Chapter 6
“Ah, good, ye brought her at last.”
Leah looked up at the unexpected voice as she ascended the last few steps from the boat. She glanced back at MacWatt with a burst of uncertainty.
“There is no Lady MacWatt?” she asked, feeling guilt blooming in her chest that she had not even considered that possibility before.
As she asked the question, the Laird’s countenance darkened considerably, and he shook his head.
“Nay. There is only me,” he replied, placing a gentle hand on her back and guiding her through the stone archway and into the main keep.
As she entered, she was amazed to see dozens of torches blazing from all sides. Despite the late hour, the place was lit from every angle. It was welcoming and surprising all at once.
The voice she had heard belonged to the strangest woman she had ever laid eyes on. She was slightly stooped and walked with a cane. Her long grey hair was loose and fell about her face in soft waves. She looked older than Leah’s mother, perhaps closer to sixty, but it wasn’t easy to tell.
Flowers were woven through her hair, culminating in a halo of petals on the top of her head. Her eyes were sharp and assessing, and her clothes were light and loose, fluttering about her like a butterfly’s wings.
As she approached, Leah saw that her cane was made from a slim piece of chestnut wood, beautifully carved into a twisted design. At the tip, a small white orb sat inside a wooden cage laced all around it. It looked more like a staff than a cane.
“I trust yer journey wasnae too unpleasant?” the lady crooned, smiling up at her as though she were a long-lost relative.
Leah turned to MacWatt in consternation. “They were expecting me?” she asked, confused. “How?”
Before he could answer, the woman patted her hand reassuringly. “This big brute didnae believe me, but I kenned ye would come.”
Leah shook her head, staring at her in bewilderment. “Do you know me?” she asked.
“Why, ye’re the Laird’s bride, o’course!” the old woman said, giving her a toothy grin.
Leah’s heart fluttered in her chest. “Oh, no, no—” she began but was abruptly pulled back by a hand at her elbow.
“What are ye bletherin’ about, woman?” came MacWatt’s voice from behind her.
Leah recognized the same tone of exasperated affection. Clearly, these two had a long history.
“Pay Betty nay heed, Lady Leah,” he muttered dismissively.
Ah, so this was the “Betty” who had lit the lamps for them.
“Ye are most welcome in this castle, me dear,” Betty continued as MacWatt scoffed behind them. “If ye need anythin’, ye need only to ask. We have been waitin’ a long time for ye.”
“Off with ye, ye befuddled creature,” MacWatt growled.
But the old woman did not seem offended by his dismissal.
She took it as her cue to leave the courtyard.
However, a crooked grin spread across her face as she waved a hand behind her.
Leah watched her affectionately as she hobbled away.
Betty was shaking her head at her master’s words, entirely unphased by his glower.
Despite her strange way of speaking and mad prophecies, Leah liked her immediately.
She did not have long to gather herself, as another girl about her age appeared at the top of the steps in front of her. She was quite beautiful, with long blonde hair and a flowing green dress similar in style to the older woman’s.
“Welcome home, M’Laird!” she called as she came down the steps to stand before them.
As Leah looked her over, curious about her position in the household, she noticed that not only was her dress green, but the tips of her fingers were also green, as though dyed by some kind of chemical.
MacWatt scowled as he noticed Leah staring at the girl’s fingers and pointed to the door Betty had disappeared through.
“Will ye stop terrifyin’ me guests and go and find yer tutor?” he said with frustration as the green-fingered woman gave a tinkling laugh and turned to Leah.
“Pay him nay mind,” she said fondly, as MacWatt had done to Betty. “He doesnae like to travel.”
“Away with ye!” MacWatt cried, flinging an arm at her as though to banish her like some spirit.
“Ye are most welcome, Leah Anderson. I’ve heard so much about ye. If ye have need of anythin’, ye ask for Iona and I’ll see to it,” the young girl said with a warm smile, before skipping away to follow Betty and throwing a mischievous glance back at MacWatt as she did so.
As Leah watched the strange proceedings unfold before her, she became aware that she was shivering violently from the cold, and the cloak was dripping freezing water all over her shoes. It had done little to prevent the deluge from soaking her to the bone.
I suppose this is what I get for hiding in carriages to avoid my father.
MacWatt called for a servant, who hurried forward. She was a slight girl with a large birthmark across her forehead. She hovered uncertainly as her master gave her instructions.
“Take Lady Leah to her chambers and find her a change of clothes.”
“Are there nay bags, M’Laird?” the servant asked timidly, glancing about as though they might be brought up from the boats.
“Nay, there are none. Find some clothes from the blue room. There may be somethin’ that will fit her.” MacWatt’s tone changed as he said those words, and that same dark expression crossed his face.
Leah knew there must be a story as to why there were a lady’s clothes in the keep, when only a barbarian lived there alone. She did not think it was her place to ask, but she burned to know the story behind the deep scowl on his face.
“Dinner will be served shortly, Lady Leah,” MacWatt continued, his eye darting about the keep. “I shall see ye later this evening.”
With that, he marched away, leaving Leah alone, dripping wet and freezing. She smiled at the servant girl, who bobbed a curtsy before showing her the way to her rooms.
As Magnus walked down the long corridors of the castle, he waited for the comfort of home to settle him once more, but it would not come.
His mind was still preoccupied with Leah, her sodden clothes and dripping hair, standing in his courtyard where he had left her.
He wished he could have picked her up in his arms and carried her to the nearest bath, where they would have lain together and warmed each other up, right down to their toes.
“Ye look like a thundercloud,” came an amused voice from behind him as his man-at-arms emerged from a side room, clearly having been waiting for him.
Kenneth O’Malley was Magnus’s oldest friend. He knew him better than anyone.
Magnus hunched a shoulder in greeting as his mouth twisted into a scowl. He did not relish explaining what he had gotten himself into due to his weakness for a pretty face.
She is more than that, so much more.
“Does yer mood have anythin’ to do with the young lady who arrived with ye? Because the servants are abuzz with the news. Did ye kidnap her? I have a wager that ye did.”
Magnus growled at him. “Quiet, ye blaggard,” he muttered, but Kenneth only barked out a laugh.
“Who is she, then?”
“Do ye nae wish to ken of the alliance I have secured for our people? Or are ye more interested in a filly ye havenae met and willnae meet!” he asked, feeling possessive anger at the mere thought of Leah spending time with another man.
Even his man-at-arms appeared to be off-limits to his overactive imagination.
Magnus almost groaned aloud at the inconvenience of this irritating obsession.
Thankfully, the talk of alliances had suitably distracted Kenneth from asking any other inappropriate questions.
“Did ye really meet with the Laird?” he asked, clearly surprised by the development. “I had thought ye were going ashore for a dram outside yer castle walls. I never imagined ye’d really attend the party. For a bairn, nay less.”
His words were not unkind; he appeared pleased that Magnus had extended an olive branch.
Kenneth had good reason to be surprised. After all, Magnus had not attended an event outside the castle since Lady MacWatt’s passing.
“He is an odd fellow,” Magnus conceded, recalling the strange familiarity he had felt with Laird MacIrvin. “Sincere, I think, though he has nay reason to be. Our exchange was brief, but it seemed genuine. He said he will visit.”
“Visit here?” O’Malley repeated.
“Ye heard me,” Magnus grunted.
He was an overbearing ogre most of the time, that was true, but had he truly had so few visitors over the previous years?
None, death has been the only visitor in these halls.
He walked into his study at the end of the wide corridor.
It was his favorite room in the castle, with a roaring fire and ten to twenty candelabras burning in the corners.
He was sure he sent his servants into fits with the number of candles they had to light every night, but the room comforted him.
They both walked to the fireplace—a habit engrained in them from many years of O’Malley’s service. His man-at-arms understood when he was welcome, when his master needed to think, and when he had outstayed his usefulness.
They often shared a dram by the fire, and tonight was no exception.
“So ye believe MacIrvin will be a good ally?” O’Malley asked as Magnus poured two large measures into cut-glass tumblers and handed him one.
“Aye,” Magnus said, taking a big swig of the amber liquid, trying to settle the disquiet in his mind.
He rather misjudged the portion, however, and ended up coughing all over himself as it burned down his throat.
When he finally recovered, eyes streaming, he found his man-at-arms studying him with interest, his expression and demeanor entirely composed in comparison to Magnus’s.
“Went down the wrong pipe,” Magnus muttered, taking a seat in his leather armchair and watching O’Malley take the other.
“The council has asked about yer bride again,” Kenneth said haltingly.
Magnus could understand his reticence in bringing up the topic.
O’Malley knew the subject grated on Magnus’s nerves more than any other.
For a long time, he had banned it from being raised at all, but in recent months, he had recognized the need for an heir, even if the very thought sent a wave of unease through his body.
“Och, aye?” he asked. “Same tune, different song.”
“Indeed. Have ye thought any more about it? I wondered if the lady—”
“Nay,” Magnus barked, taking a smaller gulp of his whisky and shaking his head. “She needed me help, and I’ve offered her me protection. And dinnae ask me why, I dinnae ken meself.”
He glanced at his friend, and Kenneth had an amused twinkle in his eyes.
“Ye shut yer mouth,” Magnus chided, and the other man chuckled.
“Protection? Is that what they call it?”
“She is a lady,” he said fiercely.
“And ye are a laird in need of a bride. That is all I’m sayin’.”
“Well, ye can unsay it,” Magnus grumbled, staring into the fire, his mind wandering to places it should not venture to.
“It could delay things,” O’Malley mused.
“What’s that?”
“Yer alliance,” he said slowly, swirling his whisky in his glass, contemplating it as he held it up to the light. “They will recognize the stability it brings. It may nae be a marriage, but it is a welcome advancement. They’ll be pleased ye’ve made a friend outside the castle walls.”
His smile was mischievous, and Magnus glowered at him anew.
“I’ll do what is best for me people. The lass has nothin’ to do with me clan. She is simply in need of a place to stay. She cannae leave soon enough,” he muttered.
“Aye, I’m sure,” O’Malley replied.
“I must change for dinner,” Magnus snarled, swallowing back the rest of his whisky and placing the glass on the mantelpiece. “We can talk more about this later.”
“Enjoy yer dinner guest—I mean, dinner with yer guest,” O’Malley said with a grin as Magnus slammed the door shut behind him.