Beloved Ruins, Book 1 Page 22

  “I was hopin’ you might like to walk with me this mornin’?”

  Michael sat down on the rock, put his left shoe on, and began to lace it up. “In the mud?”

  Her tone was flirty when she answered, “For you, I would walk through fire.”

  Michael rolled his eyes and reached for his other shoe. “Fortunately for you, I would never ask it.”

  This time her tone was whiny. “Michael, I have nothin’ to do. The lasses will not speak to me, Kester keeps shakin’ her finger at me, and the lads...”

  “You had a friend in Lindsey.”

  Seona put her hands on her hips. “That again? Michael, I have done nothin’ wrong.”

  “Believe that if you will.” He finished with his shoes and stood up. Hoping to intimidate her, he moved closer, looked down, and met her eyes with his severest expression. “Have you no idea the trouble you bring to us?” Her expression was one of innocent surprise, so he continued. “Three lads came lookin’ for you yesterday. Your father offers a reward and therefore, many more shall come. ‘Tis not safe for you to leave the castle.”

  Truly horrified, she asked, “They think to snatch me?”

  “Aye, and if they are tempted because you disobey me, you best save yourself for I shall send no lads to rescue you.”

  She bowed her head and then pleadingly looked up. “You would come for me, I know you would.” She admired the strength in his bare chest and was about to touch him when he pushed her hand away.

  “Think that, do you?” Disgusted, Michael left her standing there.

  As he walked the paths back to the castle, he spread the word that the clan was to gather in the courtyard right before the noon meal.

  ELENA’S HEART ALWAYS fluttered when she saw Michael and this morning was no different. With great interest, she watched from her second floor bedchamber as he approached the horse, and admired his tenderness. She would have liked watching him all day, but Seona’s arrival spoiled the moment, just as it always did. Not wanting to see the two of them together, Elena left her position at the window and unfortunately did not see the way Michael angrily spurned Seona. Instead, she finished dressing and went to check on the children.

  CHAPTER 14

  BECAUSE SEONA HAD A habit of sleeping until just before the noon meal, Beitris used her time straightening Elena’s bedchamber, dusting and gathering clothing that needed to be washed. It rarely took very long, nor did any of her other chores, at least not until the cranky Seona woke up and started finding fault with everything she did.

  “The Red cannae even dress herself,” Beitris muttered as she softly closed Elena’s door. She could hear the teacher playing with her children in the next room, so Beitris decided to see about Master Balric’s writing room. She crossed the hall, softly knocked, and waited.

  “Come in,” Balric said.

  Gently, she opened the door, closed it behind her, and then walked to his table. She knew not to touch his writing desk or any of his writing tools, but he had a habit of spilling drinks on his table. Therefore, she normally brought a damp rag with her as well as a dry one. Sure enough, there was yet another spill to clean.

  Not once did she notice he was watching her, and thought herself in trouble when she heard him say her name. Rarely had he spoken to her and she was amazed he even knew her name. Beitris slowly turned to face him. “Aye?”

  “Dinna be alarmed,” he assured her, “I am not displeased. I was wonderin’...hopin’ actually, that you might enlighten me.”

  “Me – enlighten a scribe?”

  He smiled. “I can think of none more up to the task than you. You see, my question has to do with the clan, and as you are a member, you likely have the answer I am seekin’.”

  “I see. What question have you?”

  “Perhaps you might sit while we talk. I do occasionally get a crick in my neck from lookin’ up, particularly here where the lads are much taller than I.” His comment made her smile and he was pleased when she took a seat at the table. “‘Tis about the edict.”

  “Oh.”

  “I am not quite understandin’ it. From where did it come?”

  “We know not,” Beitris admitted.

  “But the men live by it and none question it?”

  “What question should there be? In other clans, a lad is allowed to do as he pleases with his wife. Here, he is still the master of his family, but some things are forbidden such as hurtin’ his family out of anger.”

  “I see, but suppose a lass is...shall we say, unmanageable? What does the clan do in such a case as that?”

  “Well, if the lass harms her husband or her child there is banishment, unless...”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless she is with child.”

  Balric raised an eyebrow. “What is done if that be the case?”

  “I have yet to see it, but we are told that the lass is separated from her husband and any other children until the babe is born, and then must surrender it to her husband before she is banished.”

  “How ghastly.”

  “I think so too. ‘Tis what a mother fears most, and therefore...”

  “She keeps her anger set aside?”

  “Aye.”

  “Yet, are the children not corrected?” he asked.

  “Of course, and most sternly. But not out of anger – out of love. There is a difference. We are taught that if we feel more anger than love, we must take a walk until the anger subsides. That way, the correctin’ is done out of love alone.”

  “I find that quite pleasin’.” Balric folded his arms and considered it for a moment. “Tell me the rest of it. The MacGreagors give sanctuary to...”

  “Seona,” Beitris huffed. “Michael was mistaken when he took her in and we all know it.”

  “Yet, he did not take her in – she was left here without his say.”

  “I have heard that. Do you know how it happened? Kester said her guard left early in the mornin’ and said not a word of farewell.”

  “Kester is precisely correct.” Balric noticed the slight giggle and then the smile Beitris gave him. “What?”

  “Precisely correct? I know not the English word ‘correct.’”

  “I see. Do they say I often forget myself and say things in English instead of Gaelic?”

  Beitris giggled again. “They do, but they dinna mind. You are well liked, Master Balric, as is your sister, your niece, and your nephew. We pray you shall all stay.”

  “I am pleased to hear it, but back to my question. I understand the edict prevents Michael from sendin’ Seona away no matter how bothersome she is.”

  “It does. She must leave of her own accord.” Beitris watched as Balric lowered his gaze, studied the floor, and whispered the words – of her own accord. “How?” Beitris asked at length.

  “Precisely the question. How?”

  “She has no guard to protect her, but if she wished to go, Michael would send someone to see she got some place other of safety,” said Beitris.

  “As I recall from the tellin’ of the stories, Laird Neil MacGreagor used itchin’ powder to rid the clan of enemies.”

  “Aye, we used it on the English a time or two as well.”

  “Truly? I have yet to hear that story. Do you know how to make it?”

  “Master Balric, we cannae. Itchin’ powder causes great sufferin’, is impossible to rid a place of, and suppose the children...”

  “Ah yes, I see more clearly now. “ For the first time, he actually noticed the pleasant looking woman seated in front of him. She was not a beauty as some women were, but she had a smile he found most attractive. Her eyes sparkled when she giggled, she kept herself clean, and her hair nicely braided. Having braided his little sister’s hair more often than he cared to admit over the years, he admired a woman who left not a strand hanging down. “Are the others trying to think of a way to get her to leave of her own accord?”

  “Kester would know more than I on that score, but if there is a way I’
ve no doubt some will try it. They hate her more than they hated Beezer.”

  “Beezer?”

  “The goat, Master Balric. Beezer was a goat what come to have his throat mysteriously cut. He deserved it too, always waitin’ till one of us had our backs turned affore he charged. Once, he butted me a good one and I landed flat on my face.”

  Balric gleefully clasped his hands together. “I do so love a mystery. Have you any idea who killed it?”

  “Could have been anyone. I thought of it a time or two myself, but if I was to guess, I would say ‘twas Owen. He had a grin on his face the whole day long, and as you know Owen hardly ever grins.” She abruptly stood up. “Will that be all, Master Balric?”

  “For now. I do hope you shall come talk to me often.”

  “About what?”

  “Anythin’ you like.”

  She again favored him with a smile and then went back to her dusting. Reluctantly, Balric returned to his writing. The story of the golden sword was longer than the previous ancient stories, and twice he had to ask Michael to repeat part of it. Yet, it was a fascinating story and soon, he was so involved in the writing he did not notice when Beitris left the room.

  BEITRIS WOULD HAVE allowed the Red to sleep all day, but Michael asked that she wake her, so Seona could hear what he said when he addressed the clan. The good mannered Beitris softly knocked before she opened the door, but all Seona did was turn over and go back to sleep. Therefore, it was payback time and Beitris delighted in slamming the door not once but twice.

  Seona turned on her back and then struggled to rise up on her elbows. “I shall have your head for this,”

  “If you can catch me,” Beitris shot back.

  “Go away,” Seona demanded, as she lay back down and pulled the covers up over her head.

  “I cannae, Michael wants you dressed and downstairs.”

  “I care not what Michael wants.”

  “Nevertheless, you are to be awake before he speaks to the clan.”

  “Why? What am I accused of this time?”

  Beitris put her hands on her hips. “Slothfulness, if you ask me.”

  “I am anythin’ but lazy.”

  “Not accordin’ to me.” Beitris grabbed the end of the blanket and ripped it out of Seona’s hands. “Get up!”

  “Give that back!”

  “You refuse to obey our laird?”

  “I most assuredly do.”

  Beitris happily handed the blanket back. “Very well, then so do I. When next you rise, I shall not come when you call. Dress yourself, if you can, or go without. It makes no never mind to me.” She walked out and for the third time, slammed Seona’s door.

  Elena stood in the hallway grinning. To show her esteem for what the maid had just done, she playfully curtsied to Beitris. “I do so admire you,” she said. “I am never quite so brave as all that.”

  “We are hopin’ you shall be,” Beitris said as she accompanied Elena down the hall toward the stairs.

  “We?”

  “Aye. Michael favors you and we are...”

  Elena wanted to hear no more of that and interrupted her. “Why were you tryin’ to get Seona out of bed?”

  “Have you not heard? Michael wants the clan to gather before the noon meal. He said to wake her so she could attend, but she has refused.”

  “Do you know what he will say?”

  “She is Laird Dalldon’s daughter, and there is trouble to be had. I suppose he shall say just how much trouble to expect.”

  “Oh.” Elena said. Changing the subject, she asked, “How goes your weavin’.”

  “Very well, thank you. I do so enjoy sittin’ in front of my window while I work. ‘Tis far more pleasurable than workin’ in my brother’s cottage. Michael has done me a great turn by askin’ me to care for you. Please say you shall stay?”

  Elena smiled, “For you? Anythin’ – if ‘tis possible.”

  MICHAEL WAS GRATEFUL when Murran brought a short stool for him to stand on. He was normally taller than most anyway, but standing on a stool would give him the advantage of seeing all the faces he loved. They were the men who took a vow to protect him, the women who trusted him, and the children playing in the glen who were always happy to see him. He looked for her, but among all the eyes watching him, none were Elena’s. Her brother was there, however, and Michael nodded his appreciation.

  When he spotted Beitris in the crowd Michael asked, “Where is Seona?”

  “Still in bed, the last I saw of her.”

  “I see.” Michael glanced once more at all the faces waiting for him to speak and then began. “As you now know Seona is not an Allardice, she is the daughter of Laird Dalldon. She ran from her father to avoid marriage to a Frenchman and now fears he will kill her if she is returned to him. Accordin’ to good sense we should, but accordin’ to the edict, we cannae turn her out.”

  “I can,” said a woman in the crowd. Her comment was met with some smiles and just as many frowns.

  “There is more,” said Michael. “I have commanded her to stay within the castle walls for her safety. Even so, if she does not obey, do not stop her. The choice is hers and the MacGreagors imprison no one. Agreed?” He paused while they gave their consent. “Furthermore, she refused the Frenchman against the King’s wishes.”

  At that, Rory let out a long, low whistle. “The king wishes her found too?”

  “No doubt he does,” Michael answered. “She was to secure an alliance with the French for the sake of the kingdom.” He paused again to let them absorb his words.

  A man shouted, “I say we take her to the king. He will see that her father does not harm her.”

  “Aye,” said Michael, “but there is more. She claims to carry a MacGreagor child.” He looked first at the normal frown in Owen’s expression, and then at Murran, whose color appeared to be draining from his face.

  A man shouted, “If she is with child, no Frenchman shall want her...no Scot either.”

  “Laird Dalldon’s daughter?” Murran finally managed to mutter. “When he finds out I...I mean...we shall all die.”

  “I say marry her off,” said a man in the back.

  “And have her and her blood mixed with ours for generations?” a woman shouted. “I’ll not hear of that!”

  “Yet,” Diarmad thoughtfully said. As always, the clan quieted to hear what the elder had to say, “if she is married, her father shall not want her back. Once he is over his upset, the poor MacGreagor who does right and weds her, could simply set her aside after the babe is born.”

  “What about the king?” Rory asked.

  “Who is foolish enough to marry her?” Owen asked.

  Standing in the front row, Kester put her hands on her hips. “He who was foolish enough to bed her in the first place!” Her comment got more than one laugh.

  “Fortunate is the lad who is already married,” a woman said more loudly than was necessary, as she too put her hands on her hips and glared at the man beside her.

  “Let it be, Agatha,” the man shot back.

  Michael stared at the man for a moment and then looked away. Yet another who might be the child’s father was not what he wished to learn. “We cannae be certain who fathered her child, but as long as it might be a MacGreagor, we must protect the babe as if ‘tis one of our own. Agreed?” This time, the clan was far less enthusiastic, but most did manage a slight nod. “Well, that be all of it. Now you know as much as I. Arm yourselves, lads. We know not who may come seekin’ her next.” He put his hand on Rory’s shoulder and stepped down off the stool. With Rory beside him, he walked back through the castle doors and into the inner courtyard.

  “How goes the bridge?” Michael asked. The time of overwhelming sorrow over the loss of Lindsey seemed to be coming to an end for his second in command, and Michael was glad to see it.

  “‘Tis slow and hard work, but Murran is helpin’ me move the rocks. He and Owen found a pile upriver and have been bringin’ them to me.”

  “G
ood. When you are ready, I shall have the other lads help.”

  “Michael, what are you goin’ to do about Seona?”

  “I have yet to decide. Have you a suggestion?”

  “She cannae stay here. The wives accuse their husbands, and some might well deserve it.”

  Michael stopped. “Seona has been more temptin’ than I imagined.”

  “If you like, I shall marry her.”

  Michael stared at Rory. “Why?”

  “‘Tis what little I can do for the sake of the clan. With Lindsey gone, I am not likely to find happiness now anyway.”

  “There is a difference in being unhappy and being outright wretched. Seona shall not likely be faithful to any husband, and shall bring shame on the lad she weds. Nay, I shall not have you married to one as...uncarin’ as she.” At the relief in Rory’s expression, Michael smiled. “Tell the council to come before supper and I shall hear their suggestions.”

  Rory looked confused. “Did you truly mean it when you said we shall not recover her if she is snatched?”

  “So long as she believes me, we shall have no problem with her in that regard.”

  “Then we are to give chase.”

  “Unless I can think of another way.” Michael continued across the inner courtyard, stopped at the door, and then asked, “Tell me true, how are you these days?”

  “Old, tired, and filled with regrets. I have come to understand that Lindsey would never have been mine, even if she lived. It eases the pain some.”

  “If ‘twere any other time, I would send you off to fish and rest, but...”

  “But just now I am needed here?”

  “If you have your wits about you.”

  Rory rolled his eyes. “When did that become a must?”

  At last, Rory’s sense of humor was back and Michael chuckled. “See that the guards keep a close watch for I am convinced we shall be spied upon.” He saw his best friend’s knowing nod, watched him walk back to the outside door, and then Michael went into the castle. Taking the steps two at a time, he climbed the stairs and went to his bedchamber to change clothes. He cast off his common clothing, and put on his white shirt, light blue and green patchwork kilt, fastened the matching length of cloth over his shoulder and changed to shoes that laced up to his knees. They were the clothing normally saved for festive occasions – and for war.