Beloved Lies, Book 2 Read online

  “Where are the rest of the women and children?” Donnan asked, as he dropped his shovel and bucket on the ground and then swung down off his horse.

  Cullen shrugged, and did the same. Terrified of the fire, and as several other horses had, both their horses turned to race back the way they came. It was impossible to tell what needed attention first and some of the men were looking to Donnan to tell them what to do.

  Above the roar of the blaze, Donnan shouted. “Save the keep.”

  The men nodded and ran to the largest structure in the village. The Kennedy keep was made of rock and could house several people after the fire if the men managed to save it, but the roof was thatched and could catch fire as easily as the small cottages. Two exhausted Kennedy men came around the corner of the keep carrying buckets of water.

  At least now they knew where to get water, so Donnan and Cullen grabbed their buckets, raced around the back, found the small stream and joined the fight to save the Kennedy village.

  For hours, the men worked hard to put the fire out, but it seemed hopeless. It was not until the heavens opened up and it began to rain – the kind of heavy rain Scotland could always expect in autumn, that there was hope. The flames began to sizzle, the smoke started to turn from black to gray, and little by little the rain helped put the fire out.

  Drenched in sweat, soaked in rain and completely exhausted, Laird Kennedy finally made his way to where Cullen was. Kennedy’s face was blackened, and his hands were filthy and bleeding, but all he cared about was the bucket of water Cullen held. He lifted it with both bleeding hands, took a drink, rinsed his mouth out, spit it on the ground, and then gulped the clean water down. He handed the bucket back, wiped the water off his mouth with back of his blackened hand, which served only to smear more on his face, and asked, “Have you seen my son?”

  “Aye,” said Cullen. “He has gone to get the lasses out of the river.”

  “He lives?” an astounded Laird Kennedy asked. “The last I saw of him, he had gone into a burnin’ cottage.”

  “Aye, he lives.” There was no mistaking the great relief on Laird Kennedy’s face.

  When he reached for Cullen’s hand, he was grateful to let Cullen help him sit down, even if it was in the burned grass. At least it was wet and cool. “You came just in time,” he said when Cullen sat beside him.

  “The Swintons are here too,”

  “Swintons? What wonders we have beheld this day. First the rain and then Swintons, who swore never to help Kennedys.” He turned his face upward and let the rain drops fall on it.

  “Three dead, and four we cannae find,” a Kennedy said as he approached. He waited for Laird Kennedy’s nod and then went back to search for more survivors.

  Cullen did not look to be in much better shape than Laird Kennedy, and his brother was still standing in front of the burned part of the forest, just in case the fire was not completely out. With that much rain it surely was.

  The keep was saved, as were thirty or so cottages, but it would take time to rebuild and winter was fast approaching. Lungs were filled with smoke, burns and cuts needed tending, and before long Mistress Kennedy appeared to have everything under control, although she too had a horrible cough.

  It was over.

  He dreaded walking home and no one could have been happier than Cullen when he looked up the road and saw Isabell, Annella and several other women bringing their horses back. They also brought bandages, and when Isabell gave him two leather pouches, Cullen took them inside the Kennedy keep. When he came back out, his brother was already mounted behind Isabell, the other men were nearly all set to leave, and Annella was waiting for him to swing up behind her. He was so tired, it took two tries, but he finally managed it. He wrapped his arms around the woman he loved, laid his head against her back, and let her take him home.

  CHAPTER 6

  SITUATED ACROSS THE road from the MacGreagor glen, Glenartair Village began with only one shop. Soon another and then another was built, and to make it more convenient for the shop owners, cottages began to spring up with the usual paths between them. At the same time, older cottages in the glen were torn down and not replaced, for business was booming. Glenartair village now had four shops on one side of the road to Edinburgh and five on the other, all of which offered all manner of new and used goods. On the side with only four shops, pens of varying sizes held calves, pigs, and occasionally sheep dogs. By nine o’clock each morning, members of other clans set up tables offering such things as leather bags and flasks, colorful pottery, jewelry, clothing, blankets, mirrors, and weapons. By noon the atmosphere was normally a festive one, save for the occasional heated dispute over a price.

  Although no one was quite certain where MacGreagor land ended and Kennedy land began, the Kennedys had not complained – not yet anyway. One clan in particular, Clan Graham, was always welcome for they sold skins, hides, and cured salmon, a favorite among those living farther inland.

  When she had no cheese to sell, which was not often, Annella talked Cullen into taking her to the market. There was a thing she desired more than any other – a decorative comb to wear in her hair on her wedding day. To spend more time alone with him, she tried to convince him to walk instead of ride, but he complained that it was too far. Both on the same horse, he talked about trees and she shared what all the women were talking about.

  As they reached the village, the subject of their marriage came up, just as it always did. “First, we must have a home,” Cullen reminded her as they walked from one table to the next.

  “We could live in the castle,” said she. “Did your brother not say we could?”

  He frowned. “Aye.”

  “But?”

  “But a lad should take his bride to a cottage of his very own.”

  “Which you dinna have.” She looked at his exasperated expression, giggled, and then kissed him on the cheek. “‘Tis your pride that delays us. I care not where we live.”

  “You shall when it is cold in winter.”

  “Which is why we should live in a castle with warm hearths in every room.” She examined a few pieces of jewelry, none of which pleased her, and gazed at the next table.

  “‘Tis not as warm as you think.” He quickly pulled her out of the way before she ran into a cart, and then turned her to face him. “Tell me true, have you set your heart on livin’ in the castle?”

  “Nay, I have set my heart on livin’ where you live, be it in a castle or a cottage.”

  “It matters not if you will not give me your pledge.”

  “I cannae give it until I have found the perfect comb to wear on my weddin’ day. Then I shall have somethin’ to hand down to all my daughters when they marry.”

  Cullen scratched the back of his head. “All your daughters? I demand only sons.”

  She looped her arm around his and pulled him toward the next table. “I would much rather have daughters for they dinna go off to war.”

  “Sons dinna die givin’ birth, I remind you.”

  Annella ignored him and surveyed all the goods on the table in front of her. There were large jewels, small jewels, red, green and white jewels but none were mounted in a comb. It did not matter for neither of them had the necessary funds. She did not mean to, but when she turned to go to the next table, she stepped on a woman’s foot.

  The woman cried out in pain and sharply shoved Annella away. “Stupid lass, watch where you are goin’!”

  The woman raised her hand as if she was about to slap Annella when Cullen grabbed her arm. “Harm her not,” he demanded. That should have been the end of it, but behind the woman, Laird Graham had begun to glare at Cullen.

  A bear of a man, Laird Graham had wide shoulders, narrow green eyes, and dribbles of food in his graying beard. “Dare you touch my daughter?”

  Cullen dropped the woman’s arm, shoved Annella behind him, and glared back. “Dare she slap a MacGreagor?”

  For a long moment, the two men scowled at each other. Graham had his h
and on his sword, Cullen noticed, but his daughter had yet to get out of Graham’s way.

  “She stepped on my foot, and ‘twas not an accident,” screamed the daughter.

  “‘Twas an accident, I swear it,” Annella argued. A crowd was gathering but to her dismay, no one had seen precisely what happened and did not confirm her side of the story. One of the Kennedy men came to stand next to her and was glaring at Laird Graham as well. She doubted Cullen needed the help, but she was glad to know the Kennedy was there.

  “Who is she?” Graham demanded to know.

  Cullen kept his eyes glued to his opponent and was not about to answer.

  At length, a furious Laird Graham huffed, “‘Tis not the last you shall hear from the Grahams for we do not take insults lightly.” He helped his weeping daughter limp away and not once but twice took the opportunity to look back at Cullen with a murderous stare.

  “‘Twas truly an accident,” Annella said. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes.

  Cullen put an arm around her shoulder and turned them back the way they came. “I know.”

  “Will they attack us?” she asked.

  “I know not.”

  “We must tell Donnan.”

  “Aye.” Cullen hated fighting and his brother was right – the clans were too quick to anger these days. On this occasion, it happened in front of a crowd and Laird Graham was not the type to let a MacGreagor get away with insulting his daughter in front of others.

  Rarely did they spend a whole afternoon together and this one was clearly spoiled when Cullen lifted her onto his horse and then got on behind her. He held her extra close to comfort her, and she gladly leaned against him for support. Even so, both were thinking the same thing – did they just begin a clan war?

  AS SOON AS THEY GOT home. Annella went to the cottage she shared with her parents and little sister. Cullen gave his horse to a youth and went directly into the castle’s Great Hall, where he hoped to find his brother. He was in luck, for Donnan was alone when he entered.

  In the glow of a fire in the hearth, Donnan tried to understand. “You are certain her foot is not broken?” he asked. He poured his brother a goblet of ale and remained standing.

  Cullen took a much appreciated drink before he answered. “She walked on it well enough.”

  “And all you did was prevent her from slappin’ Annella?”

  “Aye.”

  Donnan lowered his troubled eyes. “Tell me, is it possible that Graham’s daughter slipped her foot under Annella’s?”

  “What?”

  “There are rumors.”

  “What sort of rumors?”

  “The sort that claim Graham looks for a reason to threaten a battle, and can then be bribed.”

  “I see. Unfortunately I know not if his daughter did it on purpose. I saw nothin’.”

  “But ‘tis possible?”

  “I suppose.”

  “The question is, what sort of bribe shall we offer him?”

  “You mean to fall for his trickery? Shall he do it again and again if we do?”

  “Perhaps. Yet, if we dinna offer somethin’, the Grahams must attack. The threat was made in front of others.”

  Cullen bowed his head. “You are right, of course. Shall I go?”

  “Nay, I shall go.”

  “Then I shall go with you.”

  “Nay, he shall be more easily persuaded to take the bribe if he dinna see you.”

  “Suppose he will not accept it?”

  “Then we shall fight him.” Donnan walked to the door and then paused. “We shall leave at first light and I shall take Berry with me. I leave you to see to the clan while I am gone.” With that, he opened the door and walked out.

  Long after Donnan left the Great Hall, Cullen stood staring at the embers in the hearth. The MacGreagor lairds did their best to avoid a battle with other clans, but there were times when it could not be escaped. In his youth, Cullen was witness to a battle in which three MacGreagors died and two were maimed, but Clan Mackintosh suffered many more casualties and word spread that the MacGreagors were exceptional fighters. Of course, that was before futeball. Now, Cullen was not at all certain they could survive an attack from the Grahams, or anyone else.

  Greatly disturbed, he finally sat down and for a long moment, closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. It was not until Jamie came to call him to supper that he opened them again.

  DAYBREAK BROUGHT CHIRPING birds, barking dogs and a beautiful sunrise with billowing clouds that seemed to swiftly dash across the sky. Just as he said he would, Donnan, Berry, and four MacGreagor warriors mounted their horses. With them, were two newly weaned colts to offer as a bribe. By then, everyone in the glen knew what had happened and most had come to watch him leave. Donnan said nothing to his brother, other than to nod before he turned his horse and began the journey to the Graham village.

  CULLEN WAS WORRIED, but there was nothing he could do about the Grahams and when he felt Annella take his hand, he smiled to reassure her. “’Twill be fine, you shall see.” She nodded, although she was less than convinced, and let go of his hand. She let him help her mount her horse and then went to sell her cheese at the market.

  The men, in the meantime, checked the firmness of their ax handles, sharpened their swords and daggers, and shined their shields. Next, they assembled their weapons in a place easily gotten to, just in case Laird Graham would not accept the bribe. The women filled water buckets, set them outside in the ready, should torches be tossed on the roofs of their cottages, and as usual, gathered food and bedding should they need to hide the children in the forest.

  Cullen checked on his tree starts, watered them, and oddly enough finally decided that becoming a sheepherder was the best way to provide for a wife and children. The clan already had three sizeable flocks, but another meant more wool to sell come spring. It would take time to build a respectable flock, but it also meant working with animals. With the right sheepdog, he would still have time to nurture the seeds and plant his trees. First, he needed to secure five or six ewes, and he had just enough funds to buy them from Flannagan.

  Flannagan MacGreagor was not only a good shepherd; he was Cullen’s best friend. Of all the women in the clan, Flannagan was married to the most handsome. Her name was Lillian and she had bright red hair and the kind of green eyes that men found more than bonnie. In fact, Flannagan often had to temper himself to keep from fighting over another man’s lustful expression. Yet, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she loved him as fiercely as he loved her. Together they had two children, a son and a daughter, both of whom looked more like her than him. It was not that he was unsightly by any means, but there was nothing remarkable in his appearance either. His best features were his charm and his wit, both of which he had aplenty.

  “Might I remind you that Donnan commanded us to practice?” Cullen said to the men gathered on the futeball field.

  Flannagan tossed the ball to Cullen and then held his thumb outward for his friend to see. “‘Tis too sore to draw the string.”

  Cullen raised Flannigan’s hand up so he could see the thumb better. “‘Tis the smallest cut I ever did see.”

  “‘Tis a cut just the same and...”

  “Well then, you play futeball alone for the others are commanded to...”

  “Practice,” they all said at once.

  Cullen handed the ball back to Flannagan, walked to the other side of the road, turned to stare at them, and waited. It took a few minutes, but one by one, the men came to the archery practice side of the glen.

  Each man shot once before Craig said, “Once be enough.”

  “Once dinna be enough,” Cullen argued.

  “‘Tis enough for us,” said Craig.

  Cullen could do nothing but watch them walk away. It was just one more example of why he would never make a good laird.

  MAKING CHEESE WAS JUST as hard as working the land, most women thought, yet it was women’s work and none of them openly complai
ned. Annella said not a disparaging word either for selling cheese at the market was her favorite thing to do. There were far too many things to see and people to meet to regret the hard work it took to make cheese. Where Scottish women were once destined to wear bland unflattering clothing, the trend had turned to those that were more colorful with formfitting vests over long sleeve tops and ankle length skirts. As well, they wore a cloth headdress over their unbound hair instead of constantly having to braid it to keep it out of their eyes.

  Everyone smelled of wood smoke and no one cared.

  Making cheese involved milking the cows, churning, and then separating the curds from the whey. Next, it was salted to preserve it, heated to a proper consistency, and when cool enough, formed into balls. The balls were then pressed to make a flat bottom, covered and placed in a community cellar for aging.

  Annella had her own aging shelves, as did the other women, and each day she went to choose those that had been aged long enough, filled her basket and then headed off to market. Sometimes she did the selling for other women too, but not often enough to be a bother. Fortunately, the MacGreagors ran the Glenartair shops, so she could store her chair and not have to haul it back and forth. Furthermore, with only a chair and a basket of cheese, finding a preferred place between the large tables other clans set up, was never a problem.

  This day, once all her cheese was sold, she hoped to find a reasonably priced sheepskin coat her size, enabling her to pass her old one down to her younger sister.

  It was just a normal day...or would have been, had it not been for the threat of a war with the Grahams.

  Annella carried her chair and her basket down the row of tables until she found a spot between two, and set her chair down. At the table on her right was a Kennedy man selling bridles, but she ignored him. On her left was a table full of new cloaks, coats and warm scarfs, and right beside her was just the kind of coat she was looking for. However, the woman’s price was way too high and she could not afford it even if she sold all her cheese that day, so she sighed and set her basket on her chair.