23 UNFETTERED
“SEND UP TWO dozen eggs to the castle.” Liza flashed the man before her a smile. “Murdo has already started preparing for Bealtunn. We shall have honey-cakes this year.” She glanced down at Craeg then, ruffling his hair. “What do ye think about that, mo laochain?”
To her relief, her son grinned. He usually enjoyed being called her ‘little hero’. “I love honey-cakes!”
“Aye … they’re my favorite too.” The farmer admitted with a smile, while his wife picked up a basket and started filling it. “Lorna will take the eggs up to the castle kitchen now, Lady Maclean.”
“Thank ye, Harris,” Liza replied. The egg vendor didn’t realize it, but he’d just given her another small victory. Her first trips to Lochbuie’s weekly market after taking over as laird had been uncomfortable experiences. Few of the locals had favored her with friendly looks, let alone smiles. But these days, they were warming up.
Three weeks had passed since Ross Macbeth’s mysterious visit to Moy, and since Craeg had learned the truth about his father. In the days following, Liza had set about bringing in more stonemasons to repair the castle walls and the crumbling cottages in the village. She’d also organized to have a wall built around the village itself—something the locals had requested a while back from Leod, to keep the mountain hares from their gardens. In addition, she’d set up a weekly audience in her hall so that the folk of Lochbuie could bring any grievances they had to her. This was also something Leod had ignored, preferring instead to leave such matters for his overworked bailiff.
And now that the villagers could see the effort that she was making to serve them properly, she was starting to earn a few smiles.
Warmth suffused Liza’s chest then. Aye, she’d turned a corner. Finally, she was no longer floundering in her new role. If things continued like this, there would be no reason for Loch to deny her lairdship of Moy.
Handing Harris two silver pennies, she moved on, weaving through the stalls. The village was small, consisting of little more than a scattering of squat bothies with thatched roofs along one street. She walked with Nettie—her maid carried a large wicker basket over one arm and a cloth bag over her other shoulder—as well as an escort of three guards.
One of them was Alec Rankin. He and his men followed a few respectful yards behind, their gazes watchful as they surveyed the crowded market.
Their presence made the glow of pride that warmed Liza’s chest moments earlier subside, especially when she marked the looks some of the marketgoers were now exchanging. She knew what they were thinking.
A male laird wouldn’t need armed guards shadowing him everywhere.
Aye, that was the truth of it.
She’d tried to tell Rankin she didn’t require an escort for market day, but he insisted. Nonetheless, he’d been supportive of her over the past weeks, offering her advice whenever she asked for it, and attending the weekly audience she gave, just in case any of the locals got pushy. They also met each afternoon on the walls, where he’d tell her about anything that needed to be discussed, and she’d give him the necessary instructions. Rankin joined Liza and Craeg in the hall for the noon meal too, seated to her right at the laird’s table. It was usually a tense affair though, for Craeg eyed Rankin warily, as if trying to decide whether to hate him or not.
Liza gave herself a mental shake then. What did it matter if she never went anywhere without her bodyguards? The important thing was that she was winning at this. And with the treats she was preparing for the locals for Bealtunn, she’d soon have everyone on her side.
“We need honey, Ma,” Craeg chirped then, gripping her hand and towing her toward a nearby stall.
“Aye, we do,” she agreed. “Which one is best for baking?” Liza asked the woman sitting behind a selection of earthen jars.
“Ye’ll be wanting something mild … like clover or blossom.”
“Aye,” Nettie piped up. “Heather is too strong for honey-cakes.”
Liza tasted both, and had decided on the blossom, when murmurs to her left drew her attention. The marketgoers were pointing to the hill behind the village, where four horses were descending the path.
Gaze narrowing, she wished—not for the first time—that her eyesight were better.
“They aren’t wearing clan-sashes, Lady Maclean.” Captain Rankin’s voice, right behind her, made her startle. She hadn’t realized he’d approached. “And it looks as if two of the riders are women.”
Liza squinted at the newcomers once more. “Ye have eyes like a sea eagle,” she murmured.
Even so, he’d piqued her curiosity. Over the years, Moy had received few female visitors.
Meanwhile, the honey vendor had just finished wrapping two pots, which she handed over to Nettie. Nodding her thanks, Liza paid the woman, turned away, and waited for the riders to make their way down the hill into Lochbuie. If they were heading to the castle, they’d have to travel through the village first.
The crowd parted to let them through. And as they approached, she saw the two riders out front rode upon garrons, heavyset ponies with feathered feet.
Rankin stepped up next to her then before murmuring. “One of the women is armed.”
Liza cut him a questioning look. “Aye?”
“Aye … she has a dirk strapped to one hip and longsword upon the other … and there’s a quiver of arrows on her back.”
Her pulse quickened then. She’d only ever met one lass who carried weapons so boldly.
Makenna.
For a moment, she froze.
Christ’s bones, what is she doing here?
She hadn’t been in contact with either Kylie or Makenna, not since she’d canceled her trip back to visit her family at Meggernie Castle the past autumn. Makenna hadn’t responded to her hastily scribbled missive, with its flimsy excuse, and Liza had wondered if she’d been upset with her.
And as the women drew closer, Liza’s gaze narrowed. She’s brought Kylie.
Heart racing, she moved forward, just as the women brought their ponies to a halt.
“Liza!” Kylie swung down from her garron and hurried toward her. Her elder sister appeared travel-worn; her plum surcote was dusty and stained around the hem, although her braided hair, wrapped tightly around the crown of her head, didn’t have a strand out of place.
“Kylie,” Liza responded stiffly, forcing a smile. “This is … unexpected.”
Not answering, her sister enveloped her in a crushing hug. The gesture was surprising, for Kylie wasn’t usually given to such demonstrative behavior.
Drawing back slightly, Kylie’s gaze dropped to the lad who stood at his mother’s side, eyes wide. “This must be Craeg,” she said, her mouth curving.
“Aye … Craeg, greet yer Auntie Kylie and Auntie Makenna.”
“Hello,” he said solemnly.
“Good day, Craeg,” Kylie replied. “My goodness, ye are tall.”
“Greetings, nephew,” Makenna called as she handed her pony over to one of the two warriors who’d accompanied them. She then flicked her long unbound hair over her shoulder—she’d braided the front of her thick mane in thin braids, so it didn’t fall in her face—before flashing Craeg a grin. The lad merely gaped at her, clearly unsure what to make of this auntie. Winking at Craeg, she strode forward and nudged Kylie out of the way. Her green eyes narrowed as she met Liza’s gaze. “Why did ye never organize another date to visit us?”
“Sorry,” Liza admitted, guilt darting through her. “I meant to … it’s just been … difficult.”
Makenna’s expression shadowed at this admission before she too pulled Liza into her arms. Like Kylie, she wore a finely made yet travel-worn surcote, although her clothing had been altered to make it more practical. Her skirts were slitted at the sides, so she could stride out properly, and she wore long boots and thick cloth chausses. She smelled of roses and sunshine, a scent that reminded Liza of their mother.
Liza’s throat constricted then. “It’s good to see ye both.” And it was. By the saints, she’d missed these two over the years. All the same, she wasn’t ready to see her sisters, or to tell them what had befallen her. Everything was still raw, and she didn’t want her parents to find out just yet, or to worry about her.
Drawing back from the hug, Makenna folded her arms across her chest, eyeing her older sister. Of all the five MacGregor sisters, she was the one who favored their father the most. The rest of them bore traces of their mother’s looks to varying degrees—her dark hair and eyes, and golden-skin—but Makenna was pale with freckles and brown hair threaded with gold and red, and eyes the color of moss. “Is Craeg fully recovered from his illness?”
Liza swallowed, even as her stomach twisted. “He was never unwell, Makenna,” she whispered. “I lied.”
Both her sisters frowned at this. She was suddenly aware of the stares they were attracting from the surrounding villagers. She glanced over at Rankin then, who stood patiently with his men a few feet away. Meeting her eye, he raised an eyebrow. Aye, this wasn’t a conversation she could have out here.
Clearing her throat, Liza favored her sisters with a reassuring smile. “Come … I will explain everything once we get back to the castle.”
Silence fell in the solar once Liza concluded her tale. Both her sisters wore grave expressions when she shifted her attention back to them.
She’d started from the beginning—right from when Leod had forbidden her from visiting her kin, to the clan-chief’s reluctant agreement to trial her as laird for the time being. Aye, they knew the entire gut-wrenching story. She’d left nothing out, except for the fact that she’d spent a torrid night with the man who now captained her Guard. Some things were best kept secret.
It took a while for either of her sisters to answer, but when Kylie did, she was visibly shaken. “I can’t believe he’d try to murder ye.” She crossed herself then, a shudder rippling through her.
“When ye canceled yer journey to Meggernie, I knew in my bones that something was wrong,” Makenna replied, her eyebrows knitting together in a frown. She paused then, a muscle flexing in her jaw. “Filthy whoreson … I hope Rankin made him suffer before he ended him.”
Liza flinched at her sister’s bloodthirsty words, grateful that she’d sent Craeg to his bedchamber upon their return to the tower house, to play with Nettie. The noon meal was looming, and he’d be able to spend some time with his aunties soon enough.
Her sister’s reaction was also a reminder of her own thirst for vengeance, and how it had tasted like ashes in her mouth when she’d witnessed Craeg’s grief.
“Ye don’t both think less of me now then?” she asked softly. “After what I did.”
Kylie’s oak-brown eyes, the same hue as her hair, shadowed before she shook her head. “No,” she said huskily. “Although yer methods have been … unusual.”
“He got what he deserved,” Makenna said, her tone cool. “The bastard gave ye little choice but to fight back.” Her green eyes glinted. “I always knew ye had it in ye.”
Liza favored Makenna with a wan smile. “Did ye?”
Makenna gave a firm nod.
“I bring ill-tidings of my own, Liza,” Kylie spoke up once more. Her strong-featured face, so much like their mother’s, wore a strained expression now. “Errol died two moons ago.”
Liza stared back at her. Kylie was widowed? “Ye never sent word,” she whispered, even as her chest tightened. She was no better, for she hadn’t let any of her family know that Leod was dead.
Her sister glanced away. “No,” she replied, her voice roughening. “I wanted to tell ye … in person.”
Liza rose from her chair by the hearth and moved to where Kylie sat opposite. She then lowered herself to her knees before her and reached out, taking her hands. “I’m sorry, Kylie.”
“Thank ye.” Her sister managed a half-smile. Her throat bobbed then. “I’m bearing up well enough. Errol and I weren’t happy together … but I never wished him dead.”
Liza squeezed her hands. “Of course, ye didn’t.”
“Och,” Makenna made a noise in the back of her throat. “It’s a relief to see ye both unfettered. It’ll be like old times … like when we were lassies.”
Liza glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow at where her younger sister perched on the window seat. “If only that were true,” she replied with a shake of her head. “But none of us are lassies any longer.”
Makenna snorted, and Liza’s gaze narrowed. “Ye haven’t updated me on yer situation,” she said. “Has Da set a wedding date yet?”
Makenna rolled her eyes. “No … and I’d thank ye never to remind him.” She paused then, her sharp features tightening further. “He still hasn’t let Bran Mackinnon know he won’t be getting his eldest daughter’s hand in marriage … but his youngest .”
Kylie muttered something under her breath at this, while Liza’s lips thinned.
Makenna shrugged off their reactions. “I’m hoping Mackinnon will refuse to honor the agreement. He didn’t make it, anyway … his father did … and he’s dead.”
Liza gave her head a rueful shake. Bran had recently taken over from his father, Kendric, as clan-chief of the Mackinnons of Dùn Ara. The latter had met his end at the Battle of Dounarwyse three years earlier.
“Da doesn’t like to be reminded of that defeat against the Macleans,” Kylie replied, her brow furrowing. “But he still intends to make Bran Mackinnon honor his father’s promise.”
Makenna scowled back at Kylie, her lips parting to answer. However, a swift knock at the door interrupted their conversation.
“Aye?” Liza called out.
The door creaked open, and Rankin stood there. Tall and leather-clad, his fair hair spilling over his shoulders, he drew the eye of all three sisters. Curse him, the man was dangerously attractive and oozed a masculinity that would have made an abbess’s heart flutter.
“Apologies for the intrusion, Lady Maclean,” he said, nodding to her sisters before meeting her eye across the room. His mouth then curved. “But today is one for visitors, it seems. The chieftain of Dounarwyse has just arrived.”