Chapter Twenty
Heaven help him if Fiona decided to aid and abet Mari in defying him, Jamie thought as he entered the library after dinner and poured a wee dram of the Scot uisge-beatha he had missed while in England.
The lasses—both of them—had tendencies to blunder into situations from which they needed rescuing, even if they didn’t think they did.
Fiona had always been strong-willed with an inquisitive nose for adventure that usually landed her in spots she should not be.
Mari was also stubborn and had an equal inclination to head off in directions she should not take.
Unfortunately, he was still in charge of their welfare.
Shane had already gone back to Edinburgh for his overdue trip to France, and Ian spent his available time with Jillian in their bedchamber.
According to both the physician and the midwife whom Ian paid to stay in the castle, the bairn was due in a fortnight.
Once the bairn was born and Jillian truly on the road to recovery, Ian would once again take over ruling the castle—and the lasses.
Surely Jamie could last two weeks with the little vixens.
He drained the dram, allowing the smooth, mellow taste to slide down his throat before the fiery contents warmed his stomach, and then poured another.
All he had to do was keep Mari and Fiona occupied so they would not have time to hatch any plans—especially not ones that included Fiona travelling to London.
Jamie heard the door open and turned to see his uncle and Broc enter. Neither of them looked pleased, and Jamie was tempted to drain the second whisky as well but held on to the glass instead.
“Ye wish to join me in a dram?”
“Aye,” Broc answered as he opened the bottle to pour two drinks. “And we want to know why we have yet another English bitch in the house.”
Jamie raised a brow. “I dinnae think Ian would care to have ye address his sister-by-marriage in such a manner.”
“All English women are bitches or whores.”
Jamie set down his glass. “Ye will nae call Mari Barclay either of those names.”
Duncan studied him. “Do ye have a fondness for the lass?”
Broc snorted. “A fondness to rut with her if he hasna already.”
“One more word, and ye will be on yer arse with a bloody nose,” Jamie said as he rolled back his sleeve.
“Enough,” Duncan said to Broc. “We didnae come here to squabble.” He turned back to Jamie. “With the early blizzard, our plans were foiled in waylaying the damn countess—”
“’Tis a good thing,” Jamie interrupted. “Ye would be willing to risk the redcoats warring with us again because of Countess Sutherland?”
“She burned hundreds of crofters out of their homes.” Broc practically spat the words out. “All because she wanted to raise sheep for more of the filthy English money.”
“I agree the Clearances are a grievous thing,” Jamie replied, “but taking on a contingent of English soldiers escorting Sutherland would only put Ian’s lands in jeopardy.
Old King George is barmy, and the regent lives a grand life, always looking for ways to refill his coffers.
Ye ken as well as I that raising taxes has sent many a clan off their ancestral lands. Do ye wish such for us?”
“Nae,” Duncan muttered, “but we thought of a better way to get rid of that bitch who has no right to call herself a Scot.”
“I dinnae wish to hear it.”
“Dinnae tell me ye have taken a fancy for the English?” Broc sneered. “Or maybe ’tis the English bitch—” His words and wind were cut with Jamie’s fist landing in his face and he lurched backward, holding his broken nose.
“Ye want more?” Jamie asked, taking a menacing step toward the man.
“Nae,” his uncle broke in and grabbed Broc by the arm, “but ye would be wise to listen to the plan. Mayhap another time.”
Jamie watched them walk to the door, calmly returning the murderous look Broc was giving him through a rapidly swelling eye. Ian would have to be told about the plot, but for now, Jamie would keep a close eye on both of them.
Mari hurried away from the door before any of the men could come out. She had not meant to eavesdrop, but merely to find a book she could read to Jillian. She managed to slip into the room that served as a parlor just as Duncan and Broc stomped down the hall toward the front door.
Shuana looked up from the book she was reading. “I thought ye had gone to bed.”
Startled, Mari turned. She had not expected to find someone in here. “I was on my way to the library when I overhead loud voices arguing—”
“Our uncle and his half-brother,” Shauna replied. “Something always seems to stir their blood. Pay them nae mind.”
Mary tilted her head to study Shauna. She seemed sensible and less formidable than Bridget. Perhaps it was a godsend she was here. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Nae at all. What is it?”
“I couldn’t help but overhear a bit of the conversation in the library. What are the Clearances? I know it had something to do with clearing the land for sheep, but why?”
Shauna laid the book down and gestured for Mari to sit beside her. “It daesna surprise me my uncle goes on about that. Have ye heard of Culloden?”
“Wasn’t that when old King George defeated the Jacobites?”
“Aye, but ’twas a wee bit more. The English king feared Scotland would continue to rebel in spite of the massacre, so the Crown declared the clan chiefs no longer held power over their people. Playing the pipes and wearing the tartan were outlawed as well.”
Mari hoped the Scots girl would not think her totally stupid. “I do not think I understand.”
“Ye canna be expected to.” Shauna paused and then continued, “With the lairds stripped of their powers, they no longer had need to raise numbers of armed clansmen, nor did they need the tacksmen who had managed the farms and tenants since the lairds now had time to do it themselves. So the first clearances came as the tacksmen left for other parts.”
Mari frowned. “They were not forced to leave?”
“Nae then. Many of them were able to read and write and could find places in the towns of Edinburgh and Glasgow and even farther south. ’Twas when the English consultants came, explaining there was much money to be made in grazing sheep that the crofters—who knew nothing about shepherding sheep—were seen as being a burden on the scarce supply of food.
’Tis when the reigning landlords began driving them out. ”
“But where did they go?”
“Mostly to the coast to burn kelp for the new industries. I dinnae understand much of it, but some of Shane’s ships carry the dried kelp to the Continent.”
“Why would that make your uncle and his brother angry?”
Shauna paused again. “Sometimes, if crofters dinnae want to move, the landlords burned them out of their homes.”
“That is awful. Was the Countess of Sutherland one of those landlords?”
“Aye. Just last year she burned over two hundred homes in one day in the middle of winter. Some crofters starved. Some froze to death on the way to the sea.”
“How terrible,” Mari exclaimed, shuddering at such a plight.
She had seen Elizabeth Gordon Levenson-Gower, the Countess of Sutherland, on one occasion at a ball.
The woman had been haughty and did not deign to speak to anyone less than an earl.
Mari had no idea the woman had been responsible for such mayhem in Scotland.
An idea began to form in Mari’s mind. Perhaps Duncan and Broc would not hate the English so much if they knew at least some English sympathized with them. Perhaps she could be some sort of goodwill ambassador by engaging the men in conversation and winning their confidence.
It was certainly worth a try while she was here.
The family had their evening meal in a room they also used for breakfast rather than eating in the great hall where most of the servants, groundsmen and guards took their meals.
Mari had wandered through the cavernous room earlier in the day, amazed it still had such a medieval feel to it.
Tapestries graced the stone walls, although she wasn’t sure how old the weavings were.
At the far end of the rectangular room was a raised dais with a long table and heavy, high-backed armchairs reminding her of when Jillian had received title to Newburn and Mari had accompanied her to the English court.
The MacLeod crest of the horned bull, with the motto Hold Fast emblazoned above it, hung on the wall behind the dais along with numerous shields and swords, including huge claymores.
Perhaps in times past, those weapons needed to be handy, but Mari was just glad she didn’t have to eat in a room that reminded her of war.
Although the smaller dining room had something of the feel of a war room this night.
Broc, sporting a black eye and swollen nose, sat across from her, staring sullenly at his plate.
Duncan sat beside him, his face grim. Jamie sat to her right, and she could practically feel anger roiling off him.
To her left, Bridget’s rigid posture suggested she too was watchful.
Shauna and Fiona conversed quietly at one end of the table while the twins, seated at the other end, seemed oblivious to the tension.
She might as well begin her campaign of befriending Jamie’s uncle and his brother. Once they realized not all English people were bad, things would be better. Mari smiled brightly. “I have an interest in what happened with the Clearances.”
Both ends of the table went silent. Broc looked up, his eyes menacing while Duncan set his mouth in a tight line.
Jamie turned sharply toward her. It wasn’t exactly the reaction she’d expected from any of them.
Perhaps if she explained… “I was talking to Shauna earlier—” Mari fumbled, surprised at the stricken expression on Shauna’s face.
What had caused that? “Er, she was quite helpful in explaining the horrible plight of the crofters.”
“’Twas the damn English—”
“There will be nae cursing at this table,” Bridget said in a voice that brooked no nonsense.
Broc stabbed the meat on his plate with a vengeance that made Mari cringe. He certainly had a temper.
“I understand that,” she said in what she hoped was a conciliatory tone, “but not all English feel that way. I would like to learn more.”
“’Tis a subject we nae discuss,” Jamie said with finality.
There he went being bossy again. With an effort, Mari managed not to glare at him. Couldn’t he see that she was trying to be nice?
“How am I to learn then? I do not think it is too much to ask—”
“Enough, lass. As long as I am head of this table, there will be nae discussion.”
Mari kicked him under the table, wishing mightily that Ian had not taken his dinner with Jillian.
Of all the insufferable—ooh! Jamie had kicked her back, although it was more of a tapping of his boot than anything else.
Still. She gave him an indignant look, but he just smiled benignly at her.
Something about his smile made her wary…
and then she felt his boot again, only this time it circled her foot, nudging it toward him where he trapped her calf between his legs.
He spooned some gravy over his meat and then proceeded to slice a small portion that he lifted to his mouth. “Ye really should eat before yer dinner gets cold,” he said.
Eat? How could she eat when her leg was trapped firmly between his? She tugged, but he tightened his calf muscles, keeping her firmly grasped.
Her body went into instant betrayal in spite of her indignation.
Heat flared through her, sending nerve endings tingling in unmentionable places.
She squirmed, which only made the situation worse.
She was getting strange looks, but her butterflies fluttered wildly in her stomach and she knew she would not be able to swallow a thing.
Jamie calmly took another bite of meat and chewed thoughtfully.
Mari sighed. The man was impossible.
“The man is impossible.” Mari closed the story of the Green Knight and laid the book on Jillian’s nightstand. “Absolutely impossible.”
“Gawain? I always thought him rather gallant,” Jillian said.
“Not Gawain. Jamie.”
“What has he done this time?” Jillian asked.
Mari relayed the incident at the dinner table. “How dare he trap my foot and act like nothing is wrong?” she finished.
“Well, you did kick him first.”
“Because he told me I could not talk.”
“Only about the Clearances.”
Mari frowned. “Just whose side are you on?”
Jillian smiled. “No one’s. The Clearances are a very sore subject with Duncan and Broc. I am sure Jamie thought to protect you from their venom.”
“Ordering me to be silent is not protection. It is arrogance.”
“I thought the same thing when I met Ian, remember? I was sure he took delight in not complying with the rules of English Society. It is just the Highland way. The land is beautiful, but unforgiving.” Jillian pointed to the book.
“In a way, Highlanders remind me of King Arthur’s knights.
To survive and protect their families, they have to be hardened, but they also have a code of honor.
And part of that code is to protect their womenfolk. Jamie reminds me of Gawain in a way.”
“I am not one of Jamie’s womenfolk though.”
Jillian smiled again. ”Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. I told you about Nicholas, the French painter. He has been paying me court and has perfect manners to boot.”
“Ian said he did not meet Nicholas.”
“There really was not time,” Mari replied.
Jillian’s brow furrowed. “Was Ian not there for over a week?”
“Well, yes, but the opportunity did not come up.” Mari wondered how much Ian had told Jillian about the fiasco at the park. She was sure that was why Nicholas had not shown up before they left, even though she had sent a note. He probably did not want to deal with two MacLeods.
“Hmmm. I would think a man who is serious about courtship would make certain to meet his future brother-by-marriage.”
“Nicholas is a perfect gentleman,” Mari insisted. “I do not need two protectors. One MacLeod following me around is quite enough.”
“Hopefully, one day you will appreciate that.”
“I do not want to argue with you, Jillian, even if you are feeling a little better. Jamie is a good person, but he does enjoy irritating me.”
“Ian did the same thing to me.” Jillian reached out and patted Mari’s hand. “I do not wish to argue either. All I am saying is to be careful and take your time. Do not rush into anything. And please, give Jamie a chance. Promise me?”
Mari wanted to roll her eyes. Give Jamie a chance for what?
Driving her to Bedlam? But for the sake of not fatiguing Jillian, Mari promised.
She just hoped Jillian would not spill those beans to Ian who, no doubt, would tell Jamie.
And Jamie would delight in thinking such a bit of information gave him permission to do more protecting.
Besides, what could possibly happen in this remote region of Scotland?