Authors: Mageela Troche
He glanced away. “We will see.”
His tone said that dream was an impossibility.
“Portia, should I send word to your father about our marriage? He may rest easier knowing you have protection.”
“He would but I do not know where to send it.”
“I can send a messenger and inform your mother. She would rest easier and she could send word to your father when the chance presents itself.”
“Would you truly do that?” Her mother would weep tears of joy. Her father could stop feeling guilty for his daft notions he hadn’t protected her. Somehow, her father swore he failed her. He hadn’t.
Maybe here on Cameron lands was the place to be. A missive to England would endanger this place. If the baron intercepted the messenger, she couldn’t even start to think about the evils that would come. The baron could learn her location.
“For you, aye. Portia, there is something I must tell you.”
She looked up at him. Gone was the ease that softened his face. He pressed his lips together and rubbed the back of his neck as he struggled to find the words and speak them. So she waited for him to find it even as a dark heaviness settled on her chest.
“I shall always care for you. I will be kind to you and never cruel.”
“As you have always been.”
“I failed you that day at the shore. I should have protected you.”
“You have not failed me. You could not know what was planned.”
He grasped her hand and continued strolling along the path. She snuck peeks at him. Thoughts darkened his face. His brow remained pinched. What had he left unspoken?
Chapter Eleven
The man had duties so did she, but she refused to remind him. She felt a closeness to him that even laying with him failed to match. The day was beginning to burn away and she had not separated from her husband. Alec strolled alongside Portia. He greeted every member by their name and inquired about each one, whether it was how the crops were, the state of their children, or about an ailment afflicting them. Under his tentative regard, they beamed and walked away happier with their day. Their laird cared for them. Alec didn't see how skillfully he ruled. Stephen never questioned the villagers who toiled the land or helped the castle run.
A herd of Highland cattle munched on the bramble except for one. The animal stood on a rock and brayed. Hurley spoke with a herder and ended his conversation as clan members parted for Alec and Portia. A baby cow nuzzled against Portia. She patted his hairy head.
Alec held out his hand to her. She accepted it as he led her over the rocky cut earth. The calf was still at her side. The baby rubbed his head against her skirt.
Alec kept hold of her when Hurley turned to him. “Where's Quinlan?”
“Back at his cottar,” Hurley answered before greeting Portia. “Have an admirer?”
“A very cute one.”
“Don’t get too close to the beast,” Hurley said.
A sea of faces stared back, rapt attention on their faces and the calf. This time, not one face sneered or ignored her. She counted Brus among the clan’s elderly and young couples, some bearing children and others wearing the flush of the newly wedded.
“Our search for justice is not over. We will avenge over lost members.” A roar went up through the gathering.
The calf rubbed his head against her leg, again. “Their blood and nothing else!”
Portia failed to find the man who spoke, but it set off another round of cheers. She didn't know if she should cheer so she went with a smile.
“The cattle behind me shall be divided among those most in need. We are gentlemen.”
Another cheer broke from the crowd. Hurley began calling names. A young couple came forward.
“Seonaid and Cian are newlyweds much like us.” He sent a glance to the animal.
“I wish you much happiness,” Portia said.
“Thank you. We have finished setting up our house.” The young lass beamed at her husband.
“Unfortunately, their cow was eaten by wolves.” Now, everyone looked to the calf. Snickers started from the rear.
More pleasantries were exchanged and ended with best wishes. Portia listened to other members' stories—The widow with four children whose husband had died from fever along with two of her children—then orphan siblings and the members who had taken them in.
As the gathering cleared, Portia spotted Brus surrounded by ladies. The women were throwing themselves at him, either tossing their hair or giving a coy look. Some were bold enough to touch his arm or admire his brooch for a sneaky feel of his chest.
“I must see to my other duties, husband.”
“Nay, you shall return home.”
“Do you?” She tilted her head.
His brows pulled down over his eyes. “Nay, Portia.”
“Then I cannot either. I must find a wife for Brus before infighting breaks out among the women.” She curtsied to annoy the man, pleased she won their bout, but for the calf that followed alongside her. Bidding a quick farewell to Hurley and the herder, she hurried to Brus.
Alec refused for her to win and matched her step for step. To gloat, the man actually shortened the length of his stride and hummed. The calf trotted alongside of her, letting out a bray. The drover rushed over and grabbed the animal. The calf twisted and tried to bite him then freed itself from his hold and raced to Portia.
“It appears another male wished for my attention.”
“I am not concerned. I shall win your love.”
Did he truly yearn for her love? She had made a promise to Laird MacLean, perhaps it had become something more than a duty.
A cow let out a distressing call. The calf halted looked at Portia then behind him toward its mother. He ran back to his mother.
“I suppose he has deserted me for his mother.”
The women faced their laird. “Brus, you are to return the lairdess to her home after you finish your task.”
“Aye, Laird. I vow to return her.” He covered his heart with his hand.
“The day is almost spent. You must hurry.”
“You must hurry as well. As laird, you have much to do.”
“Then it shall wait. I will accompany you.” He put his arms behind his back and made a move to walk with her.
“Husband, I shall be among the clan, safe among my fellow Camerons.”
He placed a peck on her cheek then whispered, “This is your last win.”
The ladies leaned in to catch Alec’s words. She patted him on the chest and let him think his words were the final comment on his statement. After bidding Alec a farewell, she joined the conversation.
“You must listen to the laird—Aye,” another added.
“Do all wives obey their husbands?”
Each woman shook their heads. “But we aren't the lairdess.”
The ladies departed after that piece of advice, which she wished to ignore. When she turned to Brus, one woman remained.
“This is my wife’s sister, Rosin.”
She was a short woman, gray interspersed among her dark brown hair. Her face was nicely formed with a straight nose and a wide mouth. Portia knew instantly she was a proud woman of strong will. Age spots sparsely dotted her face but never diminished her beauty.
“I shall return home and finish the meal.” She stomped off, swinging her arms at her side.
Portia wondered the reason for her displeasure since she appeared to be a woman that smiled since her face was deeply lined alongside her mouth and her eyes. “She seems displeased.”
“Oh Rosin, nay, she ha da brightest soul. She hates when the lasses flirt with me. She thinks I shad live as a monk and mourn my wife.”
Portia disagreed, although she kept that knowledge locked away. A few women may believe such things but most scoffed at that silliness.
“Have ye ever done this?” Brus pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “Found a wife for someone?”
“Nay,” she confessed. “However, husbands have been found for my sister and myself so I have some knowledge.”
“Oh, Lord.” He buried his wrinkled brow in his palm. The sound of skin slapping skin had Portia losing a sliver of confidence.
“What are you looking for in a wife?”
Brus twisted his mouth not in a grimace but as if he was unsure of the answer. “The same thing I found in my Cece.” She recognized the fall of his head and shoulders. She, too, had been wrapped up in her grief.
Stephen and Alec shared few similarities, brave, honorable warriors and leaders of men. Yet there was a difference between the men. Alec seemed more concerned with the people around him. Not that Stephen hadn’t cared, but as a baron, his duty was to the king and land. That life had ended. Could she learn from Brus and accept this new life?
“Forgive me, Brus, but once lost, love is gone forever and cannot be replaced.”
“Ye are wrong, Lairdess.” He hooked his thumb on his trews. “Ye are young and haven't learned this yet.”
“I have wedded and buried my love.”
His mouth twisted with skepticism. “Tell me about this love.”
She softened her tone as she said, “We are here to find you a wife, not speak of my past.”
“Sounds as if the past frightens ye.” He waggled a finger at her.
“Nay.” Her denial ripped from her throat.
“Bull's balls. Pardon me but ye need to speak, then I'll tell ye what ye don't know.”
His face transformed from a warrior cast to a tender one, more fittingly a puppy than a man.
Her heart twisted yet the ache lacked the sharpness that usually stabbed her. “I…he…um—”
“Start with the basic.”
“His name was Stephen. I remember when I first saw him at the betrothal ceremony. My stomach was churning and I swore I might embarrass myself. I had sworn my father had a moment of craziness and I would be lashed to this harsh man. But I did my duty and I was happy that I did.
“He scared me the first time I saw him. He had a scar from his hairline down his face. It cut through his lip.” Her words dropped off as she pictured him, standing half in candlelight and shadow.
“Continue, lass.”
“The ceremony took place and I stood beside him. Then he leaned toward me and said, ‘This is the dull part but I promise to make it up to you.’ I was aghast but he did. We had the most elaborate cake and he stayed at my side, truly interested in what I had to say. My mother complained that our guests were insulted.”
“Lavishing attention never hurts. Ye still haven’t told me aboot the man.”
“Nay, he was genuine like Alec. He was a proper noble man and knight of the realm. He was tender and kind to me, not once hurting me except when he died.”
“He must have cared. I loved listening to my Cece. I relied on her wisdom. Sounds ta me, ye have to learn to love again.”
Alec hadn't asked her for her wisdom. He dictated. From the guards, to the orders—nay, he ruled over her. Brus might be correct, she had to relearn that.
“There is Columba. She's a kind wiman.” Columba headed up the tract, bearing water pails and humming. The clan greeted her with a friendly tone. She was younger than Brus and still seemed like a striking woman.
“Good day, Brus.” She put down the water pails then patted her head to straighten her hair, forgetting she donned a covering. “Lairdess,” she added as an afterthought.
Brus presented her to Portia. “She makes the best kip stew.”
She beamed up at him. “You have perfect timing. It's on the fire now.”
He winked at her. “I know. I smelled its delicious aroma through the clattan. It's been calling me.”
“Would you like a tasting?”
“Aye.” Brus grabbed the pails and motioned with a flick of his chin for them to enter.
Portia had a moment to appease her curiosity before Columba ushered her to a seat. The scent of fish, berries and peat hung in the dim space. Simple furnishing added a gentle touch, along with the wildflowers in the chipped pitcher.
Columba served two bowls. Brus rubbed his hands together before accepting the bowl. Columba watched as both took their first tasting.
“Och! Columba, I'm in heaven.”
“This is delicious.” The compliment hung in the air when four boys stormed in with the grace of a rampaging bull. In rhythm, they stomped their feet, sending a plume of dirt into the air. One wiped his nose on his sleeve. Another one dipped his hands in a water pail, tossed water over his head and spit in the water. The others followed his lead, flicking water on Portia.
“Boys.” A warning tone thickened her voice.
As if sharing one brain, they turned to their mother. “The lairdess has come to visit.”
Being the gentlemen Camerons proclaim, they performed a proper greeting. Columba served the boys. The rest of the meal was spent in silence, with the boys watching Portia.
Just as Portia swallowed her last bite, Brus announced she must return to the castle. When the door closed behind them, Brus shook his head. “Her boys are the worst. Na, she winna be my wife though I like her. Her husband was a bestie.”
Brus dodged her steps. He aimed his gaze on her, daring her to send him on his way, which he would disregard. He even followed her inside. The sound of a male voice reached her. She froze in full view of Alec.
“Come here, wife.”
She flicked her gaze upward. She did as the man ordered. Again. The messenger bowed as she passed him. As manners dictated, Alec got to his feet and watched her come forward. She shot him a forced smile he ignored. Once she took her seat, he settled and waved his permission to speak.
After a litany of greetings, the messenger pronounced, “The feuding between Clans Chattan, MacKintosh and Cameron are hereby ordered by King Alexander to cease. Punishment for the attack shall be handled by royal command. As per decree, Cameron forces should be aimed at protecting Scotland, King Alexander III and his reign against the Norse and English.”
“English,” Portia blurted. The history between these two nations have rarely been a peaceful one. For Portia, the English meant one man—Baron de Mowbray.
Alec grasped her hand, sending her a command to remain calm. “Is my loyalty in doubt?”
The messenger stammered and shot pleading glances at her.
“Then they must have sent it in error.”