Chapter Nine
Helene woke with the dawning of a new day. She wrapped a blanket about her shoulders and padded barefoot to the window to watch mist eddy round the loch’s bank.
After making use of the chamber pot, she tugged on the woven bell-pull to summon a servant.
It wasn’t long before there came a knock on the door.
Helene welcomed the maid’s assistance in getting dressed and having her hair securely pinned in preparation for the long trek to higher ground with Lachlan.
‘Would ye like me to bring yer breakfast here to yer room, m’lady?’ asked the maid.
‘The lord’s hall will suffice.’
‘Verra well. I’ll inform the cook.’ The maid curtsied and took her leave.
Helene retrieved a small brush, pocketed it in her cloak, and set the garment to one side on her bed, there to collect prior to her departure to the shielings.
The long table in the lord’s hall had been set for her and Lachlan’s family, yet it was no surprise to Helene she was the first to arrive for the morning meal. She told herself it was because she simply wished to seize the day and venture deep into the Highlands.
Lady Sutton and Caitrin MacLanoch still lay abed and were not likely to rise before Helene and Lachlan set off this morning. For that reason, the older women had wished Helene well before retiring last night, and Caitrin had lovingly put the word on her son to take good care of their guest.
As for poor Agnes, she had a sprained ankle to contend with. Helene would keep her promise and visit Agnes in her bedchamber before heading off.
While awaiting her meal, Helene set about examining the room in more detail. Ancestral portraits lined the walls, including two beautiful full-length portraits, one of a woman, the other of a man who bore a striking resemblance to Lachlan. His grandparents, she supposed.
Situated between the two portraits sat a massive oak sideboard. Helene ran her fingers over the date carved into the ornate wood—1645. Two tall silver candelabras sat either end of the sideboard, with a silver urn positioned in the centre. Helene saw her reflection in the lovingly polished piece.
Her gaze fell to the large woven rug underfoot, timeworn and faded in places. How many generations of MacLanochs and their guests had partaken of meals at the scarred dining table with its twelve matching leather-upholstered high-back chairs?
She turned to the mantelpiece above the hearth and touched the smooth curves of the mahogany clock. One hundred or so years of family history furnished this room.
‘Time is ticking, is it not?’
Cuthbert’s voice startled Helene. She swung around to see him with arms folded and casually leaning against the door-frame.
‘Ticking too fast,’ she replied. An image of Prudence in the asylum came to mind.
Cuthbert went to her side and said in hushed tones, ‘I didn’t get a moment alone with you last night to ask how things went yesterday?’
‘With what?’
‘You and Lachlan, of course. When you went for a walk by the loch. Alone.’
She whispered back, ‘He didn’t kiss me, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘There’s time yet, and you’ll have plenty of it when you’re away at the shielings.’ He winked. ‘I’m quietly confident my cousin is taken with you. He’s defended a woman’s honour many times over, but none so passionate as he has done for you.’
Cuthbert rubbed the curve of his jaw. ‘I tell you, blood is not thicker than water. My cousin dispelled that medieval proverb when he drew his blade on me.’
‘If I do kiss Lachlan and he denies it, how will I prove it to you?’
Cuthbert snorted a laugh. ‘If he kisses you, then it’s not something he’ll be able to hide. Believe me, I know my cousin better than he knows himself. Honour might be his strength, but it’s also his downfall. Experience has taught him that.’
‘How so?’
Their conversation was interrupted by a polite cough at the hall’s entrance, where servants awaited permission to enter with trays of food. Cuthbert waved them in. No sooner had Helene seated herself at the table than Grizel arrived.
When Lachlan entered the room, Helene swept an appreciative eye over the commanding figure he cut in his traditional attire.
He wore a brown linen waistcoat with hand-sewn long buttonholes.
The garment was laced at the back. A neatly tied cravat around his neck looked as clean and crisp as the shirt worn beneath the waistcoat.
His belted plaid hung down from the back of his waist to the ankles of leather knee-high boots.
She looked away lest he sense her staring at him.
Morning pleasantries were exchanged, and Grizel launched into excitable chatter about all manner of things.
Especially about the shielings. Helene could not fathom how the young girl managed to talk and eat so efficiently at the same time.
Lachlan and Cuthbert exchanged a knowing look, suggesting they were of the same opinion.
Helene felt ashamedly pleased to think Grizel would remain at Drumocher to keep Agnes company.
Lachlan pinned his gaze on Cuthbert. ‘My council of men will look after things while I’m away, and ye know where to find me should the need arise.
I’ll expect we’ll be gone for a matter of days, unless’—he glanced at Helene—‘unless the lass here misses her creature comforts and wishes for an early return.’
Helene raised her chin. ‘Oh, ye of little faith.’
The laird laughed, much to Helene’s delight. She smiled back at him, conscious of Cuthbert’s assessing eyes.
‘’Tis time we get going,’ Lachlan said to Helene. ‘We’ve a way to travel.’
‘I just need to fetch my cloak and check in on Agnes. Will you accompany me, Grizel?’
‘Aye. Of course.’
‘I’ll see ye in the courtyard, Helene,’ said Lachlan.
‘And I wish you a pleasant trip,’ said Cuthbert.
Helene didn’t need to think twice about the underlying message in Cuthbert’s wink.
*
Lachlan was standing in the courtyard conversing with a group of clansmen when he saw Helene approach. His men were quick to greet her. They wished him and Helene a safe journey to the shielings and then dispersed.
Lachlan acknowledged the woollen wrap around Helene’s shoulders. ‘Ye look good draped in plaid.’ Her shy smile suggested his compliment pleased her.
‘Thank you. Grizel loaned it to me. She was right in saying my cloak would be heavy and too cumbersome to carry.’
‘Aye. We use the plaid in all weathers, and ye’ll need it at the shielings. Nights can turn chilly.’ Lachlan glanced down at her feet. ‘Would they be a pair of Grizel’s boots?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, ye’ll be pleased for having worn those instead of yer own.’
She cast a scrutinous eye over him. ‘Why so many weapons? Do you expect to fight an army along the way?’
Since she last saw him at their morning meal, he’d added two scabbards to his leather belts; one held a sword and the other, his dirk.
‘Precaution and protection. A man doesnae go unarmed here in the Highlands.’
‘I see. And the bundle you carry over your shoulder?’
‘A wee drop of wine, and Cook has prepared us a bite to eat along the way.’ Lachlan looked towards the steep slopes they must climb. ‘Are ye ready, then?’
At her nod, they set out together on foot towards the loch, starting along the same path as the one they’d walked yesterday. The hour was still early, and when they reached the calm body of water, Lachlan pointed to the lifting mist. ‘There’s our sign for the promise of a fine day.’
He diverted along a different path to where the mountains loomed. Skylarks, with their streaky earth-toned plumage, flew all about them. Their unending repetitive song filled the air.
Lachlan and Helene toiled up the mountainside along a well-trod path.
He noted her expressive reactions when taking in her surrounds: a smile for the long-eared, high-leaping mountain hares running their erratic path to escape human intrusion; the way her jaw dropped in awe when she glimpsed through the canopy of trees a silent gliding eagle lording over all in the sky above.
When they walked beside a stream, she stopped suddenly and turned an ear towards the soft whistle of an otter, then laughed at the silly antics of the animals frolicking in the water. At intervals, she bent to sniff the scent of wildflowers or trail fingertips over mountain heather.
Her earthy, tactile interaction with nature was not lost on Lachlan. He’d been wrong to think she sought only to live a shallow, frivolous existence as a pampered titled wife. How might she fare if she were to marry a Highlander?
The question caught him unawares, and before he could give it due consideration, Helene said, ‘Tell me more about the shielings.’
He was taken with her interest and curiosity—if it were indeed genuine—in wanting to learn more about his people and culture.
‘Cattle are driven along a wider path to the pastures, with some horses and a few sheep and goats. ’Tis the women and girls who go with them, but a handful of boys under the age of fourteen go to help look after the herds.’
‘The men play no part in this?’
Lachlan smiled inwardly at the astonishment on her face and in her voice.
‘The young folk and women shelter in small huts, so the men go to the shielings a few days beforehand to make any necessary repairs. They gather sufficient heather for bedding and ensure enough dry peat is available for the fires. Then they return home.’
‘And how long do the women stay at the shielings?’
‘Between nine and ten weeks.’
Helene took hold of Lachlan’s wrist and halted their progress. ‘For so long? But what do the men do during all this time?’
The pressure of her hand on his wrist slackened the instant Lachlan glanced down. When she let go, he chided himself for having enjoyed her touch.
‘The men have their work cut out for them. They repair or rethatch cottages, cut and dry peat for winter fuel, make brogues for the winter, and if they have the skill for it, they’ll take to weaving and tailoring. Then there’s farming work to be done during the summer months.’
She seemed to mull over what he’d said. ‘So, in being governed by the seasons, you all make the best use of time and resources, even if it means being separated from loved ones.’
‘Aye.’
Lachlan took the lead as they climbed a steeper woodland path. He reached back to assist Helene. ‘Take my hand, lass. The ground is softer here.’
‘I can manage, thank y—’
Lachlan reacted with quick reflexes and grasped Helene’s hand in the moment she slipped and lost her footing on the exposed soil. He lifted her up to stand with him on level ground. Colour drained from her face.
‘Are ye all right, lass?’
She seemed not to hear him and stared trance-like at the pathway below. He looked for, and spied, a fallen tree. ‘Come. Take a seat over here.’
‘No! No, I’m all right. Really, I am. Let’s continue.’
‘Are ye sure?’
She pushed him away to dust off her skirts and resettle the skew-whiff plaid around her shoulders. ‘So clumsy of me. If not for you, I’d have looked like one of those otters sliding down the muddy river embankment.’
There was fear beneath her nervous laughter. Lachlan sensed she dealt with something she’d prefer not to disclose, and so he let it go.
They’d walked not five minutes more when he stopped and took Helene by the arm to prevent her from taking another step.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. Then, ‘What’s that high-pitched noise?’
Lachlan knew very well what made that sound, and it was close. If Helene’s near fall had rattled her, how might she then react when confronted with what could possibly be a disturbing find?