Chapter Eight #2
“That’s settled, then,” Lady MacLennan said. “Elspeth, have some tea brought to my chamber, will ye—then make sure we’re not disturbed. My daughter-in-law and I have much to discuss.”
One of the older servants bobbed a curtsy. Taking Mia’s hand, Lady MacLennan led her out of the great hall.
*
“I trust those marks dinnae pain ye.”
After ushering Mia to sit on a threadbare sofa, Lady MacLennan—the Lady MacLennan, for Mia could not think of herself as such—lowered herself into a seat beside the unlit fireplace.
Mia lifted her gaze from the valise on her lap to see the other woman looking directly at her. Her unflinching gaze wandered over Mia’s form, lingering on her hands before settling on her face. Mia reached for her veil to lower it, but Lady MacLennan raised her hand.
“Please don’t on my account,” she said, “nor on anyone else’s. And ye can set that aside.” She gestured to the valise.
Mia obediently placed the valise on the floor, then glanced about the chamber. It was enormous, the rear portion dominated by a four-poster bed and the front section furnished like a parlor, which must be Lady MacLennan’s living quarters.
The chamber had the same stone walls as the main hallway, but lacked the air of gloom.
The tapestries lining the walls were brighter, both in color and the scenes they portrayed.
One depicted the mountain in soft blues and purples, towering benevolently over a meadow covered in flowers and grasses in differing shades of green, pink, and yellow.
A path wound through the meadow, leading the observer’s eye a little to the left of the center of the tapestry, and Mia caught her breath as she spotted the figure of a stag.
But unlike the tormented creature she’d seen in the hall, the animal stood proudly on the slopes of the mountain, head tipped upward as it roared at the sky, proclaiming the land as his.
Mia couldn’t suppress a smile at the vitality portrayed in the image, the sense of joy in belonging to a land more vibrant than any park in London.
“It is rather beautiful, isn’t it?”
Mia glanced at Lady MacLennan, who regarded her with a soft smile.
“Dinnae frown, lass. I would see ye smile. It’s a happy day.”
“I fail to see a reason to be happy,” Mia said.
Lady MacLennan frowned and opened her mouth to reply, but the door opened and a maidservant entered bearing a tray.
“Ah, Elspeth, set the tray on the table, please, and if ye’d be so kind as to pour the tea?”
“Yes, Yer Ladyship.”
The maidservant placed the tray on a circular table with a thick column at the base that splayed out at the bottom to form three feet, carved into the shape of cloven hooves.
The tray, fashioned from a dark-gray metal, bore a silver tea set, two cups, and a plate piled high with pale-brown slabs dotted with sugar.
“How do ye take yer tea, Lady MacLennan?”
Mia resumed her attention on the tapestry, letting her gaze wander over the flowers in the foreground.
“My dear?” her host said, and Mia glanced back to see both women staring at her.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Elspeth means ye, lass.”
“B-but I’m not…”
“Ye are, Yer Ladyship,” the maidservant said, staring at Mia unflinchingly. Then she smiled. “I’ve brought some milk and sugar in case ye take it, though the mistress has her tea plain. And I hope ye’ll take a slice of shortbread. Mrs. McBride bakes the finest shortbread in Scotland.”
She picked up the plate and approached Mia, holding it out.
“Yes, do,” her hostess said.
Her hand trembling, Mia reached for a slice, and flinched as she lowered her gaze to her hand, the back of which was covered in pockmarks. To her credit, rather than recoil, the maidservant merely widened her eyes before returning to the table.
“Lady MacLennan?” she said, lifting the teapot.
“A little milk and perhaps a spoon of sugar,” Mia said. “I don’t usually take sugar, but today I feel…” She paused, her cheeks warming.
“I understand, my dear,” her hostess said, gently, while Elspeth poured the tea. “Ye’ve endured a long journey and yer arrival must have been very distressing for ye.”
And for everyone else, except perhaps the woman sitting before her now and the elderly maidservant with the kind eyes and gentle voice.
Unable to withstand even the tiniest act of kindness, Mia let long-withheld tears fall. Her hostess leaned forward and took Mia’s hand.
“No, Lady MacLennan,” Mia said, “you can’t touch my hand, it’s—”
“I see naught wrong with yer hand,” the older woman said. “It bears the marks of yer survival. Ye should therefore be proud of them, aye, Elspeth?”
“Aye,” the maidservant said, as she handed a cup to her mistress.
“And I thought I told ye to call me Eilidh…?” Lady MacLennan raised her eyebrows as if expecting a response.
“Eilidh,” Mia said quietly.
“Excellent! Of course, as I said, ye can call me Ma, if ye prefer—unless yer own mother still lives?”
Mia shook her head. “My mother died when I was a baby, and my father…”
“I know about yer father, lass. My son told me the circumstances surrounding yer marriage.”
Oh, heavens! Mia looked away, her cheeks warming.
“Ye’ve nothing to be ashamed of,” Eilidh said, “and everything to be proud of. I know what ye did for my son. I’m the one who’s ashamed—that he’s not seen fit to express his gratitude.”
“He did, the day we married,” Mia replied. “He was very kind.”
“And was he as kind today?” Eilidh shook her head and sighed. “I trust ye’ll forgive him. He was a little surprised, that’s all, given that he must have thought he’d seen a ghost. And dinnae we all act a little oddly when distressed?”
“In my experience, it’s when distressed, or angry, that we’re less able to conceal our true feelings,” Mia said, then she regretted her words as Eilidh’s eyes clouded with sorrow. “Forgive me, I did not mean to impugn your son’s honor,” she continued. “What happened was not his fault.”
“Neither was it yers, my dear. We must all accept the hand Fate presents us with. My son is yer husband, and ye must think of him as such, even if he does not—” Eilidh broke off and eyed the maidservant.
“Elspeth, once ye’ve served the tea, go and ask Mrs. Bron to have the main guest room ready for my daughter-in-law, would ye?
Have Ailsa light a fire so it’s all warm for her. ”
Elspeth bobbed a curtsy then exited the chamber. Eilidh lifted her cup to her lips, and her hand slipped, splashing tea onto her gown. She set the cup aside with a sigh.
“May I help, Lady MacLennan?” Mia said.
The woman arched an eyebrow.
“Eilidh?”
“No, my dear,” Eilidh said, resignation in her eyes. “There’s naught anyone can do. My hands…”
“Do they pain you?” Mia said. “Forgive me, I couldn’t help noticing…” She gestured to the cane propped up against the table.
“It’s old age, my dear,” Eilidh said, “and as I’ve come to accept, there’s only one real cure for old age. I’m not quite ready for that.”
Surely she didn’t mean death? Eilidh couldn’t be more than fifty at most, the lines around her eyes brought about by pain rather than age.
“Are you in constant pain?” Mia asked. “Or perhaps at particular times?”
“Particular times?”
“Such as on colder days, or when the air is damp.”
“Which describes almost every day here at Glenblath,” Eilidh said, with a gentle laugh.
“But I do feel less pain in the summer, when the weather’s warm and I can venture a little further outside.
I find the sunlight soothes my aching body, through lately…
” She shook her head. “I ought not to speak of myself when ye must be suffering more pain than I.”
“I am in no pain,” Mia said. “I have a salve that I apply to the marks on my skin, and they’ve improved greatly over these past weeks. I made it myself—from chamomile and lavender. I flatter myself that I know a little about ailments and medicines.”
“Ye do?”
“Before I fell ill, I was studying under the tutelage of…of Dr. McIver. Though, of course, I wasn’t able to—” Mia shook her head. “It matters not now.”
“I fancy it matters a great deal,” Eilidh said.
“That’s the first time I’ve seen yer eyes light up.
Which is a shame, as they’re such pretty eyes.
Was Dr. McIver a friend of yer father’s?
My son said ye were a doctor’s daughter.
I’m an advocate for education in women—I was never granted that luxury myself, but when I was a lass, things were very different.
Yer father is to be commended for furthering yer education. ”
“Actually he didn’t—” Mia broke off again and sighed. Whatever her father had granted—or denied—her, she had no right to disrespect his memory now he was in his grave.
“I see,” Eilidh said. “Well, this Dr. McIver is to be commended.”
“I owe much to him,” Mia said. “He lent me the funds to pay for my passage here.”
Eilidh nodded, compassion in her eyes. “I’m sorry that ye were left destitute on account of my son. I’ll make arrangements for him to reimburse Dr. McIver. And ye’ll be wanting to write to him, let him know ye arrived safely. He’ll be concerned for yer welfare.”
Another tear splashed onto Mia’s hand and she nodded.
“Excellent!” Eilidh said brightly. “That’s settled.” She reached for her cup and let out a groan as she curled her hand into a fist.
“May I?” Mia said.
Eilidh nodded, and Mia took the older woman’s hand in hers and gently uncurled it.
Then she ran her fingertips along the hand, pausing as she reached each swollen knuckle where the skin was reddened.
Though the bones were sound, they seemed roughened in places, the texture resembling the bark of an oak tree.
Eilidh’s eyes narrowed and Mia caught a low hiss of breath.
“Are you in much pain?” Mia said.
“Nothing more than I should expect at my age, lass.”
“Does your physician recommend any treatment?”