Chapter 32 We Both Know Why
“I KNOW WHAT ye did, Diarmaid. I know about yer arrangement with MacLean.”
The carpenter looked up from where he’d been sanding a plank of wood. His shoulders stiffened, a nerve flickering in his cheek.
Fiona stood at the entrance to his workshop. After leaving Ardnacross Tower, she’d come straight here, still angry, still looking for a reckoning. And the look of guilt in Diarmaid’s eyes only incensed her further. “So, he bought ye, then?”
Diarmaid swallowed, eyes lowered. “He came to me on the quiet and offered me a silver penny a month, Fiona. To help ye out. And so … I agreed.”
Fiona glared back at him, even as hurt twisted in her chest. It all made sense now—why the taciturn carpenter had suddenly approached her. The shifty looks he’d given her at times. The way his eyes would shadow when she thanked him. Guilt. And it was written all over his face now.
“Ye never wanted to help me, did ye? But the coin was too tempting.”
He cleared his throat. “Business has been slow of late, lass. I was just helping myself out.” He brushed wood shavings off the leather apron he wore, still avoiding her gaze.
“It started as a transaction. But if I’m honest, I’ve liked having ye around.
Ye’ve been a burst of sunshine in a life that’s been grey for a long while. ”
Fiona’s breathing grew shallow at this, pity stirring within her. Soft woman. She was so easily moved. So easily manipulated by all these people. Was there anyone she could trust?
Yes. Eithne. Her friend wasn’t part of this. She couldn’t be.
“And ye spilled yer secrets to that awful woman,” Fiona went on, hardening her heart.
He flinched, confirming her accusation.
“She cornered me at market earlier,” Fiona continued, hands on her hips now, her heart thumping hard. “She humiliated me. Ye were supposed to sweeten Beth … not give her weapons to use against me.”
Reaching up, the carpenter dragged a hand down his leathery face.
“Christ,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, lass.
I was lonelier than I thought. We had a couple of suppers together, and too many ales.
And then one evening, things went further.
” His face flushed pink then. “Before I knew it, she’d pried the truth out of me.
I told her not to say anything … to anyone. She swore she wouldn’t.”
Fiona pulled a face. “Aye, well. She’s a liar.”
They stared at each other then, the moment drawing out.
“Och, Fiona.” Diarmaid moved forward, halting when they were just a couple of feet apart. “This changes nothing. I want ye to stay. I want ye to continue working in the weaving shed just as ye have before. Build yer business. I’ll take no more coin from Maclean. I promise.”
Fiona stared back at him. Her first instinct was to throw his words back in his face—to tell him she didn’t want to have anything more to do with him, that his weaving shed and everything he’d offered her was tainted. But then common sense prevailed.
Sometimes a woman had to think about survival.
If she gave up her weaving, then Beth would have won.
She’d go back to working all day in The Shepherd’s Crook, and although she didn’t dislike the job, it wasn’t where her heart lay, and it paid little—not enough for her to make plans, to have something of her own one day.
Aye, she’d worked upon a magnificent treadle loom at Dounarwyse, and had been surrounded by finery, but she was happier here, weaving in Diarmaid’s shed.
It was a simple, honest life of her choosing; one that until this morning had felt earned.
“Maclean bought the miller too, I hear,” she said, her voice cold now. “Nothing was real.”
He made a sound at the back of his throat. “Of course, it was real. Yer talent can’t be feigned. The blanket ye made me is fine work indeed. And the miller came by yesterday to tell me how pleased he is with yer weaving. I hear he’s commissioned more sacks from ye?”
She nodded, giving him that.
“Well then, none of that has anything to do with Maclean,” he pointed out quietly, “or me, or our arrangement. It has to do with the fact that ye have talent. Don’t throw it away.” He gave her a pained look then. “I know he was clumsy about it, but Maclean was only trying to help ye.”
Anger boiled up then, hot and dangerous. Her arms dropped to her sides, her fists clenching. “He interfered, and he had no right.”
The pitying look on Diarmaid’s face made her want to strike him.
“He told me what happened at Dounarwyse,” the carpenter admitted gruffly. “It was a right mess. And he knows he’s responsible. He was trying to ensure yer future was bright.”
Fiona exhaled sharply through her nose, attempting to leash her temper. She didn’t want to rage at Diarmaid. It wouldn’t change anything. And yet she didn’t want him defending Ailean. She didn’t want to think about the man at all, especially the things he’d admitted to her before she fled.
He loves me.
God, no. She wouldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it. It was all lies meant to draw her in, to make a fool of her, and she couldn’t let him.
And yet, there had been real pain on his face, real anguish in his eyes. For a moment, he’d looked close to tears.
But she’d shut it all out. She’d turned and run.
And she wanted to keep running. But she’d made herself a promise—that Ardnacross would be her home, and that, come what may, she’d make things work here.
And she would.
Straightening, she fixed Diarmaid with a steady gaze. “Do ye swear ye’ll take no more coin from Maclean?”
He nodded, his expression weary now. “I swear it, lass.”
“Very well … I shall stay on.” She took a step closer, her gaze never leaving his. “But from now on, Diarmaid, there will be complete honesty between us. I won’t forgive such deception twice.”
“Yer mind is made up then?”
Ailean looked up from the dish of bread and cheese he’d just about finished. His father watched him steadily from where he perched upon an upended barrel a few feet away. Kylie and Lyle sat nearby as well, all four of them sharing a simple noon meal.
If Ailean were honest, the bread and cheese tasted like sawdust.
He was still reeling from the mess he’d made with Fiona, and even his father’s arrival and their reconciliation couldn’t ease the ache in his chest.
“Aye,” he replied. “I’m making a life for myself here. One I can truly be proud of.”
He favored his father with a half-smile, then glanced around him at the walls he’d repaired, the tower he’d made home. There was still much to do, but he’d found his place.
“But ye can’t manage here completely on yer own,” his brother spoke up then.
Lyle was frowning, observing him over the rim of his cup. “Ye’ve no one to help ye guard the tower. Ye’ve no servants, no livestock … and no one to work yer garden.”
Ailean harrumphed. “All of that will be dealt with in time. The folk of Ardnacross have been welcoming, and when I’m ready, I’ll hire men from the village, and women, to form my household.” He shrugged. “It’ll be a lean one, but it’ll work.”
Silence followed his words.
A groove had etched itself between Kylie’s eyebrows as she observed him. “But winter is on its way. It’ll be unpleasant for ye here.”
Once again, he shrugged. “I’ll manage. The roof will be on by then … hopefully.”
And he would. He’d lived through winters on campaign on the mainland. He’d trudged through mud, shivered through blizzards. At least he had stout walls around him here, and with the hearth roaring and a sturdier door in place by the time winter arrived, he’d be warm enough.
Even so, his assurances didn’t placate his family. All three of them looked increasingly concerned, and irritation feathered up beneath his ribs.
His father had cut him off. Had sent him here.
Had they all expected him to fail within the first month?
He wondered if it was guilt talking now; on his father’s part, at least. Rae was trying to make amends, but there was no need. Ailean had deserved that punishment, and ironically, it had freed him.
His father didn’t need to be sorry. And he didn’t need to worry about him either.
Eventually, Rae sighed. “Well. I can see yer mind is made up. But know this, Ailean … henceforth, ye have my support. I will not exile ye here.” He paused then, as if making up his mind about something.
“Since ye are steward … a role with great responsibility … I shall provide ye with a yearly stipend. It should allow ye to run this place properly and hire the help ye need. I’d be grateful to have ye here collecting the rents and settling any disputes in the village. ”
Ailean smiled back, a little of the tension he’d been holding loosening in his chest.
His coin purse had grown light these days, and he’d been wondering how he’d manage in the months ahead. He hadn’t been bringing in any profit from this ruined tower. Instead, he’d had to pay for far more materials than he’d anticipated.
He was relieved that his father wished to pay him for the role.
However, the mention of rents made him remember something.
“Did ye get my missive, Da … about the MacDonalds?”
His father nodded before casting his wife a sidelong look. “Kylie wished to visit right away.” His gaze narrowed then. “Ye were lucky to emerge unscathed, by all accounts.”
Ailean lifted a hand, running his finger along the scar on his temple. It would always remain as a reminder.
Lyle muttered something under his breath while his father’s expression grew grim. “I should have known Callum MacDonald wouldn’t leave things be.”
Ailean nodded. “He wants to stir people up, it seems.”
“Aye.” A muscle flexed in his father’s jaw. “But he won’t succeed.”
Silence fell then before Kylie eventually broke it. “I’d like to see Fiona, Ailean. Where can I find her?”
He nodded, favoring his stepmother with a tight smile. “At this hour, she’ll be working in her weaving shed … at the carpenter’s workshop.” He rose to his feet, brushing the crumbs from his braies. “Come on. I’ll take ye.”
Fiona was sitting at her loom, staring at the sack she’d just started to weave, her shuttle motionless in her lap.
The threads blurred before her eyes. She’d tied the same knot three times and still couldn’t remember doing it.
Her thoughts circled back to Ailean’s stricken face, a moment before she’d fled.
A polite cough jerked her from her reverie.
She glanced right. A small woman stood in the doorway wearing a fine fur-lined kirtle. As it had been the last time she’d seen her, Lady Kylie’s oaken-colored hair was braided and coiled around the crown of her head.
Fiona lurched to her feet. “Lady Kylie,” she gasped. “What are ye doing here?”
The question burst out sharper than intended, but she’d been caught unawares. This woman was the last person she’d expected to see in her shed.
“Rae, Lyle, and I arrived at Ardnacross Tower a short while ago,” Lady Kylie answered with an embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry if I startled ye.”
Fiona’s breath snagged. Despite the storm of emotions that still twisted inside her whenever she thought of Ailean, relief flickered through her.
His father had come. There would be a reconciliation at last. Rae would take back his harsh words.
Ailean would return to Dounarwyse and close the door on this ugly chapter of his life.
On her.
Pain speared deep in her chest. She forced the thought away before it could root. She would not unravel in front of this woman.
“So … Ailean will return home then?”
Kylie’s gaze shadowed, and she shook her head. “No. Rae offered to restore his title, but he refused.”
Fiona stared. “What?”
“He would not be moved,” Kylie said quietly. “Rae tried. Lyle tried. But Ailean … he’s made his peace with this place.” She hesitated, then glanced toward the door. “He brought me to ye. He’s waiting beyond the garden gate.”
Fiona’s pulse fluttered wildly. Relief that he hadn’t come inside tangled with a sharp awareness of how close he stood. Too close. She didn’t want to see him—not with her temper still raw.
Kylie studied her face. “On the ride down, Ailean told me what happened.” Compassion shone in her eyes. “It’s a right mess, isn’t it?”
Fiona swallowed. Her throat ached. “Aye. It is.”
“I wish to make things easier for ye,” Kylie continued. “Return to Dounarwyse. Take up yer loom again. The tapestry is waiting. It needs yer hands.”
For a heartbeat, Fiona saw it: the familiar chamber, the bright threads, Arabella’s chatter.
But she’d never really belonged there.
“I cannot,” she said hoarsely. “When I left Dounarwyse, I swore I would never return.”
“Ye may change yer mind,” Kylie replied gently. “No one would judge ye.”
“This isn’t pride,” Fiona insisted. “I’ve built something here. Ardnacross is my home now.” She faltered, remembering Beth’s poison at market, then pushed the doubt aside. “This is where I belong.”
Kylie’s lips curved faintly. “Ye sound a great deal like Ailean when Rae offered him his title back.”
Heat rushed to Fiona’s face. The comparison stung. She opened her mouth to deny it, but no words came. She turned away instead.
Silence settled between them.
At length, Kylie sighed. “Very well. If ye will not return to Dounarwyse, I’ll bring the work to ye. Yer loom. The tapestry. I’ll continue to pay ye monthly and provide all materials. Ye need only weave and send the finished work to me when it’s done.”
Fiona’s breath caught. “Ye wish me to continue it … here?” she whispered.
“Aye,” Kylie said simply. “Where ye work matters little. I would rather have ye safe and willing here than resentful within my walls. Will ye accept?”
The choice settled in Fiona’s bones, and she nodded. “Aye. I will.”
“Good.” Kylie smiled, relief flickering across her features. “A wagon will come within the week. When ye need more supplies, send word.”
Fiona nodded again, still dazed by the offer.
Kylie turned to leave, then paused. Her gaze sharpened thoughtfully. “I think there’s more to yer decision to remain at Ardnacross than ye admit.”
Fiona frowned. “What do ye mean?”
“Only that Ailean lives here too.”
The words struck like a thrown stone.
“I came here not knowing he would,” Fiona said quickly, heat rising up her neck. “I—”
“Of course,” Kylie said gently. “But once ye knew … ye stayed.”
Fiona’s chest tightened. She could not meet the woman’s eye.
Kylie’s voice softened further as she added, “Pride is a cold bedfellow, Fiona. If ye look beyond it, ye’ll understand why ye’re still here.”