Chapter Eighteen
“Weel? Are ye now a laird or nay?”
Brett sat down at his brother Payton’s table, smiled at the man’s wife, and helped himself to some food. “Aye, I am now the laird of Gormfeurach.”
“Congratulations,” said Payton. “That went more easily than ye thought it would, aye?”
“If ye consider easily a few bribes to be allowed in to see people; stepping up the highest ladder I have e’er climbed as I went from laird to laird to laird, starting with Mollison, until I reached the one who had the power of a final aye or nay; and e’en fighting to nay take the name of Grant just to sit in the laird’s chair of a place few of the Grants e’en realized existed. It cost me most of what coin I had, too, but I am happy the few Grants that briefly thought they might want to fight for the place preferred money o’er land. I e’en enlisted the aid of all my friends and kinsmen, and kinswomen, to speak for me when it was needed.” He sighed as he took a chunk of bread and dipped it into a small dish of herbed butter. “I am nay sure I have a favor left to ask of anyone I ken.”
“Then ye shall need to gather up a new crop.”
“Or the lass ye are trying so hard to win can do so,” said Kirstie and she reached for the last piece of bread, only to get into a silent tug-of-war with Payton over it.
Brett watched his older brother and his wife playfully fight over the last piece of bread. They had been married for almost fourteen years, had seven of their own children with another on the way, and always had a small horde of orphans or cast-off children around. Chaos often surrounded them and many thought them odd in the way they cared for the lost or forgotten children, but he knew without a shadow of doubt that Payton was happy, would not have his life any other way. That was what Brett wanted.
“Triona may have a favor or two owed her e’en now, if only out of a need for some to apologize for nay heeding what she told them about Sir John Grant,” Brett said. “I believe Mollison’s guilt o’er how he did naught to help her, didnae listen to her, is why he welcomed me as a possible new laird and ally. The connection of his keep with those of both the McKees and the Grants appears to be important to the Mol-lisons, mostly for food. Cattle, sheep, crops.
“The three clans have long had a tradition of sharing when there is a lean year, and they work together on many another thing. Mollison’s lands are poor producers, Banuilt has good lands, and Gormfeurach has modest ones. Banuilt has some of the best weavers, who often spin and weave wool from Gormfeurach and Cromcraobh, Mollison’s lands. Gormfeurach has excellent tanners. Cromcraobh has excellent thatchers. And there is more. Much more.”
“So, they all need to continue to be allied if they are to prosper,” said Payton, cutting the last piece of bread in half and tossing one half to Kirstie, who neatly caught it. “For one to hurt another is to lessen all three. I can see both good and bad in that, but it has obviously worked for them for a verra long time.”
“Since the first three knights settled there and chose their pieces of land. It has suffered of late because the lairds of Banuilt and Gormfeurach wer-enae interested in much more than being lairds. Their predecessors were better but nay by much. Mollison ruefully admitted that he hadnae liked seeing a wee lass do a better job as laird than Sir John and Sir Boyd and their predecessors. He was ashamed and embarrassed by how he left her in danger simply because he believed the word of a mon—a friend though nay a particularly close one—over hers.”
“And ye took full advantage of that.”
“I did indeed. Then he sent me, papers in hand, to another laird. And so it began.”
“Are ye certain Sir John Grant’s kin will cause ye no trouble?”
“Nay interested in fighting for the place. As I said, few of them e’en kenned it existed, the bloodlines having grown so thin. Sir John left a will but left it all to his legitimate heir, as yet unnamed. No legitimate heir exists. Coin interested his kin more than a place they have ne’er seen. They also sought to please some of the ones who spoke in my favor, making it clear that they wanted me to have the land. So it all would have languished, for e’en Mollison couldnae simply hand it o’er to a friend or kinsmon without taking the same journey I just did, and he had no interest in doing so. Thus, disinterest in working to gain Gormfeurach is one reason I am now its laird.”
Payton raised his tankard in a salute and took a drink. “Ye should have married the wench first, and then ye could have had pleasant company as ye sought the right to call yourself a laird.”
“Nay, love, your brother acted correctly,” said Kirstie. “Triona needs him to seek her out, e’en though he has nay need of a dower from her. Mayhap if her first husband had been a good one, been kind and at least a wee bit caring, it wouldnae have mattered, but she has had two men who made their disinterest in her as a woman all too clear—the one she married and the one who demanded she marry him. Each needed something of hers and would have wed anyone who had it.” Kirstie smiled at Brett. “Ye will go to her needing nothing she has, and have also already shown how hard ye will work to help her hold on to Banuilt.”
“That is how I pray she will see it.” Brett grimaced. “I but hope she hasnae found another, for I have been gone far longer than I had planned to be.”
“How long?”
“Three months. And it will take me at least a sennight to return, mayhap longer, for I must go to Gormfeurach first. The people there need to be told who their new laird is.”
“Weel, eat. Fill your belly and be gone in the morning.”
“Kirstie,” Payton said, laughter tinting his voice and weakening what had been intended as a gentle scold.
“I mean it,” she said. “If the woman truly loves ye, Brett, three months is too short a time for her to rid her heart of that love and turn to another. Three months can, however, make her nay verra willing to see ye ride up to her gates, for she will have spent much of that time trying verra hard to get ye out of her heart.”
That was exactly what Brett feared. With each passing day away from her side, he had become more determined to return to her. Yet, because he had left her with no promise to return, no words of love, she would be spending each of her days away from him trying to tear him from her heart and mind. Brett had never thought it would take so long to lay claim to Gormfeurach, envisioning either a quick, clear no or a not-so-quick but still clear aye. Nothing had prepared him for the twisted route he had had to take to have his bid for the keep accepted. Otherwise he might have left Triona with at least enough of a promise to return that she would watch for him and wait for him, if only for just a little while.
“Ye are certain she loves you, aye?” asked Payton, watching Brett closely.
For a moment his heart clenched with uncertainty, but then Brett remembered how Triona would look at him as he shed his clothing, and the warm, rich blue of her eyes after he kissed her. She trusted him, had proven it time and time again, and he knew how important that was. She also trusted him with her little Ella, and when he had helped her bathe the mud off the little girl, he had caught a glimpse of the wish for more children, his children, on her face before she had swiftly hidden it. He knew he had not been mistaken in what those looks were telling him about what was in her heart.
“Aye, she loves me, or is so close to doing so ’twill need but a wee nudge to capture the prize,” he replied.
“Then best we plan what ye need to take with ye for your journey and homecoming. ’Tis past time ye went to your Triona and did a little nudging.”
Brett fought the urge to turn around and race for Banuilt as he rode through the gates of Gormfeurach a week after leaving Payton’s home. Now that he was close to Triona, he wanted to do nothing more than hold her, but the people of Gormfeurach needed to know what their fate was. He dismounted and nodded to the youth who took the reins, and then grinned at his brother Harcourt as the man walked up to him.
“Ye did it, didnae ye, ye bastard,” said Harcourt.
“Aye, I did, and best nay let our father hear ye talk so about our mother.” He laughed when a grinning Harcourt slapped him on the back.
“Best ye tell all these people then, as they have been growing more and more uneasy with nary a word about who would come and sit his arse in the laird’s chair,” said Harcourt.
Brett went and stood on the steps leading to the doors into the keep while Harcourt gathered as many of the people as he could. The looks on their faces told him how they had suffered as they waited to hear who would soon lead them. Brett knew many feared for their places at Gormfeurach, as a new laird often meant the better positions within a keep went to the ones the new laird favored. There would also be those who feared that, although their last laird was not a very good one, the next one could be far, far worse. Brett would undoubtedly have some of his kin come to Gormfeurach, but he would be certain he did not displace anyone. They would have to wait and see what kind of laird he would be, for he knew swearing to be a good one would convince no one. They did not know him well enough to know that when he gave his word, it was a vow one could trust in.
The announcement that he was to be their new laird was met with silent shock, and for a moment Brett feared he would have a rebellion. Then the men began to smile, and soon everyone was congratulating him. Even the news that he would remain a Murray did not dim their welcome. He suspected the loyalty of the people at Gormfeurach had long been to the land more than the laird. Whatever else they might think about him, the people of Gormfeurach were obviously more than willing to give him a chance. He suspected Harcourt’s work here had helped that happen. All the men of the garrison quickly pledged themselves to him, and then the people began to disperse, many heading out to tell others the news.
“That went far better than I thought it would,” he said to Harcourt as they sat down at the large worktable in the ledger room. “I have a feeling I might owe some of that welcome to ye and whate’er work ye have done here. Where is Gunn?” he asked when he realized how at home Harcourt was in the room.
“He assists, as does his son,” Harcourt replied, and poured them each a tankard of ale. “They are gone for the day now and have a verra fine wee cottage in the village. I made sure of it, for Sir John had them living in little better than a hovel, despite all the work the mon did for him, work that kept this place from falling into complete ruin. I but like to go over the work. There is promise here, Brett, of a fine keep. And it appears that Gormfeurach is actually the first line of defense for all three keeps.”
“Ah, that would make sense.” And that would please a man like Harcourt. “Who leads the men?”
“’Tis Duncan now, as the ones who did lead are all dead. They were close with Sir John and kenned everything but said nothing. They died with him the day we last rescued Triona, but even if they had lived and returned, it is doubtful any of these men would wish to follow them.”
“Probably for the best, as they would have been trouble for anyone who came here as the new laird. For me, they would have been a great deal of trouble, as I am the one who killed Sir John.” He frowned. “Do the people here ken that?”
“Aye. Felt it was nay good to hide the truth. They simply didnae care. All they worried o’er was who would take his place. Gunn told me that neither Sir John nor his father would listen to his gentle hints that they should breed more legitimate heirs, or find cousins to favor, nay matter how distant they might be. Neither wished to hunt down cousins with few true blood ties to the clan whose name they held. Gunn began to think that neither of the men truly cared for more than what this place could gain them while they lived, that plans for the future, after they were gone, didnae interest them at all.”
“A shame, as this is a good place, and I think there are a lot of good people here.”
“There are.”
Brett studied his brother. “So ye would stay on and hold my place if I can get Triona to marry me?”
“Aye, I believe I would. I wouldnae have thought so when I first came here to hold it until a laird would be found, but I have discovered that I like the work. I find myself making plans, imagining how to improve this or that. I am nay sure I like to admit it, but it is as if I have settled.”
“Good. Then unless ye find land of your own and need to leave, ye hold my place. I mean to stay with my wife.” He frowned. “She hasnae got anyone wooing her, does she?”
“Nay.” Harcourt smiled faintly. “And I think ye had best hone your skills at wooing ere ye go to her. I have seen her now and then, and she isnae thinking fondly of ye at the moment.”
“I feared that might be so. Weel, after a hearty meal, a few talks with some of the people here, and a good night’s rest, I best go and begin my wooing. Have Callum and the others returned home?” he asked, recalling that the three had said they would join Harcourt when Mollison had been unable to settle the matter of who should be laird of Gormfeurach.
“Aye, they have, and nay long after ye left Mollison. Callum got word from his kin and needed to go home, so Uven and Tamhas went with him. The two MacFingal lads stayed. I am thinking they may ne’er leave, as they have settled in verra firmly.”
“Ah, weel, I suspect there is room for them to make a good life for themselves here, and they are wise enough to see that.”
“They are, and I have found them most useful in the training of the men.” He held up his tankard. “And now, I raise my drink to the new laird and wish him all good luck in wooing his lady.”
Brett touched his tankard to Harcourt’s and smiled a little ruefully. “I fear I will need it.”
“Och, aye, ye most certainly will,” said Harcourt, and laughed.
Brett controlled the urge to throw his tankard at Harcourt’s head. He had earned the laughter. He had made a grievous mistake in keeping silent, in thinking it best to wait to speak his heart to Triona until he had all he thought he needed. Brett could only hope she would be understanding.
Triona crossed her arms over her chest and studied the small thatched building that would serve as a bathing house for the garrison. It was well built and attractive, tucked up against the high wall, so she no longer worried about how it would fit into the area within the bailey. Brett had been right. Her garrison had developed a strong need to stay clean. The bailey had often been muddy from the water used to wash away the sweat and dirt from training. This should solve that problem, for inside was a well, a hearth, buckets, and tubs. The clever man who put the well in the cottage so that water could be drawn right there had also put in a drain that allowed the dirty water to be poured away, beyond the walls. Now if she could just find some way to make a shelter for the men who would slip outside of the tower in the dead of night to sleep in the open, she mused, feeling a pang of pity for the scars their long imprisonment had left them with.
There was little she could do to help them, and she knew it. Triona doubted the men would accept much help, anyway. The few attempts she had made to talk about what troubled them had been politely but firmly brushed aside. She knew they would shy away from sympathy because they would see the need of it as unmanly. They had each other, each one having shared that horror, and she had to hope that would aid in their healing.
Just looking at the bathing cottage again, as she thought to see that it did not need any more done to make it right, began to make her think of Brett and she almost cursed aloud. The man would not stay out of her head. She could go for hours, and then there he was, in her mind, causing her heart to pinch with pain. Her dreams at night were a constant torment, filled with all the memories of the passion they had shared. The mornings were spent struggling to still the aching need those dreams left her with. Being cured of Sir Brett Murray was taking far longer than she thought it ought to.
“Ye dinnae like it?” asked Joan from where she stood beside Triona, also studying the little house. “I thought it actually looked quite good.”
“It does,” Triona replied. “And I think it will work out verra weel and nay just for the garrison. This could work for when we have visitors. It will be much easier to send the men here to seek a wash than to carry the water to the rooms. I fear I just recalled who told me the men may need to be clean, more than they ever had before, and that roused my temper.”
“Ah, Sir Brett.”
“Aye, Sir Brett of the smile and the wave who barely left a trail of dust behind him as he rode away. I was but annoyed at how often the mon still comes to mind.”
Joan put her arm around Triona’s shoulders. “A mon like that is difficult to forget.”
“Weel, he shouldnae be, as I am fair sure he has forgotten about me.”
“Ye cannae be certain of that. I still feel there was more to that kiss than fareweel.”
“If there was, there should have been some word from him. I could, mayhap, believe he couldnae think of what to say when everyone waited for him to leave with them, but he has sent me nay one word since then. It shouldnae take a mon three months to compose a letter or e’en a wee tiny message.”
“He sent that wee carved cat to Ella.”
“Aye, to Ella. And nary a word to me when it was sent.”
Joan grimaced. “Aye, I thought that was badly done. I dinnae ken what to say. Despite his silence, I just cannae believe he means to ne’er return. He appeared to be so much more to ye, with ye, than a lover.”
Triona sighed. “I thought so, too, and mayhap we are both just fools. Ye havenae had all that much more experience with men than I have.”
“Nay, I havenae. I was waiting for my Aiden. Loved that mon since he was a lad with feet he kept tripping o’er. If it hadnae been for that, I may have had me a mon or two. But I kenned what I wanted and I wasnae going to settle for less.”
“I settled for Boyd. Not that I had much choice. My father wanted me to wed the mon. But do ye nay see? I was wrong about Boyd. I saw charm and kindness and thought he and I could have a verra good marriage. Instead, he turned out to be a mon as cold as a December night who but wanted a fat purse and a son. Sad to say, that was better than remaining under my father’s roof.
“Yet here I stand, wondering if I was mistaken in a mon again. I thought Brett was, weel, I thought he cared for me. I thought what we shared was more than just a lusting, e’en on his part. A mon who has a caring for a lass doesnae love her into exhaustion in the night and then ride off with naught but a smile and a wave, ne’er to be seen or heard from again.”
She cursed and kicked at a small stone on the ground. “I must nay let my mind prey on the matter. He gave me no words of love and no promises. If I am unhappy that he is gone, then ’tis my own cursed fault. I hoped. I tried not to, but I did. He didnae ask me to, didnae encourage me, so it isnae his fault.”
“Nay, although I do wish I could curse him for telling ye lies or the like.”
Triona smiled. “It would be easier to root him out of my heart if that was the way of it, but it wasnae. My heart didnae care that there were no words of love or promises. It just kept filling itself up with need for him.”
Hooking her arm through Triona’s, Joan started toward the manor. “The heart does as the heart pleases.”
“Weel, my heart needs to be taken into a corner and slapped about until it regains its senses.” She smiled faintly when Joan laughed.
Triona spent the next few hours keeping herself as busy as possible, but for reasons she could not understand, Brett lingered in her thoughts. She finally went back inside the manor to the great hall to do some mending. Ella was so hard on her clothes that there was never a shortage of that somewhat tedious work to do.
She had barely finished mending one little shift and was reaching for another when she knew it was not going to work. Brett was not going to be dismissed from her thoughts so easily. The days when she could not shake him out of her thoughts had grown fewer, and she had begun to hope she would soon be left with only the night and her dreams to worry about.
Staring into the fire, she sighed. It was time to accept the sad fact that she might never be able to forget the man. He had burrowed his way so deeply into her heart and mind, there was no shaking free of him. She had the strong feeling that he had burrowed at least a part of him somewhere else as well.
Placing a hand over her belly, she suffered a feeling that was an uncomfortable mixture of excitement and terror. She had not bled since he rode away. It had taken her a while to realize that, for she had worked herself so hard that exhaustion drove her to her bed and those dreams she could not stop. She wanted the child she was now sure she carried, but she did not want to shame all the people of Banuilt by bearing a child when she had no husband.
What she needed was another man, she decided, and then cursed. There were no suitable men around Banuilt she could look to. If there had been, she might have found an attractive one and been with him before Brett had ever ridden inside her gates. Triona doubted there was a man at Gormfeurach who would suit, either. She was stuck with the one that lived in her mind and heart but obviously did not care to live with her in person. She would not try to trick a man into marrying in order to give a name to her child, either, and she sincerely doubted a man would willingly wed her to give his name to another man’s bairn. The mere thought of trying to find Brett to tell him about the child made her blood run cold, for she knew it would kill her to have him turn away from her—or worse, marry her out of a sense of duty.
It was difficult not to wonder what was wrong with her. Triona hated the doubts about herself that would creep into her mind at such times, yet there was no ridding herself of them permanently. She suspected every woman in her place would suffer from the same doubts, but thought she might have more right to them than most. Her father had cared nothing for her. Her husband had seen her as no more than a female to breed with. And Sir John had wanted nothing more from her than the land she held, had not even liked her and done nothing to hide that fact.
“Brett liked me,” she whispered, and then glanced around to make sure no one was near enough to have heard what even she thought sounded childish.
There was some truth in it, and she knew it. Liking and respect had been there. Triona was certain of it. It just had not been enough.
“M’lady! The new laird of Gormfeurach is at the gates!”
Pushing aside her mending, Triona looked at Angus, who was standing in the doorway to the great hall. The youth looked so excited she was surprised he was not shaking from the strength of it. She was not sure why the choice of a new laird for Gormfeurach should be of such import for him, however.
“Who is it, Angus? Anyone we ken?” she asked as she stood up and started toward the door.
“Ye must come and meet him.”
He was definitely excited, she thought as she reached him. “That is what I am about to do. Do ye mean to escort me out to the bailey?”
“Aye, ye shouldnae be going out to greet someone alone.”
At least he had finally learned that much, Triona mused as she watched him hurry off without waiting for her. Angus was trying to learn how to be a proper man-at-arms. Aiden had decided that until Angus was older, the youth should serve as her personal guard within the manor and village. Whatever was happening in the bailey, however, had apparently pushed most of the lessons Angus had so painstakingly learned right out of his head.
She stepped outside and looked at the men who had just ridden inside her gates, and shock made her tense, pushing all clear thought from her mind. The men were not the ones she had expected to see, not the Gormfeurach garrison. As they dismounted, she told herself she was seeing things, that her mind was still lost in memories. That could not be the tall, black-haired man that had haunted her dreams for over three months.