7. Guests
Guests
When the Farrish soldiers entered the courtyard, they were greeted by absolute silence.
It didn’t seem to put them off one bit, though. Straight-backed and stone-faced, they rode or walked along in perfectly straight lines, heads still and eyes focused straight ahead of them.
The servants had gathered to watch and stayed perfectly silent. Nobody even breathed. Sukie appeared at Catriona’s side, all bad breath and pointy elbows. Mutely, she produced an apple, sawed it in half with a dull, rusty knife, and handed Catriona half.
“See that slab-faced fellow in front?” she whispered pointed at a slim, clean-shaven man with a Farrish tartan cloak flowing from his shoulders. “That’s Laird Farrish himself. Hard-hearted man, he is. We scare our children with tales of him.”
Catriona swallowed. “I’ll try to stay out of his way.”
“Very wise,” Sukie observed. “A man like that can get away with murder. And I do mean that. I mean, what would the consequences be if he murdered one of us? I’ve seen it happen before.
Lairds, in their cups, seize a servant by the hair and smash their forehead against the wall.
Nobody lifts a finger. No fellow laird or councilman wants to risk war over a servant. ”
She shivered. “Are ye saying that we are in danger while he’s here?”
Sukie pushed out her lower lip. “Well, we’re not safe. Just mind yer manners, keep yer head down, and don’t make him upset. Oh, and that fellow behind him? Stay well clear of him.”
Catriona stood up on her tiptoes to get a better look.
The man who rode behind Laird Farrish wore a long black cloak, with no tartan visible.
He had his shoulders hunched and head ducked, but that did nothing to hide the sheer size and breadth of him.
When he glanced up, just for an instant, she caught a glimpse of cold, flat eyes.
It made her shudder, and not in a good way.
Those eyes raked over the crowd, landing, just for a second, on her.
She wasn’t imagining it. He did look at her, full on, for a long moment. His expression did not change, but as the horses clopped past, his gaze lay on her. She didn’t look away. She didn’t dare. She stared boldly back, and a faint line appeared between his brows.
Sukie put a hand on her shoulder and yanked backwards, pulling her back into the crowd and probably out of sight.
“Head down!” she hissed. “Don’t look at them dead on. These fine, grand men don’t like to be looked at. Head down.”
“Aye, Sukie,” Catriona mumbled.
Still, once Sukie was absorbed in her apple, Catriona glanced up again.
The Farrish convoy had reached the foot of the stone steps. Kenneth stood at the top, with Niall nowhere to be seen.
“Welcome, guests,” Kenneth announced once the final clop of iron horseshoes on the cobbles had faded away. “My uncle, Laird MacLeod, cannot be here to greet ye. Believe me, he regrets it.”
“He may regret it more than he knows,” Laird Farrish spoke up, his voice a low, discontented rumble. “If he greets the Frasers in person and not us, it’ll be seen as the greatest insult.”
“He won’t,” Kenneth responded smoothly, not reacting at all to the Laird’s barely veiled threat. “We are thrilled that ye are here. And I’m glad, too, that ye arrived first, since now we can spend time together before the other clan reaches us.”
“Of course we reached ye first,” Laird Farrish snorted. “The Frasers travel with women.”
Catriona frowned. She scanned the silent queue of Farrish soldiers. Sure enough, there was not a single woman there. As if reading her mind, Sukie leaned forward and whispered in her ear.
“They don’t approve of women fighting. Or doing much else beyond cooking, cleaning, birthing children, and following orders.”
“Lovely,” Catriona muttered.
Laird Farrish slid down from his horse, and his heir followed him.
They climbed the stone steps towards Kenneth, and it occurred to Catriona that she wouldn’t be able to hear what they were saying.
Cursing quietly to herself, she turned away from Sukie and set about pushing her way through the crowd.
Sukie gave a muted yelp of annoyance and tried to grab at her, but Catriona managed to slip away.
When she jostled people, they glared at her, but nobody dared say anything or cause any stir at all, not with the cold-eyed Farrish soldiers standing only a few feet away.
After a moment or two of dedicated pushing and shoving, Catriona reached the foot of the steps, a few bodies back from the front of the crowd. She was close enough to hear, at least.
“Ye are the nephew, are ye not?” Laird Farrish inquired shortly. “Is there any reason we are not speaking with the son? Ye are two places removed from the lairdship, whereas he is only one. Surely it makes sense to speak to him.”
Kenneth gave a tight smile. “Between ye and me, Laird Farrish, I am the one ye need to speak with. And not quite as far removed from the lairdship as ye think.”
Laird Farrish gave a neutral grunt. “Well, then. Ye know me, of course, and this is my heir, Alasdair. He is a fine example of a Farrish man. I’m sure ye will learn a lot from him.”
To his credit, Kenneth’s smile never wavered. “Of course. Now, can I show ye to yer quarters, Laird Farrish?”
“In a moment. Firstly, ye must know that we are looking for a woman.”
Kenneth blinked. “I’m sure I can arrange…”
“Not like that, ye fool. Nay, it’s one of the MacAlpin lasses. We almost had her, but her and my bastard—ahem—a boy I once trusted helped her escape.”
Catriona’s spine prickled.
One of my sisters.
Kenneth spread out his hands. “We have no MacAlpin girls here. Believe me, if we had, we’d have leveraged them long ago.”
“She’s an ugly thing,” Laird Farrish continued, anger simmering in his voice. “Fiona. That’s her name.”
Fiona. My sister Fiona.
She’s alive. She’s alive, and she escaped Laird Farrish.
Catriona’s heart hammered in her chest, hard enough to make her breath flutter. She pressed a hand against her throat, swallowing hard and willing herself to stay calm.
“I’ll be sure to watch out for her,” Kenneth promised, keeping the same thin smile on his face. He gestured for them to step into the Keep, and they did so, talking in low voices.
Alasdair hovered by the door, just for a moment, cold eyes raking over the crowd. Almost as if drawn by magnetism, his gaze found Catriona’s once again. This time, his stare lingered for several minutes before he turned away, leaving Catriona with a hammering heart and a sense of unease.
Why did he stare at me? Does he fancy me? That’s a dangerous thing, but if he does, perhaps I can leverage it.
I have to learn more. I have to know what happened with Fiona. But how?
The answer presented itself at once.
I have to speak to them. I have to try to speak to Alasdair. I have to do something.
And if she wanted to speak to the Farrish men, that meant only one thing.
She was going to have to wait on them at supper.
Sukie brought her cleaver down with a ringing thud, neatly beheading a dead chicken.
“Nay,” she said flatly. “Absolutely, categorically not. None of the young lassies will be waiting on the Farrish men. It’ll be the older servants, the tough old women like myself who know how to manage bad men.
It’ll be the big men, the old warriors who can hold their own.
No young lassies, no pretty folks. No young men, either.
Nobody’s safe from soldiers like the Farrish men. It’s out of the question.”
Catriona cleared her throat. “I know what I’m doing.”
Sukie gave her a long, hard look. “Is that so?”
“Aye. It is.”
“I don’t believe ye. The answer is no.”
She ground her teeth. “Sukie, please. I’m not trying to get into trouble, and I’m not trying to seduce anyone, either, I promise ye that.”
“Then what on earth do ye have to gain?”
There was a short silence after she’d spoken.
Catriona swallowed, trying to put together a coherent response.
They were speaking in the kitchen, and people chattered and rushed here and there, doing chores and panicking, hurrying to attend to their new guests and all the demand they’d brought with them.
Sukie stood still, her cleaver dug into the wooden chopping board, hands on her hips.
“Well?” she prompted. “Why are ye so keen to meet Alasdair Farrish?”
“Alasdair Farrish?” echoed a familiar voice from behind.
Catriona bit back a groan, closing her eyes. “Niall,” she whispered under her breath, too quietly for him to hear.
Or so she hoped.
Niall, who had been lounging in the doorway to one of the storerooms, an apple clutched in his hand, came swaggering forward.
“The very same,” he whispered in her ear as he strode past, taking a noisy bite out of the apple. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he grinned.
“The lass here wants to wait on the Farrish men at supper,” Sukie stated, her voice flat and heavy. “I told her no.”
Niall’s gaze landed on Catriona, as heavy as a weight. She fought not to stare back up at him. A prickling sensation climbed up and down her back, making her shiver.
His presence does not bother me, she told herself firmly. He’s no different from his cousin. I do not care about him. Not one bit.
If he weren’t so bloody handsome, I’d probably find him annoying. I do find him annoying, I mean.
“Well, if she’s so keen to help out, I suggest we let her,” Niall said shortly, taking another large bite of apple.
Sukie’s head shot up, her shocked expression mirroring Catriona’s.
“Ye cannot be serious,” she gasped.
“Oh, I am,” Niall responded, gaze still lingering on Catriona. Now, however, she let herself look up at him properly. “I am deadly serious. Be careful what ye wish for, lassie.”
With a wink and a grin that did not quite reach his eyes, Niall strode away, tossing away the apple core before he even reached the door. One of the kitchen dogs pounced on it at once, snapping up the crunchy treat with delight.
“Well,” Sukie said coldly, “it seems that the decision is made. I’m not pleased about this, lass. I’m not pleased at all. But ye can help serve the wine.”