Chapter Nine
OUR TRIP ACROSS the Highlands was, in the end, entirely uneventful.
Duncan Campbell and his men did not make an appearance, and there was no more word of Campbell’s intention to meet with my father regarding alliances, disputes, wars or any combination thereof.
In fact, the only thing the news of Campbell had succeeded in doing, as far as I could see, was to send my husband into a cold, guarded stoicism.
Throughout the two days of our journey, we did not so much as speak.
I remained in the carriage with my sisters.
Kade led the Kinloch soldiers who flanked our procession of carriages on all sides.
My husband’s focus on getting us to Glenlochie without incident was absolute.
I knew he suspected a traitor was among the Morrison army, and he eyed each of them with blatant suspicion.
The Kinloch soldiers were dismissed once we reached our own gates, and their departure did nothing to soothe either his wariness or his mood.
Once we arrived at my home, Kade’s view of the Morrison clan only grew increasingly disenchanted.
Used to the unparalleled standards of the Mackenzie clan, he was appalled by condition of our keep.
In this I could hardly blame him. After the splendor of the refined, well-run and prosperous Kinloch, I saw our own living conditions in a new light.
Upon our return, Kade and I spent our first two nights in my old chambers, which were adjoined to my sisters’ rooms. This did not afford us as much privacy as my husband would have preferred.
Once other more urgent matters had been attended to, I was told that I would give him a tour of all the empty upper rooms of the manor.
We needed something more suitable for the future laird and lady of the clan, he said.
And he had not touched me again. In fact, he’d barely spoken to me.
Both nights, he’d come in late from his time in meetings and in the training yards, and had worked until the small hours of the morning, writing in several leather-bound books he kept locked in one of his many trunks, which he showed no interest in unpacking.
And then he’d risen early and was gone before I’d even awakened.
No wonder he was ornery and therefore distant, I reasoned: he’d hardly had much sleep.
On the third morning, he left well before dawn, only to return a short time later. I heard him rummaging through one of his larger trunks, where he kept yet more knives and swords and other unusual instruments of war.
“Good morning, husband,” I ventured, rising from the bed.
He jammed a second sword into place, still holding a knife’s handle in his clenched fist. Then he paused, giving me an assessing, critical glance. “There’s work to be done, lass. You’ve recovered from your wedding and your journey. ’Tis time for you to begin.”
“Begin what?” I asked, slipping a gown over my head and tying the front laces.
“Work.”
Work. Something I’d never been allowed much less invited to do. “Work?”
“You spend far too much time cooped up with your gossiping sisters. This manor is dirty, disorganized and in no fit state to receive visitors, let alone house the nobles of its own clan. Several of my family members arrive in just over a month, and the place is an utter shambles. ’Tis an embarrassment.
Much worse than I ever imagined. Why has your family let it get so run-down? ”
It was true that Glenlochie was in need of some serious attention. I’d never noticed it quite so much as I had since our return from the wedding, but the manor was messy, shabby and with no real systems in place to improve the current state of our chaotic existence.
Why had we let it get so run-down? I’d considered the condition of our home in the past, and the general feeling of malaise among our workers.
But I would no more instruct my father about how to run his manor and his keep than I would advise him about how to rule his army; my outspokenness, of course, would only have resulted in more punishment.
“Who is in charge of the manor?” he asked me.
“My father, of course.”
“Your father runs the army —and not particularly effectively. He’s too old and too ill. And too swilled a good portion of the time to do much of anything else. There must be someone who handles the day-to-day operations of the manor itself.”
“The staff run it,” I said.
“Who’s in charge of the staff?” he repeated.
“I—I’m not sure,” I stammered.
Irritated even further by my inarticulate reply, Kade issued my orders.
“Well, from now on, you are in charge. Go and speak to the workers. Tell them to clean the grand hall by the end of the day. Oversee it yourself. And the kitchen staff can be told we’ll have fresh produce, meat and bread this evening.
Why is there so little to show for the harvest?
And the dried meat should only be used when there’s nothing else available, or the stores won’t get us through the winter.
” He continued to jam his weapons into place.
I almost asked him to be careful, lest he spear himself, but then thought better of it.
Despite his curt, business-minded tone, the lingering memories of our spare moments of intimacy and tenderness shone through my apprehension.
Kade was temperamental, aye, and I could see that he had reason to be.
But I felt little of the initial fear of our very first encounters.
Instead, what I felt was a residual link to him, forged with his heartfelt words and his beguiling touch.
His distance now only succeeded in rousing a budding curiosity in me: could I succeed in drawing out his softer side again?
He was gruff and agitated by his many challenges, but I knew of his innermost desires.
I knew how his lips felt on mine, and I had seen the look in his eyes when he’d seen me and touched me so very intimately.
This connection gave me a small sense not only of power but of equality.
“’Tis not my place to organize the kitchen staff,” I said.
“Not your place?” he growled. “Then whose place is it? You’ll be lady of this keep soon. ’Tis time for you to learn how to lead.”
“But—”
My husband was not in the mood for my feeble protests. “I’ll be back this evening,” he interrupted. “I’m taking some of the men for a hunt. Tell the butcher to expect us by sundown.” And with that he strode from my chambers, slamming the door loudly behind him.
Once I would have cursed him for his rudeness, and thought him a boorish brute and all manner of other insults.
Now, I forgave him. Almost. He didn’t need to rant nor fume at me to get me to obey him.
I allowed that he wasn’t used to so many frustrations; his life, aside from the challenges of war—which were expected and embraced when one’s lifelong purpose was as a noble, educated soldier—had been free from the kind of challenges Glenlochie presented.
His family had run Kinloch flawlessly for generations.
He had been born into that privilege. This change would take some time to adjust to.
And his observations about the appalling state of our keep were, after all, correct.
I could, I supposed, try to help, as he requested.
My father would learn of my new occupation; that he would react unfavorably to the news went without question.
But my husband would defend me. The new landscape of my life was difficult to grasp.
I would need courage, husband or no husband—such was the thoroughness of my conditioning. We both had much to adjust to.
Not more than a minute after he had stormed from our chambers, the door opened and Kade strode in.
“Oh, what luck,” I commented, almost under my breath. “My kindly, chivalrous husband has returned to me sooner than promised.”
Kade smiled in response to my sarcasm. He walked back over to where I stood.
His hand lifted to cradle the side of my face with his palm.
His thumb traced lightly along my cheekbone.
“So it seems I have been the brutish husband you were expecting all along, and in no small measure. I was on guard against attack on our journey. And I had thought to be welcomed into a somewhat organized, accepting clan. I have found the opposite to be true. I am on edge for a thousand reasons. But I didn’t mean to take it out on you.
I want to do the right thing, and most of all, to keep you safe. Forgive me.”
Aye, I knew that Kade’s nature was unpredictable.
I had expected my husband, since I knew no other way of it, to act as all other men: rough and overbearing.
That he felt the need to appease me after his frustrated outburst was no less than miraculous to me.
No man had ever shown me such regard, nor such care.
My husband’s apology seemed to seep into some unknowable fissure in my heart and widen it by several degrees.
I found myself wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him.
He laughed lightly, drawing in a sharp breath as though deeply affected by my reaction.
He pulled back, holding my face between his hands.
“Easy, feisty wee wife,” he said. Then, after a pause, as though to ensure that his own fervor was under control, he touched his lips to mine in a hot, reassuring supplication.
The contact fed my fledgling addiction with ardent force.
My lips parted in a sighing plea. But then, abruptly, Kade withdrew.
He was almost panting, visibly struggling for self-control. It was a moment before he spoke.
“If I’d known that was all it took to get this reaction,” he said, “I’d have followed my wedding vows with a litany of apologies.”
“Stay with me,” I said, suddenly fervent for more of my husband.