Chapter Eight #2
‘Come. Sitting on the cold floor will only make things worse,’ he said.
‘Did Siusan stay with you all day?’ He’d sent a message to the woman as soon as he’d ordered Lilidh to the kitchens.
She was trustworthy and would not torment or abuse Lilidh.
He lifted her to her feet and did not release her until she’d taken several steps.
When they reached the chair nearest the hearth, she took hold of it and used it to keep her balance.
‘Yes, she did. I do not remember her, but she said she’d visited Lairig Dubh years ago,’ Lilidh said. Pushing her now-loosened hair out of her face and over her shoulders, she took in and released a deep breath. ‘May I wash?’ she asked, pointing at the basin where he’d left it on the floor.
Rob got the basin, added more hot water to it and placed it on the chair before her. After watching her for a few moments, he turned his back and gave her some privacy. It gave him time to sort out his thoughts.
If he did not take command of everyone in the clan, Lilidh would not be the only one in danger.
He had been surprised, much as Symon had been, when he was named his father’s successor, but if he did not step in and fully accept it, so much would be lost in lives and more.
Looking back now at Lilidh, Rob knew he would not allow her to be mistreated while in his custody.
He might allow others to think what they would, but no one else would give orders about her again.
This might be his first step—it would not be his last.
He would discover the truth about Symon’s involvement with both the MacKenzies and, if any, his father’s death. He would convince the elders who stood at Symon’s side to come to his. And whether the MacKenzies
or the MacLeries held the best opportunities for the Mathesons, he would discover it and make the best treaty for his clan.
Unfortunately, Symon was more entrenched and well established here than Rob was since he had expected and had been expected to inherit if Ailean, his father’s wife, did not give birth to a legitimate son.
Only when his father began to question Symon’s loyalty had the elders wavered in their unconditional support for his cousin.
Then, when his father had changed his opinion and resisted the MacKenzies’ overture to a better treaty with them and breaking with the MacLeries, had Rob’s name been brought up as a possibility for tanist.
His father and Ailean’s untimely deaths took away most of the choices or the time for the elders to evaluate who should be laird next. When their decision was needed, they chose Rob.
Though tradition called for the chieftain’s chair to move through male heirs, their clan had also looked to female lines if needed and Symon’s claim through his mother would stand.
Yet, more than once legitimacy or the lack of it had been overlooked when the clan was in need.
Since they were more landowners than nobles, the Mathesons were nothing if not practical when times called for it and these times did just that.
But that did not mean that some would be unhappy or that some would try to change the decision of the elders.
Well, no matter, he was chief. And he had it in his power to remain in that position and to be an even better laird than his father had been. One very much like the man who now wanted his head separated from his shoulders and other bits of him torn apart, too.
‘May I walk a bit?’ Lilidh’s voice broke into his reverie.
‘Walk?’ he asked, facing her. ‘Where?’
‘I just need to walk out some of the cramping,’ she explained. ‘Here would be fine.’
‘And that doesn’t hurt more than sitting or lying down?’ He should have not asked about something so personal, something he had no right to question her about. Her expression exposed how much she hated to speak of her leg, but he wanted to know.
‘Standing in one place. Sitting in one place. Too many steps. All of those hurt the most. Moving slowly, steadily, walking, even some riding is bearable,’ she said.
‘And today?’
She looked as though she had something to say and then just shook her head instead.
Her hair, freed from the earlier braid, fell in waves over her shoulders and down her back, the midnight tresses made even curlier from the form and tightness of the plait.
The dark circles under her eyes and the increasing pallor of her skin worried him.
‘Go ahead,’ he said, motioning with his hand across the length of the chamber. ‘Have your walk.’
She gave him an uncertain glance and then bent down and removed her shoes.
Lilidh remained leaning over, with her nose nearly touching her knees for several seconds.
Then she straightened up and began taking longish strides across his chamber.
He watched her for a bit, but decided he should focus his attentions on something other than the beautiful woman gliding along his bedchamber floor.
He picked up the papers that lay strewn across his table and put them in order.
The MacKenzies had written, offering their terms for a new treaty, in language that sounded like a good deal.
But the words seemed too flowery and too good to be the truth in deed.
What he wouldn’t give to have the MacLerie peacemaker look it over and give him advice.
The insanity of that thought made him realise how exhausted he was and how few options he and his clan had at this time.
Either accept the MacKenzies and convince them to help fight off the MacLeries or, now forced into confrontation, be exterminated by the overwhelming fighting strength of the larger clan.
Unfortunately, Symon had taken steps which forced him to do the first without completely preventing the second from happening.
The third time she passed by him, he put the letters down and watched her, openly.
Her leg moved with more ease each time she paced the length of the chamber.
She did not stumble now as she had at the beginning.
Somehow she must have realised he was not reading and that he was now observing her closely.
When she raised her eyes from the floor and her path and met his gaze, she tripped and began to fall.
He was out of his chair before his mind knew he was moving.