Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
’ T was the same thing, no matter where Aiden went that morning: nothing but kind words and compliments regarding his new bride.
“She is such a sweet young lady!”
“Such a beauty!”
“She has a kind heart!”
He couldn’t help but wonder when he would be able to catch a glimpse of that sweet and kind side of her. Knowing his clansmen as he did, he knew not one of them was exaggerating when complimenting his wife. Save, mayhap, for Fergus, who was known to have a soft spot for brunette-headed women.
After nearly two hours of searching, he still hadn’t located her. His mind wandered from one scenario to another. Mayhap she had inadvertently wandered off the path and was now lost in the dense woods that lay to the north and east of their keep. That thought made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and his stomach tighten with unease.
The Randalls had too many enemies to count. No matter which direction she might have gone, if she got too close to any of their borders, there was a distinct possibility that she could be taken, by any one of them. The possibilities were as endless as the rain in the highlands.
Any one of those clans, if given an opportunity, would stop at nothing to make Aiden Randall’s life or the lives of his people a living hell. These border wars had been going on for years, if not decades, and through multiple generations. Being a much smaller clan than their enemies, it hadn’t always been easy defending themselves.
But the Randalls were made of stubbornness as strong as granite and determination that was rooted as deeply as the sea. ’Twas, mayhap, the only thing that kept them all going through times of trouble.
Realizing that anything could have happened to Margaret, his heart began to race with worry and fear. Blast it! He cursed to himself. She does nae ken the way of things here!
Doubling his stride, he crossed the courtyard and headed directly to the training fields behind the armory. While he had been out searching for his lost wife (and he was thoroughly convinced now that she was, in fact, lost), his men had been on the fields, training. That is where he should have been this morn, instead of traipsing all over God’s green acres looking for his wife. A wife who was only kind and sweet to complete strangers. A wife who, as he drew nearer to the training fields, he was growing more and more furious with. And worried over.
“George! Emery! Thomas!” His voice boomed loudly towards his brothers.
Even over the din of sword clanging against sword, wrestling men, and practicing archers, his voice echoed as loud as the clanging of the bells from a church.
All at once, the training stopped. All eyes turned his way. A heartbeat later, his three brothers were running towards him, each bearing a look of concern and worry.
Aiden knew what they were thinking: Who is attacking us now?
He met them halfway, not even bothering to stop before speaking. “My wife is missing.”
Thomas blew out a long breath of relief, and rolled his eyes heavenward. Aye, Aiden knew exactly what his younger brother was thinking: Is that all?
George and Emery, however, were more concerned. “When did ye see her last?” George asked as he stopped, mere inches from Aiden.
“I have nae seen her since last eve. However, she has been seen throughout the morn.”
Emery and George exchanged confused glances with one another.
“She was seen by Lela, Fergus, Ronald, and others. The last person to see her was the laundress, more than half an hour ago. She has nae been seen since.”
“Did ye check the keep?” Thomas asked.
Aiden pursed his lips together and glowered. “What do ye think, Thomas?”
The young man’s face turned a deep shade of red.
Emery smacked the young man on the back of his head. “What kind of question is that?”
“Of course he searched the keep,” George added as he glowered at Thomas. “How can ye be so daft?”
“I want a search party formed immediately,” Aiden told them. “She is new to our lands and does nae ken about our enemies.”
George and Emery grew angry in the blink of an eye. They, too, knew how dangerous it was to walk beyond the walls or to venture too near their borders.
“I bet it was the MacKinnons,” Emery tossed out, his mouth drawn in as if he’d just eaten something sour and disgusting. “They have been itchin’ for a way to draw us into war.”
“Draw us in?” Thomas said with much surprise. “We have been at war with them since long before I was even born.”
Emery glowered at him. “I ken that, ye fool!” he barked. “Thus far, it has been a simple border war. But if they have taken our Margaret, then there will nae be a MacKinnon left standin’!”
Were the situation not so serious, Aiden would have been amused at Emery’s use of the term, “our Margaret.” He had known the lass for a sennight, but as far as he was concerned, she was now a Randall. By blood or by marriage, it mattered not to him. Or to anyone else, for that matter.
And if Emery’s assumption was correct, aye, there would be a war, all right. And the Randalls would not yield until they exacted their vengeance.
Emery turned on his heels and headed back towards their men. “With me now!” He called out. In a matter of moments, the search party formed. As Emery gave out his orders, Aiden, George, and Thomas made haste to the stables.
“I am sure she is fine,” Emery said.
Even he didn’t believe those words.
“Fergus!” Aiden shouted as they entered the stables. “We need horses, at once.”
Fergus had been in the last stall on the right, tending to the bad knee of one of their horses. He came racing down the aisle, post haste. “What is goin’ on?”
“Someone—most likely the MacKinnons—has kidnapped our Margaret,” Emery replied as he stepped into the stall where his mount was housed.
Aiden was right across the aisle way, saddling his own horse. “We dinnae ken that for certain,” Aiden said. “She could merely be lost.”
“I promise ye this, Aiden,” Emery said as he grabbed a bridle from the wall just outside the stall. “I will allow ye to take the head of the MacKinnon. I only ask one boon of ye.”
“And what is that?”
“Ye will allow me the honor of mountin’ his head over our hearth.”
Aiden rather liked the idea of having Andrew MacKinnon’s head. The man was a savage of near biblical proportions. He had been trying for more than two decades to seize the Randalls’ lands. And the fool had spared no expense. Countless lives on both sides had been lost to this long-standing border war.
“We shall do it together.”
In less than a quarter of an hour, news had spread about the abduction of Aiden’s new bride. Growing moment by moment, by the time the story reached the last cottage, not only had the MacKinnons kidnapped her, but they had obtained the assistance of every one of the Randall’s enemies.
War was imminent. Undeniable.
What no one had taken the time to do, was search the keep one last time.
Had they done so, they would have found Margaret above stairs in Thomas and Annabella’s bed chamber. She was there not by choice but rather by accident.
After leaving the laundry, Margaret had felt rather tired. Deciding a nap was a delightful idea, she made her way above stairs. As she headed toward her bedchamber, she had heard the sounds of someone vomiting behind closed doors. Of course, she had no idea who that someone might be.
For a brief moment, she debated on whether or not she should stop to offer assistance. She heard her mother’s voice telling her to leave it be. “No one has ever helped me when I was ill.”
’Twas her heart that took over. With a gentle rap on the heavy wooden door, she announced herself. “‘Tis Margaret. Are ye all right?”
Muffled, miserable sounds came from beyond the bedchamber door. She gave one more gentle rap before opening the door just a bit to peer inside. Although she couldn’t see anyone, she could clearly hear the soft cries of a young woman.
“Are ye well, lass?” Margaret whispered through the crack.
A sniffle came before her answer. “Nay.”
Without truly thinking on the matter, Margaret opened the door and stepped inside.
The room was dark, save for the light from the fire in the hearth. To her left, near the hearth, was a bed. Sitting on its edge was one of the young women she had met her first day here. For the life of her, Margaret could not remember her name.
The poor thing was hunched over, a wet washing cloth clutched in one hand, the chamber pot sitting on a small stool in front of her.
Margaret went to her at once, her heart filled with worry. “Och! What is the matter?”
When the young woman looked up at her with tear-filled eyes barely opened, her forehead scrunched with pain, the sight tugged at Margaret’s heart. “Ye poor thing!”
She sniffled and wiped her face with the washing cloth. “My head hurts,” she murmured with a scratchy voice.
Gently, Margaret took the washing cloth from her hand and glanced around the room. Under the small window near the door sat a table with a pitcher and basin. The water inside the pitcher was frigid, with ice just beginning to form at the edges. Grabbing the pitcher and a fresh drying cloth, Margaret returned to the young woman and placed the pitcher near the hearth.
“How far along are ye?” she asked the teary-eyed girl.
“Five months,” she replied on a sob.
Margaret didn’t know anything about the art of healing. Neither was she accustomed to offering solace to anyone. But she felt the urge to do something to help this poor girl.
“I am Margaret,” she said as she came to sit next to her.
“I ken,” she replied. “I am Annabella. Thomas is my husband. I met ye the day after ye arrived.”
Margaret vaguely remembered the lass from that busy, noisy morning. She wasn’t quite certain who Thomas was but felt no need to ask.
“My head hurts so much,” Annabella whispered as she closed her eyes. “I have never had an ache in my head before I got with child.”
Feeling a bit lost as to what she should say or do, Margaret asked, “Should I ask someone to fetch the midwife?”
Annabella’s eyes opened wide with horror. “Please, nay!”
Confused as to why she responded as if Margaret had said she would fetch the devil, she asked, “Why nae?”
Annabella shook her head and swallowed back tears, refusing to answer.
“I have never been with child,” Margaret said. “I fear I dinnae understand why ye would nae want to see the midwife. Especially when ye are clearly so miserable.”
Another shake of her head and the tears began to fall again. “She will call for Father MacGinty.”
None of what she was saying made any sense. Was it possible this young woman was actually near death? Fear started to creep into Margaret’s heart. “Why would the midwife call for a priest?”
Annabella continued to shake her head and swipe at her tears. “Please, dinnae tell Thomas. I beg of ye.”
Margaret’s brow drew in with a blend of concern and confusion. “I am nae about to make a promise to someone I have only just met.”
Aghast at Margaret’s refusal, Annabella’s eyes were filled with dismay. “But ye are my sister!”
Taken aback by that proclamation, Margaret said, “The only sister I have ever had is long dead.”
“But ye are married to Aiden! I am married to his brother, Thomas. That makes us sisters.”
Refusing to relent, Margaret said, “Be that as it may, I will nae give a promise until I know fully what is goin’ on.”
As the tears continued to fall, Annabella studied Margaret closely, undoubtedly in search of something in her demeanor that would tell if just how much she should trust her. Sisters-by-law mattered not to her. Trust did.
She took in a deep breath and began to explain her predicament. Annabella’s words came out rapidly and in a rush, making it difficult for Margaret to fully grasp what she was saying. But what she did understand set her teeth on edge.
“Mrs. MacLeary tells me that I dinnae truly want this babe. I vomit, and my head hurts because I am trying to miscarry. She says I am evil for nae wantin’ my babe. And if my upset stomach and aches of the head dinnae go away, she will call Father MacGinty to perform an exorcism!”
Her distress was undeniable, as was Margaret’s anger toward the midwife.
“That is, by far, the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”
Annabella blinked once, then again, confusion etched into her brow. “But what if it is true? What if I dinnae truly want this babe? What if?—”
Margaret wasn’t about to listen to any more. “Do ye want this babe?”
Annabella sat up taller, her eyes as wide as trenchers. “Aye! I do! Verra much!”
Satisfied with her reply, Margaret said, “Then, ye have yer answer.”
Annabella hadn’t quite understood her remark. “I fear I dinnae understand what ye mean.”
Margaret patted her hand and smiled. “Ye want this babe. I dinnae doubt it for a moment. Yer midwife is insane. Were I with child, I would nae let that woman anywhere near me.”
Surprised by Margaret’s statement, she asked why she wouldn’t.
“Because she is a mean woman whose only desire, it seems, is to terrify ye. Does she tell this to other women who are with child?”
Annabella shook her head and sniffled again. “I dinnae ken.”
Margaret thought that an awfully curious reply. “Have ye nae talked to other mothers?”
Another shake, another sniffle. “Nay.”
“Why nae?”
“I was afraid they would tell me the same thing!” The poor girl broke down again and fell against Margaret’s chest.
Unaccustomed to physical touch (save for her mother’s beatings), Margaret wasn’t certain what she should do. This was the first time in her life that someone was confiding in her without Margaret taking very detailed notes to give to her mother later.
This was genuine and raw and honest. Annabella was baring her soul, weeping against Margaret’s breast, seeking some kind of comfort. Comfort that Margaret didn’t know how to give.
’Twas a wholly new and unfamiliar experience. It left her feeling foolish and ignorant and, mayhap, a bit frightened.
Reluctantly, she wrapped her arms around the young woman and patted her back. Truly, she didn’t know what else to do or say.
“I want my babe,” Annabella sobbed. “He is nae even here yet, and already, I ken in my heart that I would give my own life so that he might live.”
Margaret’s stomach tightened as her heart filled with something unrecognizable that chilled her to her marrow. Did my mother ever feel that way about me?
’Twas a question she was already certain she knew the answer to. For now, she would shove those thoughts and feelings aside. She needed to help this young woman.
“Wheest now, lass,” Margaret whispered. “I believe ye, so do nae fret anymore.”
Annabella pulled away quickly, her eyes wide with trepidation. “Please, ye mustn’t tell Thomas! Or anyone else!”
For the first time in her life, Margaret made a promise that she meant to keep. “I will nae tell anyone. Ye have my word.”
Annabella let out a heavy breath of relief. “Thank ye, Margaret,” she whispered. “I dinnae ken what I would do if anyone found out what Mrs. McGinty said.”
Margaret swallowed back the bile forming in her throat. Were this to happen while she was still living at the McAllen keep… The thought made her want to weep.
“On my honor, I shall nae tell anyone, Annabella.”
’Twas a secret she would take to her grave, and she felt determined to find another way to help the young woman.
Margaret left Annabella to rest, repeating her vow to keep her secret safe before she closed the door behind her. With the shut of the door, Margaret felt all manner of strange sensations washing over her—good feelings that shoved her previous despondency away.
Someone trusted her. Truly, wholly, trusted her.
Much like a friend would trust another friend.
When was the last time she felt this way? She searched her memory for the answer, and that answer made her want to cry: Never.
With a mother like hers, no one felt comfortable being her friend. Even as a little girl, people knew that secrets weren’t safe around Margaret MacCallen. ’Twasn’t that she’d go running to tell her mum. Nay, her mum simply had a way of getting information out of her that was downright unnatural.
I cannae think of that now, she told herself. I must think of a way to help Annabella.
With a light feeling in her heart and a skip in her step, she went to search for Lizabet. While they hadn’t started out on a good footing (and Margaret was willing to take complete responsibility for that), she felt Lizabet would be the only one who could help. She had, after all, birthed several children of her own. More likely than not, she’d even used the same midwife.
She all but ran down the stairs to go in search of her new sister-by-law. All the while, she tried to find the right thing to say or questions to ask in order to get the help she needed.
The gathering room was eerily quiet and empty. Margaret had assumed that, at this hour of the day, it would be filled with the Randall family or at least maids doing their cleaning. Lights flickered from candles spread around the tables, the torches on the walls, and the fire burning in the hearth.
Chairs and benches were pushed away from the tables. Several wooden children’s toys were left abandoned by the hearth. Needlework had been haphazardly placed on the floor near one of the upholstered chairs.
It didn’t take long for worry to settle in, nor any amount of intelligence to surmise that something had happened. Undoubtedly something horrible that would cause everyone in the gathering room to leave in such haste.
She knew the Randalls had many enemies. Everyone knew it. Mayhap they were under attack?
But, if so, why weren’t the alarms sounded? Why didn’t anyone tell her or Annabella?
Mayhap they had all left only moments ago and the call to arms would sound soon.
She wasn’t about to tarry or wait. Grabbing a fistful of skirts, she raced back up the stairs, down the hall, and into her bedchamber. Once inside, she flung open the lid to one of her trunks and pulled out her quiver and bow. After flinging the quiver over her shoulders, she raced back downstairs.
The gathering room was still empty. Panic and dread beat within her heart as she ran as fast as she could across the room. Moments later, she was running out of the keep and down the stairs into the courtyard.
Many men were on horseback and even more on foot, all armed to the teeth with weapons. Horses whinnied and stomped at the ground as if they knew war was imminent. Bridles and bits jangled, and men spoke in deep, harsh tones.
The entire courtyard was filled with men, women, and children. Many of the womenfolk were handing out satchels and baskets to the warriors.
Quickly, Margaret scanned the area for her husband. She spotted him just as the gates were ordered open. Aiden couldn’t hear her calling out to him over the grinding of gears and the loud murmurs coming from the crowd.
Wishing to find out what clan they were going to war against, she pushed her way through the crowd. “Aiden!” she shouted over the din. “Aiden!”
He couldn’t hear her.
He didn’t see her.
But she could see him.
A fissure of dread tickled up and down her spine. He looked positively furious. Aye, the Randalls were at war, there was no doubt about it. But with whom?
Panic and worry chased around her stomach. Married less than a week, her new clan was now at war.
She continued to push forward, trying to get to her husband. A man she barely knew was getting ready to ride to war.
Just why that mattered, she didn’t have the time to figure out. All she knew was that she had to get to him.
People were now saying her name. Repeatedly. She ignored them as she fought her way forward. “Aiden! Aiden!”
Suddenly the warriors on foot turned around to see what the commotion was. Countless eyes were looking at her with a blend of sheer amazement and confusion.
Their voices rose, calling out to Aiden and his brothers, who had already made their way through the gates.
The forward procession of warriors came to an abrupt halt before parting like the Red Sea. Long moments later, Aiden came back through the gate, his horse at a slow canter.
His furious glower pinned Margaret in place.
Aye, he was indeed furious. And a tiny voice told her he was furious with her.
Aiden was still giving her a dressing down an hour later. They were in their bedchamber now. Margaret sat stoically on the edge of the bed while Aiden paced angrily back and forth in front of her.
“Ye cannae just roam about the keep or the lands!”
Aye, ye have said that at least a dozen times now, she thought to herself. She wasn’t about to speak, at least not yet. Although every fiber in her being wanted to shout at the fool, she knew better.
Let him have his say, she told herself. And when he is done actin ’ a fool, ye can have yers.
“We have far too many enemies! Ye could have been taken, killed, or worse!”
Just what was worse than being killed?
“We were ready to tear the countryside apart lookin’ for ye, Margaret! Do ye ken how much worry ye caused? How much time we wasted?”
I wonder what cook will serve for dinner this night, s he mused quietly. I am growing hungry and tired of this man yelling at me.
“Well?” he growled out, startling her out of her reverie.
“Well, what?” she asked. Truly, she’d lost interest in his tirade long ago.
His lips pursed, his eyes slitted, feet planted apart. “I asked ye a question.”
“I am sorry, but I dinnae hear the question. Could ye repeat it?”
He took her sincerity as insolence and began yelling all over again. “Ye need to take this seriously, Margaret! Ye are nae safely ensconced back at the MacCallen keep!”
His words were like a slap in the face.
“Safely ensconced?” She gave a slow shake of her head and stood. “Ye have no idea what my life was like there. Dinnae ever assume ’twas safe.”
She regretted saying it as soon as she saw the look of concern and confusion on Aiden’s face.
“What do ye mean?” he asked, his voice suddenly calm.
God himself would have to come down from the Heavens to make her answer that question. She wasn’t quite ready yet to start telling him her secrets. It might take a good fifty to sixty years before she was ready for that.
Changing the subject, she said, “Are ye quite finished lecturing me?”
He was back to being angry again. An angry husband was better than a curious or concerned one.
“I was nae lecturin ’ ye! I was simply explainin’ to ye how dangerous it is for a young lass to wander aimlessly around the countryside, unchaperoned and unprotected!”
Just where she got the gumption to yell back, she wasn’t sure. But yell back, she did. “If this is your way of explainin ’ things, I would hate to see ye angry!”
“I am nae angry!”
“Well, ye could have fooled me!” She took a step closer to him. “Ye are yellin’ loud enough to make the rafters shake! Nay only have ye wakened every sleepin’ babe within a ten mile radius, I think ye have awakened the dead!”
“Stop. Yellin’. At. Me.” He was glowering fiercely again, just inches from her face.
Margaret glowered back, mimicking his stance and countenance.
“What are ye doin’?” he asked, his tone lower but still filled with anger.
Margaret tilted her head to one side and smiled. “It is nae so nice, now is it? To have someone scowlin’ and yellin’ and makin’ ye feel as small and as worthless as a snail?”
He was completely taken aback by her comment. It took a long moment of searching for the right words before he spoke again. This time, he wasn’t angry. Nay, his tone was as soft and as gentle as a newborn lamb.
Margaret wasn’t sure she liked that.
“I am sorry.”
The slightest breath could have knocked her over, so stunned she was with his sincerity.
No one had ever apologized to her for anything. Ever.
“’Twas nae my intention to yell or to make ye feel small or unworthy.”
Where on earth was this sudden change coming from? And why the sweet words? Nay, this was another experience she was not at all used to.
“I was worried, damn it. I was worried ye had been taken or injured or—” He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Or hurt.”
Her first reaction was to be mean and spiteful. ’Twas truly the only way she knew how to be. But, try as she might, she couldn’t think of a single hurtful, mean thing to say.
Was it the fact that he was being kind to her? Was she simply too stunned to think?
He’d caught her off guard, and she didn’t like that one bit. She hated the feeling of uncertainty and not knowing how to handle herself.
Aiden let out a slow, steady breath as he raked a hand through his long, brown hair. “I fear we dinnae get off to a good start in this marriage of ours.” He began to pace again, but this time he was far calmer. “I fear I dinnae how to be a husband, lass.”
“I dinnae how to be a wife, either,” she murmured. As soon as he glanced her way, she realized she’d spoken aloud. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Margaret wasn’t the vulnerable, weak kind of woman he was undoubtedly accustomed to dealing with.
’Twas then that her mother’s voice crept into the forefront of her mind: “Never show weakness, Margaret. As soon as ye do, ’ tis like a wolf smelling fresh blood. They will swarm in for the kill.”
Tears of frustration and confusion wet her cheeks. Oh, how she hated the sound of her mother’s words rattling around in her head. She despised how she felt—unnerved, lonely, afraid, weak, and confounded. ’Twas bad enough she had felt that way for as long as she could remember. But to cry about it in front of someone—a complete stranger for all intents and purpose—intensified her misery a thousandfold.
“Please leave,” she whispered, her voice cracking on tears as she turned away from Aiden. There was much more she wanted to say but didn’t have the courage to do it.
“Margaret, please forgive me,” Aiden whispered. She could hear his soft footfalls approaching.
I swear, if he tries to comfort me, I will strangle him with my bare hands.
He was silent for a long while. The longer he stayed, staring at the back of her skull, the more upset she became.
“Please, Margaret, let us talk.”
Her frustration got the better of her. She spun around and looked him directly in his eyes. “I would rather crawl on glass with bare hands and knees than to talk to ye! Now, get out!”
For the briefest moment, Aiden had believed he was going to get a glimpse at the warmer, softer side of his wife which she had shown everyone else for most of the day.
He knew that if he stayed any longer, he would possibly say or do something he would regret for the rest of his life. Aiden prided himself in being level headed in all situations. But that levelheadedness disappeared the moment he thought his new bride had been kidnapped or injured.
Without uttering a word, he spun on his heels and quit the room, slamming the door behind him. With no clear idea of where he was heading, he stomped down the hallway and down the stairs.
The gathering room was filled, as it always was, with his family, their families, and many of the household staff. ’Twas time for the evening meal, but he had lost his appetite a few hours ago.
George and Emery called his name, but he ignored them. He grabbed his winter cloak from the peg by the door and hurried out of doors.
Having no desire to speak to anyone, he thundered across the courtyard and headed to the gates. Twilight was just settling in when he made his way to the stairs that led to the upper walls. Aiden knew he could find peace here in a quiet spot on the western side. Ignoring the guards' greetings, he made it to his destination in a matter of moments.
This quiet spot couldn’t be seen from outside of the walls, for the view was blocked by hundred-year-old evergreen trees. Overgrown ivy covered the merlons and embrasures, making a perfect hiding place for a frightened child—or for a grown man in need of escaping his own mind and temper.
The cold night air soothed the ire burning deep within his gut. Closing his eyes, he took in several deep breaths and embraced the solitude.
“Why does she hate me so?” he asked the night air. “I have been naught but kind to her since we first met.”
He thought back to that first meeting a sennight ago. ’Twas the middle of the night, and he had been sitting in his gathering room, alone with Connor MacCallen. It was their first meeting as chiefs. They had agreed, early on, to set aside any differences and any old feuds betwixt their clans. Each man desperately wanted peace. Connor was just as tired of the border wars as Aiden was.
They’d made their agreement and were toasting the moment with fine whisky, when two of Aiden’s night watchmen came bursting into the gathering room. Betwixt them, they were carrying one exhausted and terrified Margaret MacCallen.
Her terrified eyes were the first thing he noticed. The next was her face, drawn and pinched with pain.
He’d beaten Connor to her and helped her to sit by the fire. ’Twas then that he saw the bundle in her arms. A wee babe, wrapped in wool blankets. She slept, unbothered and content, in the young woman’s arms.
When he learned what had brought her here in such inclement weather, he’d felt anger towards those responsible. He wanted heads to roll, and she wasn’t even a Randall.
But he’d also felt a sense of pride towards the bonny lass. She had fought through ice, snow, and wind to get the babe to safety and to get help for Connor’s betrothed, Onnleigh.
A heart of gold, she possessed. He was certain of it that night. Honorable, strong, determined: She possessed traits he could admire in anyone.
Aye, he’d found her quite beautiful that night, even if she was frozen to the bone and terrified out of her wits. But ’twas far more than just her beauty that drew him to her. It was that strong sense of right versus wrong. The sacrifice she had made to get the child to safety, her sheer will and determination. Those things he found more attractive than anything else.
He had been thoroughly convinced his first impression of her had been correct. That was one of the reasons he agreed to marry her.
Yet now... Puffing out his cheeks, he let out a heavy sigh and looked up at the late evening sky. He was no longer certain.
“Why was she so kind to everyone today?” he murmured to the night air. “Why does she save her venomous tongue for me?”
“Because she is afraid,” came his sister Lizabet’s voice from behind him.
He’d been so lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t heard her approach. This was not at all like him, to not be on guard, especially when out of doors.
“I want to be alone,” he told her over his shoulder. Truly, he had no desire for his younger sister’s sage advice. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts and his anger.
As he expected, Lizabet chose to ignore his request. A moment later, she was resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “She is afraid.”
“Ye said that already,” he pointed out.
“But do ye ken why ?”
“Does it even matter?” His tone dripped with sarcasm.
Lizabet laughed quietly as she drew her hand away. “Of course it matters, ye eejit.”
He didn’t bother to ask for an explanation. She’d give one no matter what.
“What do ye ken about her?” she asked as she stepped around him to stare out at the evening sky.
“I ken she has a mean streak as deep as the sea and a venomous tongue that can slice a man’s soul in half.”
Lizabet rolled her eyes heavenward as she let out a frustrated breath. “Aiden, what else do ye ken about her?”
He didn’t pause to think about the deeper meaning of her question. While he wasn’t quite as furious as he had been a quarter of an hour ago, he was still upset.
“I ken she is not at all what she portrays herself to be,” he said, his tone harsh and bitter. “When I went to search for her earlier today, all that I heard was what a bonny, sweet, kind lass she was. From everyone.” He paused briefly before he went on to say, “I actually believed that mayhap, just mayhap, she was beginning to settle in here. And that there was a possibility that she and I could get along as two mature adults. But nay,” he said, shaking his head. “Nay, that was not to be.”
Lizabet listened quietly, affording him the time to get everything off his chest.
“The woman despises the verra ground I walk upon. She hates me with a vengeance I’ve only ever seen from The MacKinnon.” He shook his head once again and turned back to look at the darkening skies. “Both of them loathe me and for reasons I will never understand.”
Lizabet took his long silence as the opportunity to speak her own mind. “She does nay hate ye, Aiden. She is afraid of ye.”
“I could nae disagree with ye more, my sister.”
Lizabet quirked a pretty brow in disagreement. “I speak the truth, and ye ken it. Ye are just too stubborn to admit it.”
He remained mute, ignoring his sister as best he could. Aye, she may be right that he was stubborn at times, but he took some measure of pride in knowing that he was open-minded and willing to listen to good advice. He thought his sister was far too naive to understand him.
“I received a letter from Onnleigh MacCallen.”
Although that piqued his curiosity, it did nothing to change his mind. With the number of sisters he had, he was quite certain he understood the female mind well enough.
“Did she tell you what a sweet, bonny, kind lass Margaret is and that I should be patient with her?”
Lizabet giggled. “Quite the opposite, brother of mine. Quite the opposite.”
Aiden couldn’t have been more surprised had his sister sprouted a horn from the center of her head. “Ye jest,” he said with much skepticism.
Lizabet gave a slow shake of her head. “I dinnae jest.”
With burgeoning curiosity, he finally turned to face her. “Pray, tell me what she said.”
Lizabet was definitely proud now. Proud that she had gained his full attention.
“Onnleigh warned me that Margaret can be a cruel, unkind, spiteful woman.”
From his raised brow, she knew he didn’t believe her. Thus, she pulled the letter from the pouch on her belt and held it up for a moment. “I tell ye true, Aiden.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he nodded towards the missive in her gloved hands, indicating that she should continue.
“Apparently she cannae read nor write,” Lizabet said as she tucked the letter back into her pouch.
“I dinnae hold my wife’s inability to read nor write against her. Many people are nae blessed with that talent.”
Lizabet shook her head. “Nae Margaret. Onnleigh.”
He was most assuredly confused. “What has Onnleigh’s inability to read or write have to do with anything?” His tone was gruff and impatient.
“Connor wrote the letter for Onnleigh,” she told him.
“And this matters why?”
She rolled her eyes, growing more exasperated by the moment. “I am just giving ye all the facts.”
Aiden closed his eyes for a moment and took in a quick deep breath before expelling it slowly. “Has anyone ever told ye that ye have an annoying habit of takin’ the longest route possible to get to a point?”
She appeared unbothered by his insult. “All the time,” she said. “Now, back to Margaret.”
“Aye, back to Margaret.” An ache was begging to form behind his left eye. Peculiarly, this only happened when he was trying to glean information from one of his many sisters—especially Lizabet.
“I suppose ye already ken about her mum, Helen?”
“Aye, I do.” Just hearing the woman’s name was enough to set his teeth on edge. Although he only knew what Connor had told him, ’twas enough for him to understand the woman was insane.
Clarity suddenly dawned with that thought. “Margaret is just as insane as evil as her mum.” ’Twas a statement, not a question. And one that made his blood run cold.
Mayhap Connor MacCallen didn’t truly wish for peace. Mayhap the man had sent Margaret into Aiden’s happy (if nae slightly tetched) family. To destroy it from within.
Lizabet shook her head. “Nay.”
Growing angrier by the moment, Aiden said, “Will ye please get to the point!”
Lizabet wasn’t at all shaken or startled by his harsh command. “I am tryin’ to, but ye keep interruptin’.”
It had been a good number of years since he’d been tempted to toss his sister over the walls of the keep. She had been an annoying child back then. Constantly following him and the rest of her older brothers, questioning every little thing they did. And talking nonstop. Somehow, she had managed to hold on to that childhood habit and took it into adulthood.
“According to Onnleigh, Margaret’s mum was a horrible, vile woman. She firmly believes that Margaret only did whatever her mother demanded because she was afraid of her. Everyone was afraid of the auld bat. That is how she was able to get away with everything for so long.”
While that did make sense, he felt no better about his current situation. His wife, he was convinced, despised him; hated the very ground on which he trod.
“So ye believe I should be patient with her?” he asked with a raised brow.
“Aye, I do, Aiden.”
“And if she never comes around? If she hates me for all the rest of our days?”
Lizabet laughed slightly. “Well, at least ye will ken that ye tried.”
What a miserable existence his life would be if he wife never stopped hating him. Just the thought brought forth an involuntary shudder.
His sister placed a warm hand on his forearm. “Patience, for now, brother. Trust me.”
He sent a silent prayer heavenward that she was right.
Aiden felt only slightly better after speaking with Lizabet. Mayhap there was some truth to her belief that Margaret was, deep down, a kind person with a good heart.
Mayhap it was fear that made her behave the way she did whenever he was around. ’Twas plausible.
But still, the nagging suspicion that Connor MacCallen had known exactly what he was doing when he suggested the marriage lingered in his mind and in his heart. That, too, was plausible. What better way to destroy an enemy than to destroy it from the inside out. Like the wasting disease that took his Uncle Wills years ago.
Still, he had made his sister a promise to give some consideration to her beliefs. He would be patient and extraordinarily kind to his wife. No matter what hell she would try to put him through, he wouldn’t back down. And he would refuse to give back what she gave.
But would that make him weak? Or at least weak in Margaret’s eyes? Would she take his stoicism and patience as a sign of weakness? Chances were, she would use his promise to bludgeon him to death, one sharp-tongued, hate-filled word at a time.
’Twas a conundrum, to be certain.
He would give it a week. No more than two. For the next fortnight, he would be nothing but kind to his new bride. No matter what she threw his way, he would not take the bait.
But if that didn’t work...
Lord help the woman.