Chapter Eight
MY OPTIMISM WAS short-lived. Immediately after Wilkie and Roses departed for Ossian Lochs, my husband reverted to his most boorish. As though he’d overheard my conversation with Roses and was determined at all costs to disprove it, he was as cold and callous as I had ever expected of him.
Tomorrow we would depart for Glenlochie, and Kade had ordered a brigade of workers to help him prepare for our departure, which would take place early tomorrow morning.
That he was less than pleased, in these final hours, at the thought of leaving his beloved Kinloch was more than obvious.
He had done his duty, secured a necessary alliance and successfully staged a bonded union.
If he may have once found me pleasing during our private moments, that admission seemed now to have escaped his mind.
He seemed more preoccupied by thoughts of his new clan, his new laird—at least until he took over the role—and his permanent separation from the only home he’d ever known.
Wilkie’s fresh absence only appeared to heighten Kade’s fuming state of mind, serving as a trigger that reminded him very convincingly that life would never be the same.
I was ordered to accompany him to the evening meal, which we would take in Laird Mackenzie’s private den, with only me, Kade, the laird and their two sisters.
Despite the fact that I was now a bona fide member of their clan, the thought of dining with the Mackenzies made me feel wildly out of place, especially at this somewhat fraught time of upheaval in their family.
And my reservations were not unfounded. The laird spoke very little during the meal, which was as sumptuous a spread as any I had seen.
I had a feeling, after witnessing for myself the superior quality not only of their supplies but also their preparation and presentation of it, that my husband would be very disappointed when he reached Glenlochie.
Our hunters had had some difficulties in recent months.
Our cooks were nowhere near as skilled. And our servers were more sullen, slow and disorganized than the smiling, gracious Mackenzie staff.
Kade’s youngest sister, Christie, seemed to rise to the challenge of lightening the heavy mood of the evening.
Christie was close to my age, I guessed, and had eyes and hair a similar color to Kade’s.
But the similarities ended there. She had an innocent exuberance that was at the same time engaging and entertaining.
“Stella, you wore that wedding dress within an inch of its life, if you don’t mind me saying.
Your figure is stunning. We knew that already, of course.
We’d heard the men speak of you, Kade especially—” A withering glare from Kade seemed to stall that particular commentary, but Christie wasn’t easily deterred.
“Oh, Kade, stop glowering. You of all people know I speak only the truth.”
“Christie,” Ailie reprimanded quietly, but for Christie, propriety did not appear to be the foremost goal of the evening.
I didn’t mind her forwardness at all. Her tendency to delve enthusiastically into sensitive topics was hardly something that was new to me—my sisters did so on an hourly basis, after all—and despite her overt curiosity I found myself enjoying her mild chatter. It was better than silence, at least.
“Aye,” Kade grumbled. “We know how truthfully, and how often, you like to speak. Maybe you shouldn’t speak quite so much, little sister.” The endearment, tacked on as it was to his complaint, surprised me; clearly, there was great affection between the two, despite his reprimand.
“Someone has to,” Christie replied, “otherwise we’d be all mired in a dull, morose silence.
Poor Stella, she’ll wonder what kind of family she married into.
’Tis not like Wilkie’s gone off to war or to foreign territories.
He’s a laird now, rich beyond belief, and so in love he can barely see straight.
We should be celebrating for him rather than mourning his absence.
So, Stella, back to your wedding dress. I’ve asked Ailie to fashion something similar for me—and I’m helping with the details of the design—when the time comes, which might be never at this rate.
The pickings are so slim! I mean, the Munros are charming enough, but—”
“Christie,” Ailie said again.
Christie leaned toward me with a conspiratorial grin, as if no one aside from me understood or could relate to her considerable challenges.
“I mean, charming might be a slight exaggeration. Entertaining, certainly. But Ailie already has her eye on one of those—” To Ailie’s glare, Christie insisted, “I can tell Stella—she’s family now, and we have so little time to get to know her before she and Kade depart tomorrow morning—although we do plan on visiting in a month, isn’t it so, Kade? ”
Kade acknowledged her question with an offhand grunt, and Christie continued, undeterred. “Anyway, Stella, Knox would prefer that I choose someone further afield. ‘To expand our holdings and our influence,’” she mimicked in a deep voice to approximate her oldest brother’s.
I couldn’t help smiling at her impression.
Laird Mackenzie narrowed his eyes at her in mock anger, but Christie continued.
“But those Macintoshes are heathens, of course, and the Buchanans—so provincial. I mean, I say that in the nicest possible way, and it’s true that several of them are quite handsome.
I’ve never been to their keep, though, and I’ve heard it’s in some state of disrepair. You’ve been, haven’t you, Kade?”
A quiet lurch of discomfort stuck in my throat at the reference.
Kade had been to the Buchanan keep, aye, a visit that had been nervously—and thoroughly—discussed by my sisters.
Claire’s cousin invited him to her private chambers.
She allowed him...well, whatever he wanted.
My unease only heightened when Kade’s glance fell on me, as though he was reading my thoughts, or recalling long-ago trysts in lurid detail. “Aye,” he said disinterestedly.
“What’s it like?” Christie asked, taking a small sip of her ale.
“Unimpressive,” Kade replied.
“That’s exactly what I’ve heard,” said Christie.
“And it hardly makes a Buchanan a desirable choice, I’m sorry to say.
Not like a...well, a Stuart or a Munro—but of course those choices are no longer available to me, if I’m to follow my brother’s, laird of lairds, strict instructions—although Wilkie managed to skirt Knox’s imperial dictates, to be sure.
If only I was so clever—and so lucky.” She said this affectionately, and Laird Mackenzie only rolled his eyes, not rising at all to the gentle impertinence.
It was enviable, I thought—this family’s obvious ease with one another.
The power of a laird over his own clan was absolute, yet she teased him as though they were children.
If I’d ever attempted a playful remark like that, I would have felt the back of my father’s hand, and likely the lash of his whip, as well.
I considered again the difficulties and sadnesses the forced separation of these siblings would introduce. My husband, for certain, was in as churlish a mood as I had yet seen him.
But before we could tread further into the topics of either Buchanan’s keep or imperial dictates, there was a commotion outside the door of the laird’s den.
Shouts and urgent voices rose above rapid footsteps.
Whoever approached was frantic with their news.
Laird Mackenzie and Kade rose from the table.
The laird opened the door just as the guard was about to knock heavily, causing the agitated man to nearly fall into the room.
He was followed by several other soldiers.
“Laird Mackenzie!” the man began. “There is urgent news from your brother Wilkie.”
“Wilkie?” the laird said. “What’s the news? Is he hurt? He’s only just departed half a day ago.”
“His travel party has come upon a small battalion from the Campbell clan, Laird Campbell among them.”
This was distressing news indeed. I knew, as we all did, that Laird Duncan Campbell was the son of King William’s sister, and he believed Ossian Lochs to be his own rightful inheritance.
The king had no sons, only one illegitimate daughter: Roses.
In most instances, illegitimate children were not rightful heirs.
Yet the king had decreed that Roses would be heir of his Highlands throne, and had appointed Wilkie as laird.
Campbell’s father had led the first rebellion less than two years ago, a battle in which Campbell’s father and the Mackenzies’ father had fought to the death.
Duncan Campbell continued to rebel, to avenge his father’s death and to claim the land he felt entitled to, and had attempted to recruit ally clans to fight with him.
His recent attempts had been unsuccessful.
But we all knew he was bound to try again.
This, above all, was the reason my father and Laird Mackenzie had been so urgent about securing the alliance between our clans: to ensure that we had the military advantage over Campbell’s army and any others he could convince to join him.
“I knew we should have killed him when we had the chance,” Kade muttered.
“Have they been threatened?” Laird Mackenzie asked the guard, with abrupt impatience.
“Nay, Laird Mackenzie. The Campbells were in search of Laird Morrison, and were told that he’s in residence here at Kinloch, to return to Glenlochie on the morrow. They will arrange to speak with Laird Morrison—and his highest-ranking officers,” he added, looking at Kade, “when he returns home.”
“What for?” Kade said curtly.
“He wouldn’t say,” the guard replied. “Wilkie sent this news urgently. He thinks Campbell wants to discuss an alliance with the Morrison clan.”
“That’s impossible,” I said, aghast. “My father would never ally with Campbell.”