A Price to Be Paid: A Scottish Highlander Romance (Legacy of the Laird Book 2)

Chapter 8

As Lilidh wiped the plates down and returned them to the cupboards, chaos erupted in the kitchens all around her.

Two young men burst in on either side of an enormous cauldron, heaving it towards the sinks. A third man walked next to them with a distressed look on his face, wringing his hands. Behind them, the cook followed. He was waving his arms in the air and bellowing at the top of his lungs, his face as red as ruby wine. Lilidh paused to watch the spectacle and could see she wasn’t the only one.

“This didnae happen overnight!” the cook shouted. “It would have taken days for that stew to boil off. How could ye just forget about it, on an open fire the way it was?”

The third man nodded, trying to placate him. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, I dinnae know how it happened.”

“It happened because of yer inattentiveness,” the cook spat. “And now ye’ve wasted the soup, and likely ruined the pot besides.”

“Nay, we’ll save the pot.” He looked over at Lilidh and the others. “Naught a little scrubbing willnae fix, isnae that right?”

Lilidh looked over at the pot doubtfully. Whatever had been inside was now black, hardened like a crust, and looked as solid as the cast iron cauldron itself. She found herself agreeing with the cook.

Into the middle of the argument, Margaret entered the kitchens. “What is the meaning of this?” she cried.

The man’s eyes widened. “Ah, chamberlain, we were just taking care of it. It was a pot of stew that was left on the fire in the second dining hall. I meant to take it off yesterday, but, well…”

Margaret’s mouth drew into a thin line. “I employ ye to make sure things like this dinnae happen, Wilfred,” she said.

“Aye,” Wilfred nodded. “It was an accident.”

“The pot’s ruined,” the cook added.

“Nonsense,” Margaret said. “That pot is older than I am, and if ye think a little burnt soup is going to ruin it, then ye’re verra much mistaken.” She turned and looked at the kitchen staff. Only one of them was at the sinks. “Torrey,” Margaret said to her, “stop whatever ye’re doing and scrub the pot clean.”

Torrey looked to Margaret, and then to the pot with widening eyes. “Aye,” she said in a small voice.

“And Wilfred? My study, now,” and she turned and walked away without waiting for a response.

Wilfred swallowed and stared at her back. “Aye, chamberlain.”

The young men hauled the cauldron up into the basin with grunts and groans, then followed the cook out of the kitchens. Torrey found herself there alone, looking down at the cauldron forlornly. It was the biggest in the castle, easily large enough to fit two whole people inside, and took up the entire sink.

“Well, good luck,” Cora said with a rough bark.

Lilidh turned back to her plates, giving silent thanks that she hadn’t been standing by the sinks when Margaret entered. After a moment she lost herself in the monotony of her task and once again, her mind slipped back to Mathe. The words of the laird had troubled her, and she felt like a curtain had been pulled away, however briefly, to reveal another world. It was a world of war and intrigue and things that shouldn’t concern her, and yet she found herself involved all the same.

Did Mathe mean what he said to her? Was he here to make amends and nothing else? Or was it like Blaine said; that it didn’t truly matter, and that Mathe would be used whether he wanted it or not? Lilidh sighed at the feeling of walking down a path shrouded in fog, with no idea what lay at the end. All she knew was that she couldn’t risk her job here at the castle. Surely if she worked hard and remained open and honest with Margaret, things would work out for the best.

As the afternoon wore on, Torrey’s complaints grew louder. The cauldron seemed to be as bad as Lilidh feared, and the girl’s frustration was plain for all to see. “Will someone please help me?” she finally asked, throwing her dishrag down in disgust. She looked at the others. “Cora?”

The older woman shook her head. “Nay, Torrey, I cannae. I have to finish the utensils or the chamberlain will be cross.”

Torrey growled. “We would help ye, Cora, and ye know it.”

“We all have our jobs,” she sniffed.

“Fine. Nessa?”

The third girl looked up guiltily. “I wish I could help, Torrey, I really do, but I’m running late as it is. Margaret took yer other duties away, but didnae take away ours.”

Lilidh looked down. She’d made quick work of her task, lost in her thoughts as she had been, and knew she could help if asked. Torrey glanced at her once, quickly, then looked away without saying anything, and Lilidh sighed, closing her cupboard and standing.

“I’ll help,” she said.

Torrey’s eyes darted back to her, and she could see the others stop what they were doing to watch. Lilidh felt strangely nervous under their gaze, as though they were sizing her up. Cora’s eyes blazed, and Lilidh swallowed.

“Fine,” Torrey muttered.

Lilidh waited for one moment, but knew there would be no gratitude coming. Perhaps the acceptance was enough, for now. She picked up another dishrag and joined Torrey at the sink, standing shoulder to shoulder, and began to scrub.

An hour later, Lilidh thoroughly regretted her decision, but had to admit that they were making progress. They’d taken to chipping the black crust away with a knife and then quickly scrubbing the exposed cast iron with scalding hot water, and it seemed to be working. Their strategy involved coordination and so they even spoke to each other, directing movements and timing their attacks. Torrey continued to call her widow, and the third time it happened, Lilidh paused in her task.

“Lilidh,” she corrected.

Torrey also paused and looked at her for a moment. Finally she gave a small nod, then turned back, and they resumed their task. They continued to labour for another hour until the pot was almost clean. Torrey stretched down to reach the bottom, and Lilidh brought over another jug of boiling water.

“The day before yesterday,” Torrey said suddenly, almost hesitantly.

“Aye?”

“Ye didnae tell Margaret that ye”d been treated… unkindly here.”

“Nay,” Lilidh replied. “I didnae.”

“Ye could have.”

“Aye, I could have,” she admitted. “But I’d rather no”.”

“Why no”?”

“Because I’m no” here to make trouble, Torrey. No” with ye, or Cora, or anybody else. I’m here to work hard for my family.”

Torrey nodded slowly, then tuned back to the cauldron. It was just about finished, and right on time, Margaret entered the kitchens. She looked over and saw Lilidh and Torrey standing side by side at the sink, and gave a small nod. If Lilidh didn’t know any better, she would have thought it looked satisfied.

“Thank ye, ladies,” the chamberlain said, inspecting the pot. “It’s survived another day.” She turned and looked out of the only window, noting the length of the shadows over the floor. “There’s still another hour left before yer shift ends, but why dinnae ye finish early. Goodness knows ye’ve earned it.”

Lilidh smiled and did her best to ignore the glowers from Cora. “Thank ye,” she said.

Margaret shook her head. “Thank ye, Lilidh. Ye didnae have to help. And good work from ye too, Torrey. Now away with ye both.”

Lilidh didn’t need to be told twice. She hung up her apron, grabbed her coat and almost skipped out into the afternoon, leaping across the wooden planks to her front porch, excited to tell Fynn that she had finished early. They rarely got the chance to spend time together during the day, not since she had started working in the castle, and all the worry she felt about Mathe had made her suddenly want to spent time with Fynn and do her best to forget about everything else.

Inside was quiet, and the floor was clean. Lilidh frowned. Normally she came home to a wide assortment of toys; rocks and sticks, pots and pans, fishing rods and utensils. It didn’t look like Fynn had been playing with any of that today.

“Fynn?” she called.

The silence that answered sent a small shiver through her, and Lilidh felt her heart beat faster. She bent down to look under the bed, but knew there was no way he could fit underneath. In fact, the house was so small that she could see everywhere all at once, and a simple glance told her all she needed to know.

Fynn wasn’t there.

Lilidh stepped back onto the front porch and looked around the corner behind the house. It butted up against the town wall and there was no open space to speak of, only the accursed mud that never seemed to dry no matter the weather. She looked down into the mud but saw no footprints coming from the porch anywhere. That only left the wooden planks, but Fynn knew he wasn’t allowed to leave the porch.

“Fynn?” she called, louder this time.

It didn’t make sense. She only had two rules for the boy and he followed them diligently; don”t open the door to strangers and don’t leave the porch. Dun Lagaidh was a safe town, as safe as anywhere could be, but that didn’t mean there weren’t strangers and people passing through that would look at a child on his own with ill intent.

“Fynn?” she called again, noting the very first touch of hysteria that lay at the edge of her voice. She went back inside again and checked the room once more. She opened all the cupboards even knowing it was silly, then returned to the front. Her heart was beating so hard it rocked her entire body and she looked down to her hands, watching them shake almost uncontrollably.

“Fynn!” she screamed into the air, looking around frantically. And then she spied her neighbour; sitting still in his chair. The old man was so easy to forget, and not just because he blended so well against the house, wrapped in a grey blanket as he was. No, she didn’t think of him because they’d never spoken to each other; not even once in five years. No doubt it was because she was the widow MacBrennan, but she still needed to try. For Fynn’s sake.

“Please,” she asked him. “Have ye seen my son?”

The man looked at her without a word, his expression remaining unchanged apart from a slight narrowing of his eyes.

“Please,” Lilidh said, almost sobbing.

The man continued to regard her, and then slowly nodded. “Aye,” he said in a gravelly voice.

Lilidh nearly collapsed at his proclamation. “Thank ye so much,” she said. “Where did ye see him?”

“Left this morning. With the tall man.”

At his words, Lilidh felt a strange and complex mixture of emotions flood her. The overwhelming feeling was relief, knowing that Fynn was with Mathe and was safe. The second, of course, was anger, because Fynn was with Mathe and was safe.

“The same tall man that was here yesterday?” she asked.

He nodded. “Aye.”

“Thank ye, again,” Lilidh said, and jumped onto the wooden planks. The anger she felt was growing white hot within her, feeling almost too big to contain. Mathe thought he could simply walk back into her life, did he? Thought that he could come over, bold as he pleased, and take Fynn away, like he had a right to the boy? Lilidh shook her head darkly. She thought she’d made herself clear enough last night, but it seemed that Mathe MacBrennan needed a little more help to grasp the nature of the situation.

She pushed the door of the West Gate open and it swung hard into the wall, sending a crack echoing through the common room. There were a few scattered patrons spread out, and they all paused and looked at her. Lilidh felt herself growing red and closed the door gently behind her.

“Can I help ye?” a man behind the counter asked with a frown.

Lilidh walked over. “I’m looking for -” she paused, looked around again, and leant closer. “I’m looking for Mathe MacBrennan.”

The man nodded and gestured behind him. “He’s out in the stables.”

Lilidh nodded and turned, but the man reached out and grasped her arm. “Mind the door next time, lass,” he said.

Lilidh felt her blush return and nodded. “Aye. I’m sorry.”

He grunted and turned away, and Lilidh walked over to a single door. She didn’t want to cause another fuss, so she opened it quietly and slipped into the stables. Inside, the light was dim, but she could see a fire burning at the far end. Silhouetted against it were two shapes; one tall, with his knees drawn up, and the other small and hunched over. Lilidh drew her lips into a thin line and marched over.

“That’s great, Fynn,” Mathe said. “Ye learn fast.”

Lilidh slowed to a stop.

“It was, wasnae it?” the boy asked proudly.

For reasons that she couldn’t even explain, Lilidh fell into a crouch and ducked into the horse stall next to her. It most certainly wasn’t to spy, she told herself, but even in the midst of her anger, she had a sudden curiosity about how Mathe would interact with his son. She sat down in the hay and tilted her head to listen.

“Remember,” Mathe said, “hold the hammer at the base.”

“Like this?”

“That’s too far. See how yer finger is off the end? Ye want that to be sitting flush with the bottom.”

“How’s this?” Fynn asked.

“Much better. Now strike once, with purpose.”

Silence, then the ring of a hammer on a nail.

“Hmm,” Fynn said uncertainly. “No” as good.”

“Nay,” Mathe said, “but that’s why we’re practicing, isnae it? Let’s try again.”

Another sound rang through the stables, followed by more grumbling.

“The nail keeps turning,” Fynn complained.

“Aye, that will happen if ye dinnae hit it squarely, or if it’s no” set properly. Here, let me hold the nail steady.”

“Are ye sure?” the boy asked dubiously.

“Aye, give it another hit.”

The sound this time was definitely not like the others; it was softer, and was followed immediately by a cry of dismay from Fynn, and then the stables were filled with the booming sound of Mathe’s laughter. Lilidh sat back and closed her eyes and listened to it, wondering how long it had been since she heard her husband laugh like that. It was genuine and open and filled with a most curious warmth. Even when he did used to laugh, in the later years, it hadn’t sounded like that; his laughter by that stage was sardonic and tinged with cruelty.

To hear his youthful laugh again now was so strangely unexpected that Lilidh found herself unable to breathe, transported back to a time when she and Mathe had loved and laughed together.

“I suppose I deserved that,” Mathe said after a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Fynn said. “Are ye alright?”

“Fine, fine. At least we know the problem; ye’re hitting to far to one side. My thumb worked that out.”

Fynn giggled, and Lilidh listened as they continued to practice, Mathe offering gentle encouragement and praise. She had an urge to see them, and so she poked her head out of the stall, moving quietly. At the far end, the two of them were illuminated by the light of the fire. They were sitting side by side, hunched over something, Mathe’s large frame towering over her son. They sat close and her husband turned his head and she saw his profile etched against the flames. Yes, he had a beard, and yes, he looked like he needed more than a few good meals, but Lilidh couldn’t help but admit that he was still handsome. He’d always been, even when his open face had gradually closed, and his looks took on a much darker aspect. There had always been something about Mathe that had drawn her to him, and she reluctantly conceded that he hadn’t lost that quality in his absence.

They continued to speak and gesture, and Lilidh pulled her head back into the stall and out of sight. After a while their conversation turned away from the task at hand and onto other matters.

“Mama is away a lot,” Fynn said.

“Aye, she works hard.”

“I miss her.”

“I know, lad, but ye should be verra proud of her. Few women could put a roof over yer head and food on the table, all by herself.”

“She only puts neeps on the table,” the boy complained.

“She does her best. If that’s neeps, then it’s neeps.”

“I suppose.”

“Yer mother loves ye,” Mathe said sternly, “and would do anything for ye. It’s important ye dinnae forget that. None of this is her fault.”

“Who’s fault is it, then?” the boy asked.

Silence for a long moment. “No” hers,” Mathe finally said. “She doesnae deserve the things that have happened to her.”

Lilidh felt suddenly uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation and decided she’d spent long enough sulking in the shadows. She stood and crept back to the door, then opened it loudly and let it shut again. At the far end of the stable she could see Mathe lift his head and glance over. At the sight of Lilidh approaching, he stood quickly.

“Ah, Lilidh,” he said. “I didnae expect ye to finish so soon.”

“Clearly,” she responded tartly. “Ye thought ye still had plenty of time to return my son, whom ye deigned to steal away without my permission.”

Mathe nodded slowly. “Aye, I did.” He nodded down. “The lad has been a great help.”

“I dinnae care,” she said, angry once more. “Ye dinnae have the right, Mathe. Do ye ken that?”

Another nod. “Aye, I ken, and I’m sorry. It willnae happen again.”

Fynn cried out in dismay, and Lilidh felt herself torn. She wasn’t sure if she wanted it to happen again or not. They both seemed so happy, working together.

“I’m no” saying that, Mathe,” she said. “What I mean is that ye needed to ask.”

His brow furrowed. “I can take the lad again, if I ask?”

“Nay, I dinnae mean that either,” she said, then growled in frustration. “Fynn, come with me, we’re done here.”

The boy protested, but Lilidh took him by the arm and lead him out, feeling Mathe’s eyes on her as she left the stables. A few people looked up with raised eyebrows as she pulled the boy through the common room, and then they were outside.

“I’m sorry I left the house, mama,” Fynn said as they walked.

“It’s no” yer fault, Fynn,” Lilidh said. “I dinnae blame ye.”

“But I had so much fun with Mathe,” he said.

“Aye?”

“Aye. I helped him find nails, and then he showed me how to use a hammer.” The boy frowned. “I wasnae verra good at it, but he showed me anyway. Oh, and mama, ye should have seen it. I hit his thumb with the hammer.” He giggled at the memory. “I thought Mathe would be angry, but he only laughed at me.”

“He’s quite the joker,” Lilidh muttered.

“I helped him fix the chairs, and he said I did a good job.” He spoke the words proudly. “He’s my friend, mama.”

At those words, Lilidh came to a stop on legs suddenly weak. There was something about what he said, or the way he said it, that cut right into the core of her. Fynn had never made friends with boys his own age because their parents kept them away from the widow MacBrennan and her son. She tried to ignore it, and give Fynn everything he needed, but she suddenly realised that she could never give him everything. In fact, there was a gaping hole in his life that she could never fill, no matter how hard she tried.

And the only man that could fill that hole was the very man Lilidh wished to never see again.

“Are ye alright, mama?” he asked, and Lilidh wiped her tears away.

“Fine, bhobain. I’m just happy ye had fun today.”