The Highlander’s Pirate Bride (Sparks and Tartans #10)

Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

R anald instructed Mildred, the housekeeper, to prepare a bedchamber for Aileen and give orders to the kitchen maids to hasten with hot water for bathing for both Maxwell and Aileen.

“Ye ken yer bedchamber is kept ready fer ye at all times, me lord. Yer braither is never sure when ye’ll return and he wishes it tae be prepared fer ye whenever ye come.”

Maxwell headed to the staircase leading to the upper section of the keep where he always slept during his time at the castle.

Aileen followed Mildred up a sweeping stone staircase and along a passage, where Mildred opened the door to a small, pleasant, chamber hung with colorful, embroidered tapestries.

“The maids will bring ye the tub, some hot water, soap and towels.” Mildred said briskly. “One of them will light a fire tae warm this room, ‘tis cold enough tae freeze ye solid.” She was a slim woman, wearing a neat linen kirtle, her fair hair tightly braided and wound around her head with nothing out of place. Her eyes travelled disapprovingly over Aileen.

“If ye’ll pardon me saying so milady, ye’re in need of a good scrub and some clean clothes.”

Aileen sighed. “Ye’re quite correct Mildred. We’ve been travelling rough fer more than a week.”

Mildred nodded. “Of course. Would ye like some porridge and a bannock or two?”

Aileen found herself grinning widely. “Mm. That would be very fine. Thank ye.”

The maids scurried in with a large tin tub and buckets of hot water to fill it. One of them laid a cake of lavender-scented soap and two soft, linen towels beside a cozy, knitted robe on a chair close to the tub.

The girl bobbed a curtsy. “They’ll bring yer breakfast along in a while.”

Aileen gratefully sank into the tub, breathing in the lavender steam, closing her eyes and allowing her tired bones to come back to life in the warmth. She sank under the depths of the water. allowing it to flow over her hair. Pulling herself up to sit, she lathered her wet hair with the sweet-smelling soap.

After she’d rinsed her hair, she luxuriated, the kinks and knots unravelling as she floated blissfully. Before the water could grow cold, she reluctantly stepped from the tub, wrapping her hair in the smaller of the two towels and gently drying her face, body and limbs with the other. She shrugged on the soft robe and went to sit by the fire.

Looking around she spied her britches, shirt, and tabard folded neatly sitting on a small table by the door. The door flew open and another maid entered carrying a wooden tray bearing a bowl of porridge, honey, milk, bannocks and jam. Once the door closed behind the maid, Aileen ravenously attacked the food.

Replete, she was brushing the crumbs from her robe when Mildred bustled in.

“Here, lass. I found this gown fer ye. Mayhap it will fit as ye’re a tall lass, rather like Lady Raven, the sister of the laird and his braither.”

Mildred hung the gown on a peg outside the garderobe. It was made of fine linen, in a russet brown that was almost the color of Aileen’s hair. Around the bottom of the dress was a series of embroideries in greens and browns representing animals, trees and wildflowers of the woodlands.

“’Tis beautiful, Mildred. Thank ye fer yer thoughtfulness. Please thank Lady Raven on me behalf. Will I meet with her soon?”

“Aye. She is most delighted her braither has returned and wishes tae meet wi’ ye in the solar as soon as ye’re able.” She paused. “I explained that ye and the lord Maxwell were both a mite tired and ye’d been travelling fer a long while. She sent ye a message that, should ye wish tae rest, she will understand.”

Mildred turned to go, stopping to collect Aileen’s soiled clothing. “I’ll see to these. The laundry maids will wash them and sponge yer cloak and tabard and have them back tae ye in nae time.”

Aileen felt her cheeks burning. She was not used to such kindness, nor was she used to being called ‘milady’ and treated to the courtesy of a meal brought to her and a warm bath provided. At Dunrobin she was no better than a servant, although she was made to lie in Sutherland’s bed and play the role of his mistress. She shuddered at the memory of his cruel touch, something she tried hard to push into the furthest reaches of her mind. Beside her sat her trusty ebony rod and her dirk.

Snug as she was by the fire, wrapped in the warm robe, sleep was overtaking her. Before she closed her eyes, she made a grim vow. If she ever saw Sutherland again and if he should attempt to place his hands on her, she would take out his heart with her dirk.

Waking refreshed from her brief sleep, Aileen made up her mind to make it her business to explore the castle and discover what she could about the ways it could be defended. She was under no illusion. Sooner or later Sutherland’s men would launch an attack. He would never rest until he had punished both herself and Maxwell for their audacious defiance.

Dressed in the kirtle and blouse that Mildred had left her, she brushed her newly-washed hair, allowing it to flow over her shoulders and down her back in a red-gold cascade. Taking her newly sponged-clean cape, she left the chamber and progressed along the corridor in search of the stairs.

She’d not gone far when she encountered one of the chambermaids going about her duties. She paused. “Pardon me, lass.”

The maid curtseyed and keeping her eyes downcast, nodded. “Aye, milady.”

“Can ye tell me where I may find the Lady Raven? I believe she is waiting in the solar.”

The maid lifted her head and cast a curious gaze at Aileen. “Why yes. Follow me.”

They descended the staircase and entered another small passage, passing the first two doorways. She halted at the third door. “This is the solar, milady. D’ye wish me tae knock?”

Aileen nodded and the maid rapped on the door with her knuckles. “Enter,” was the faint response. The lass opened the door and Aileen entered.

Raven was seated on a chair by the fireside, her wee lad on her lap. Aileen saw at once, from the rounded belly, that she was with child. She stood when Aileen entered.

“Dae join me, milady. I am so pleased to meet ye. I am Raven,” she said with a smile.

“Pleased tae meet ye, milady. Please call me Aileen,” said Aileen, bowing her head.

“It is a pleasure, Aileen. And please call me Raven. This is me son Thorsten. Say hello little lad,” she said to the boy in her arms.

“Hello…” he mumbled shyly, hiding his head in his mothers embrace.

“Hello Thorsten, lovely tae meet ye,” smiled Aileen.

Then, with a flurry of kisses on his rosy cheeks, Raven handed her little boy over to Muriel, his nursemaid, who gathered him in her arms and left them.

“I have heard only a little of yer story related by Ranald Dunbar, but I would love tae hear a full account of yer travels.”

Aileen took the chair beside Raven’s. “First, I wish tae thank ye fer yer kindness, and fer this bonny dress.”

Raven smoothed back a lock of dark hair. “There will be other gowns I can find fer ye.” She chuckled, patting her belly. “Me shape doesnae permit me tae don most of the gowns I used tae wear.” A frown creased her brow. “I heard ye have naught but the clothes ye wore when ye arrived wi’ me braither. I long tae hear your tale.”

Aileen gave a short laugh, recalling how the demise of her blue gown had saved their lives. “Me clothes were the least of me worries. Escaping from our enemies was me foremost concern. It was such a great joy when at last we entered the sanctuary of Bàgh á Chaisteill and I set eyes on Kiessimul Castle fer the first time”

“Dunbar gave me only the briefest of details. He said ye were attacked?”

Aileen took a deep breath. Where to begin? She looked at Raven’s fresh, open features and the sparkle in her amber-colored eyes, and it was clear she was waiting with great anticipation for the story to begin. Yet it was not a story she was altogether proud of, the details of her years as Sutherland’s mistress not a good memory.

Raven must have sensed her hesitation.

“Dinnae feel shy of telling me. I have me own story of travail, murder and heartache and the life I lived before I met me beloved husband Arne. Even so, I was forced to leave him and me sweet wean, Thorston, fer a time.” There was a faraway look in her eyes as she reminisced. “But, in the end, right prevailed.” She reached a gentle hand and took Aileen’s hand where it lay in her lap. “And it will be the same fer ye. Ye’ll find nae finer lad than me braither, Maxwell.” She laughed. “Unless, of course, it is my braither Everard. Of those two lads, I can never tell who is the finest.”

Aileen nodded. “Aye, Maxell is the finest lad I ken.” The heat rising in her cheeks surprised her. The feelings she held for Maxwell were unlike anything she’d ever imagined.

Raven’s warm-hearted welcome and the brief confession of her own journey’s difficulties were enough to ease Aileen’s doubts. She began her tale as it had started, with the Laird Andrew Sutherland’s command that she capture Laird Everard MacNeil and bring him to Dunrobin.

There was only a gasp from Raven, who leaned forward, her eyes alight, waiting for the story to unravel.

She had only arrived at the part of the tale covering their sojourn at the Flying Fish tavern when the maids entered bearing their midday meal – trays of sweetmeats, bannocks and jam, and slices of cold chicken and boiled eggs.

Aileen paused in the telling so they could partake of their meal. Once the last of the dishes had been cleared away and collected by the kitchen maids, Raven urged her to continue.

“So, at the tavern was the first time ye conversed alone wi’ me braither?”

“Nae really, we had had a few exchanges on the birlinn, but it was then that I learned what a gentle soul was hiding beneath all those fierce images that adorn his body. For the first time I felt me soul could be redeemed and that I was nae disfigured and hideously ugly as I’d believe meself tae be.”

“Aileen, ye’re beautiful. I daresay me braither was captivated and could think of aught else but yer beauty and strength.”

“Mayhap.” Aileen chuckled. “Methinks ye are naught but a romantic at heart, Raven. Wishing tae hear naught but tales of love.”

“Well,” Raven huffed, “this story of yers speaks of danger and adventure, risk and terrible adversity, but I suspect it is love between ye and my braither that is truly what brought you through.”

“It may be that we lassies believe that tae be so, but our menfolk will always believe it is swordsmanship, courage and cunning that prevail.”

“Ye are right, of course.” Raven laughed. “It is all of it, but love is the most powerful. Whether it is love between a man and a woman, or other kinds of love. A mother for her weans, siblings, friends, soldiers for each other, or love of the king and our land. But it is always love.”

This was a new way for Aileen to look at the world. “I like what ye say. I think ye may well be right.”

Am I really in love with Maxwell?

They whiled away the next hours as Aileen told the story, answering Raven’s questions and hearing a little more of Raven’s own adventures and heartache.

When it came to the final chapter, Raven had insisted on hearing every detail of their flight from Skye to Barra and the battle with the men on Sutherland’s birlinn. Raven leaped to her feet and paced the floor, passing from one side of the room to the next, wringing her hands.

“Sutherland’s men are on our doorstep.” Her voice shook with this realization.

“Aye. I fear Maxwell and myself have led them tae Barra.”

Raven shook her head. “’Tis nae matter. It is Sutherland who has caused this disorder. If Everard has been taken captive, our men will go tae war. If Everard has eluded his capture, Sutherland will come here sooner or later and there will be war nonetheless. The MacNeils will never allow their chief to be abducted or our lands and men to be menaced by another clan.” Raven turned to face Aileen, the glint of a tear on her cheek. “Nae matter what, while the Laird Andrew Sutherland lives, will be war.”

All at once Aileen desperately needed to speak with Maxwell. She could only agree with Raven’s understanding of the situation. Sutherland’s hubris may have led him to underestimate the determination and pride of the MacNeils. Yet, if there should be all-out war between the clans, the MacNeils were sorely outnumbered. While she had no doubt they would fight with great skill having Maxwell as their War Chief, Sutherland commanded a great fleet and many more men at arms than the MacNeils could muster. Mayhap they could call for support on the MacLeods of Skye, Sutherland’s sworn enemies but, even so, there would be terrible bloodshed and many lives would be lost.

The responsibility for all this lay heavily on her heart. If only there was some way she could forestall the turmoil to come. Yet she knew Sutherland would never accept her escape with Maxwell from Dunrobin Castle. His pride and arrogance would have led him to believe the two of them could never escape. Yet that was exactly what they had achieved.

He would be out for vengeance with an awful tenacity that would keep him hunting them no matter where they tried to hide. His men would invade Castle Kiessimul once he had assembled his army and made ready for the attack.

She had to find a way to prevent the all-out war that would result from Sutherland’s revenge.