Chapter Fifteen
During the evening meal in the lord’s hall, Helene, together with Lachlan, recounted the events of their sojourn to the shielings.
Details of their intimacy were memories kept under lock and key, although Helene was ever mindful of Caitrin MacLanoch’s watchful gaze and lived in fear of the astute woman being a mind-reader.
Her all-knowing expression gave Helene cause to worry.
‘Well, my dear,’ started Caitrin, ‘despite facing down stampeding cattle and yer harrowing brush with death in the river, I’d say the clean mountain air agrees with ye. It’s done wonders for yer complexion.’
Helene swallowed her last mouthful of pheasant, set down her cutlery, and graciously accepted the kind compliment. ‘Thank you.’
‘I concur,’ said Elspeth. ‘Ye might remember I observed ye looked as pale as the day was grey when we first arrived at Drumocher, and now ye’ve a rosy Highland glow about ye. Even yer eyes look clearer.’
A glow? Clear eyes? Helene stole a glance at Lachlan, who sat at the head of the table. Did he have any idea he was responsible for this positive change in her? A change that left her feeling guilty. She might look the picture of health, but what of poor Prudence stuck in her living hell?
‘And as for ye?’ Caitrin’s eyes narrowed on her son. ‘I ken something weighs heavy on yer mind.’
Cuthbert chimed in with a wink. ‘I noticed that too, Auntie. Perhaps the root cause of Lachlan’s, shall we say, distraction has something to do with a certain brooch.’
Helene saw Lachlan cut his cousin a scathing look, but the smile he bestowed on his mother was designed to set her at ease. ‘My mind is merely occupied with business matters requiring my urgent attention.’
A shadow of concern fell on Caitrin’s face.
‘Ye’ve nae need for worry, Mother. They be small matters.’ Lachlan pressed his gaze on Cuthbert. ‘And fixed as easily as stamping out spot fires.’
If there were any two people to read between the lines, it was Helene and Caitrin.
She’d picked up on the tension between the cousins the moment they met this afternoon.
Whatever was discussed after she and Grizel had left the great hall had put Lachlan in a foul mood, but it seemed Caitrin MacLanoch was not so easily fooled.
Her eyebrows furrowed, and Helene could see a question forming on the matriarch’s lips.
‘Cuthbert, ye referenced a brooch. Will ye tell me about it?’
With courtesy and casual ease, he deflected the question to Helene. ‘I think that’s your story to tell.’
‘Shall I motion for tea, Mother? Aunt Elspeth?’ said Lachlan. ‘I’ll have it brought to us now, if it pleases ye.’
Helene’s gaze snapped to Lachlan. Clearly, he wished to avoid any further discussion concerning the brooch. What was it about the silver adornment that raised such a stir? First with Grizel, then Cuthbert, and now Lachlan’s mother.
Helene had removed it hours ago, along with Grizel’s plaid wrap, when retiring to her bedchamber.
It would seem Aila’s heirloom held a story of its own.
One seemingly shrouded in secrecy, like a forbidden subject undeserving of discussion, or a cursed object sealed in a box and never to see the light of day.
Helene’s curiosity was now well and truly piqued.
‘In a minute, son,’ said Caitrin. ‘Let the lass speak.’ She looked at Helene across the table. ‘Does the brooch have anything to do with yer visit to the cottars Aila and Ross?’
Helene nodded. ‘Aila gave it to me as a parting gift.’
In that moment, Agnes looked astonished. Lady Sutton’s eyes rounded like saucers, and Caitrin’s furrowed brows released, lifting in surprise as her keen gaze slid from Helene to Lachlan.
Helene felt as if she’d stolen from the poor. ‘I didn’t want to accept it, seeing it for the treasured heirloom it was, but Aila insisted, and I didn’t wish to offend her.’
‘I see,’ said Caitrin, her voice soft, resigned, if not tinged with wonder. She reached for her son’s hand beside her on the table and covered it with her own.
Awkward silence stalled the conversation.
Helene looked at Grizel, Agnes, Lady Sutton, Cuthbert, Lachlan, and his mother. Their expressions said they were privy to something she was not. Enough!
‘What is it I should know about the origins of this brooch, or the intent with which it was given? If I should not have it, then tell me and I’ll gladly see it returned.’
‘No,’ said Caitrin, waggling a finger at Helene. ‘Ye must not return it.’
Helene noted the way Lachlan stared at his mother. It was the same stony stare he’d used to silence Grizel when she’d learned her brother and Helene had paid the cottars a visit.
Had Helene not glanced down in this very moment, she’d have missed Caitrin’s almost imperceptible squeeze of her son’s hand. The small reassuring gesture said she had his back. From what or whom did she protect him?
Helene met Caitrin’s kind eyes. ‘Why shouldn’t I return the brooch?’
‘I’ve already told ye, lass,’ supplied Lachlan. He slid his hand from beneath his mother’s and took up his glass of wine. ‘It was Aila’s way of honouring yer bravery and courage when ye challenged me in defence of young Donnie.’
He brought the glass to his lips. Helene deliberated over whether he’d reiterated the truth, or if he sipped the wine to swallow a lie.
She need not be reminded of blood being thicker than water and that some secrets must remain secret.
In her heart of hearts, she knew she did not deserve to keep Aila’s precious brooch and would conveniently leave it where it presently lay—atop the dresser in her bedchamber—when she departed Drumocher.
It would find its way back to the rightful owner.
Beside her, Agnes visibly shuddered and glowered at Helene.
‘I just don’t know how you did it. Sleeping in a wooden cot with heather as your mattress?
Not my idea of clean, civilized comfort.
’ She poked her chin forward. ‘And how could you have settled for meals any less than the quality to which you are accustomed? And you churned butter! That’s what servants are for. Have you lost your mind?’
‘Agnes! How dare ye,’ scolded her mother.
‘I willnae tolerate yer insolence and yer contempt of what it is to be a Highlander. Ye ken nothing but a spoiled, privileged life. If ye found yersel’ cast out on the streets, ye’d ken nought of how to survive and protect yersel’, so dinnae be so quick to judge those born to eke out a living on the land.
If not for them, ye’d not be eating the food on yer plate.
Best ye heed the voice of gratitude instead of churlish judgement! ’
It was a just serve from Lady Sutton, after which the room fell deathly silent.
Agnes hung her head in shame. ‘I’m sorry, Mother.’
‘’Tis not me to whom ye should direct yer apologies!’
Helene gave Agnes a sidelong glance and saw a flush creep across her friend’s cheeks.
The sudden outburst had taken Helene by surprise.
As much as she adored her friend, she agreed with Lady Sutton.
Agnes possessed a good heart, and with a likable, lively spirit, but she was also a product of her upbringing.
Spoiled, entitled, and opinionated. Though never had Helene heard her speak words so pitiless and cruel.
The slight on Highlanders and their way of life was a slight on her Scottish kin.
Agnes sank back in her chair, shoulders slumped and hands clasped in her lap. She shifted her sheepish gaze to encompass her Auntie Caitrin, Lachlan, and Grizel. ‘I’m so very sorry. Forgive me. My comments were thoughtless and rude.’
Each of the MacLanochs nodded their acceptance of the apology, at which point Agnes turned to Helene.
‘And I apologise to you too, my dear friend. If the truth be known, I lashed out in envy of you. In my eyes, you can do no wrong and you possess the qualities I lack. Courage. Compassion. Adaptability.’
The confession flabbergasted Helene, and she reached for Agnes’s hand. ‘It takes great courage to openly admit one’s weaknesses, but let me assure you, I possess more flawed traits than you’ll ever understand.’
Cuthbert tipped his head at Agnes. ‘If I may offer some constructive, brotherly advice, try to move beyond your self-importance and your self-centred mentality.’
‘I’m not perfect!’
‘None of us are, dear child,’ reassured Caitrin. ‘Nonetheless, there are times when we must be brave and step outside our daily comforts. It is only when we are tested that we discover who we are, who we want to be, or who we want to become.’
Helene couldn’t have agreed more.
Agnes nodded. ‘Sage advice, Auntie.’
‘Then perhaps ye could act on this advice and make the effort to visit the shielings when yer foot is completely healed. Ye needn’t walk, of course.
Ye can take the longer route and travel on horseback.
’Tis the same path the cottars take to transport their carts, livestock, and all essentials required to see out the summer amidst the pastures.
‘There be a small hunting lodge owned by the MacLanochs not far from the shielings. ’Tis comfortable enough to overnight in if ye wish. Of course, ye need to convince my son to escort ye.’
Agnes inhaled deeply through the nose and exhaled long and slow through the mouth. ‘Helene. Promise me something.’
Those words set Helene on edge, making her hesitant to ask, ‘What would that be?’
‘When my ankle comes good, then return to the shielings with me.’
Helene’s belly contracted, her muscles tightening. She couldn’t afford to stay one minute more in Scotland. Prudence was her priority. ‘I—’
‘Good! And Grizel,’ said Agnes, ‘I’m sorry I held you back from going with Helene and Lachlan. You must join us too.’
Grizel fidgeted with excitement in her chair. ‘Of course!’ Her head turned towards her brother. ‘Lachlan! Ye will take us, won’t ye?’