watch the planting,” another woman said. Whoever oversaw the chore lacked the talent Brus’ wife claimed. Patches where flowers had once grown now stood empty and the poor flowers seemed wilted even though they had bloomed.
The crowd parted as Portia and Leah approached the home. The women’s voices died down. Seated in the chair in the center of the room, Brus held court. Breads, stews, meats, a medley of vegetables, and fishes laden the table and Portia had never seen such a clean home though she heard the animals behind a partition. Even the faded curtains held nary a mark of dirt.
Around her, the ladies fawned over him. Some served him while another poured his drink. Others folded laundry and some washed dishes. Leah mentioned each by name. Columba, Rosin, Mavis, Una, Lili, Peigi, Orna, Ciarda and on it went until their faces blended in to a blur and their names became just as mixed up.
Portia sat, letting the whirlwind happen around her. She should have been happy Brus was a popular man and not lacking a woman who wished to be his wife. She could make the wrong choice. Instead, there were too many choices and chances for an inner turmoil to erupt in discord. Having completed every chore, the women departed, needing to see to their own homes.
“They cam ance a day. My daughters dinna have to come verra often. A good thing since they dinna like all the ladies chasing me like a highland cat seeking food.”
“I understand. It’s hard to see a parent replaced. From the stories I heard from my father, my sister had a difficult time accepting my father—my very English father.”
“Your sister isna a Sassenach?” His bushy brows lifted.
“Nay, she’s Scottish. Lairdess MacKintosh, actually.” Portia braced for his harsh words.
Brus tugged at his droopy earlobe. “I’d keep that to myself.”
She loosened her grip, slipping her nails free from her palms. “As I’ve discovered. Hatred runs thick in these lands. I am married to a Cameron, which makes me one so I must cut ties with England. My sister is my enemy and…”
Once again, she depended upon a man and his kindness.
She sighed and gave a melancholy shake of her head.
“Nay, wrongs need ta be righted.”
She mulled over his words. Was that what she needed to do herself? “I believe you are right however, one doesn’t always get to do that.”
“That’s why your family dae it for you.”
Her gut twisted as she saw no chance for it. “I do have one question. What if it is your family who is guilty of the wrong?”
“Then
mak
it your life quest ta right it and pray for help.”
Help…like Alec.
Was this her chance at righting a wrong?
* * * *
She strolled up the tract, kicking a rock. Today was laundry day and the washing women’s songs floated on the air. Here in Scotland, she learned there was a song for every chore. The drover sang, the herders sang even the soldier’s sang while they built up their strength. When she returned from Brus’ she asked the first servant she spotted about Alec and his possible return. The morn was half spent and her husband had yet to return. The last time she waited for her husband to return, he returned lifeless and bloody. Refusing to relive those fears, she decided she had to waste the day away by keeping busy. So, she decided the focus on her second duty as lairdess and wife.
“Lairdess.”
Portia peeked up from the chest. Cairine stood in the archway of the castle’s stores. Her gaze danced about the space.
“Please call me Portia. I look for my sister when called lairdess.”
“Very well, Portia. I’m here to assist you.” Cairine had one leg in and the other out, seeming ready to flee.
“I would love your help. To be truthful, you look like you are about to run.”
Cairine swallowed and took a small step into the dank bowels of the castle. “Tis true, I hate being here. This place is haunted. Before I was born, soldiers were locked in here. One by one, they died a gruesome death, starving to death after being tortured. One man had his eyes eaten by a rat while he still lived. Well, as he died he put a curse on this place and swore he would not rest until the last Cameron was wiped from the earth’s face. Soon after his death, spooky things began to happen, servants and guards coming down here and being attacked. One maid had her face scratched. And a guard was knocked out. Then there are the voices and moans of pain.”
She glanced about the dim room. “I’ve been here for a time and nothing has happened.”
“Perhaps because you’re English,” Cairine said as if her words made perfect sense.
“But I’m Lairdess. He should know that.”
Cairine shrugged. “Who knows why the spirit does what he does?”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t want to be a bother because I can use your assistance. I’m redoing the laird’s chamber and I am seeking items I need.”
“Need for?”
“To help Alec be the laird he is.” Portia sat back on her legs. “Can you tell me more about Alec?”
Cairine joined Portia before the chest. “Such as…our past relationship.”
“Aye.” Portia withstood Cairine’s steady gaze, waiting for her denial or agreement.
“There isn’t much to share. We were children and he was the laird’s son. He would have to wed a lady to benefit the clan’s standing.”
“Is that why you wed Quinlan?”
“Not because of Alec—the laird,” she corrected herself, reminding herself of the difference in their standing or to appease Portia. Not that she was offended. “The laird wasn’t able to love at that time.”
“What do you mean?”
“You see how his father haunts him. You have heard the tales of his father’s love or as I believe an obsession. Love doesn’t turn to hate. Sure when it ceases it can pain a person but he won’t become like his father. Becoming his father is his greatest fear.”
A burning spread from her stomach to her neck. Cairine knew a part of her husband that she would never know. Portia chided herself for the twinge of jealously. Cairine had been kind to her and wished the best for her.
“Why does he believe that?”
“Alec may have the coloring of his mother but there is much he shared with his father.”
Her heart raced into her throat and made her croak her next words, “Such as?”
“He cares deeply. He is a man of action. Once a choice is made he never second guesses himself. The most is that he sees a weakness in him that he glimpsed in his father.”
“Weakness?” That one word blared in her ears like a trumpet call.
“When his father betrayed the agreement with MacLean, Alec lacked the strength to kill his father. He saw it as a weakness but he wasn’t. He controlled the man and corrected his wrongs. Most highlanders saw it as a weakness against him, not that it mattered since they speak of him in such Godless terms anyway.”
“So, he wishes he did take his father’s life?”
“At times, but I think he set his hopes on a life that Connor’s death denied him and he hasn’t let it die. Your task may be the kick the man needs. How can I help?”
“I’ve planned to transfer his personal items to his new chamber. I still need to gather a few more items for a personal touch.”
“We should visit Baird. He has carvings the laird likes. We can see about more plaids and the trader ought to be arriving soon.”
“That sounds wonderful and I can escape this dust. Besides, I believe a rat has been sitting there…” Portia tilted her head to the black corner where red eyes glowed in the dark and squeaked and scratched its nails against the stone. “…watching me. He still hasn’t decided to attack me or not.”
The rat scurried forward. Portia flew to her feet and pushed Cairine out of the bowels as they fled the darkened cavern with a drawn-out scream. Portia slammed the door shut behind her and knocked in to Cairine. Their screams bounced off the walls. Portia covered her ears, still screaming. She wagered the whole castle rumbled from her screeching.
“Lairdess, what is wrong?” Hurley held the pummel of his dirk. Leah stood at his side, one hand clutched his arm and the other she clenched in to a fist.
“A rat decided to attack us.” Cairine rested her hand over her heart. If it matched the speed of Portia’s own, the hand would be no help to calm it.
“Rats reside down here.”
“That may be true, Hurley however, I do not need to be in the same room as the vermin nor be threatened by one, a particularly fierce one.” Portia nodded in emphasis.
“I will have the castle cats sent down. They shall never threaten you again.” Hurley chuckled under his breath.
Portia led the way from the depths of the castle. Once outside the castle walls, Portia turned her face toward the sun. She dusted off her plaid and, together with Cairine, set out to the village. Leah joined them before reaching the tract.
The midday sun slid from its apex. The farmers were departing from the fields and returning home. Their talk centered on the harvest. Their conversation dropped like a horse off a cliff. The clattan quieted when she reached the homes. Portia noticed the sneers on their faces and their hurried voices chasing behind her.
Leah and Cairine shared a worried glance.
“The berries are starting to fruit, perhaps we can gather some in the morn.”
“We must go.” Cairine turned her too bright eyes on Portia. “Lairdess, please join us. Berry picking is a great fun.”
“I remember when I was little and would stuff my mouth with handfuls, never stopping until the juices dripped from my mouth and down the front of my gown.” Her voice remained even though her throat was shutting. Her eyes burned. She wasn’t a Cameron. She refused bow her head or hunch over to hide. She continued onward even as her legs shook. She had caught the servants talk up in the castle and knew the clan disliked her. Just another problem to solve and this day was the beginning.
A drover and his cattle packed the tract. The animals raised their heads and let loose their calls. The bedraggled man planted his staff into the earth. His narrow gaze followed her. It was his snicker that slammed into her lungs.