Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Roy discovered that ruling beside Donaldina was considerably easier than understanding her.
For four days, the solar became the center of preparations for the harvest festival.
Petitions arrived from merchants, farmers, musicians, and men who believed that owning three barrels of ale entitled them to a position of exceptional prominence in the market square.
The long table disappeared beneath parchment.
Donaldina was sitting at one end with the village petitions arranged before her.
Roy occupied the other with lists of guards, horses, wagons and stores.
Between them stood two cups of neglected ale, a plate of bread neither remembered to eat, and a candle which burned down so often that servants replaced it without waiting to be asked.
“Gregor Beaton requests the stall beside the fountain,” Donaldina announced.
Roy did not look up from the patrol list. “Nae.”
She paused. “Ye havenae heard his reason.”
“He sells livestock.”
“Goats.”
“A goat remains livestock.”
“He argues that the fountain will provide water for them.”
“It will also provide goats for everyone wishing tae drink.”
Donaldina’s lips twitched. “An inconvenience.”
“A siege.”
She marked the petition with her quill. “The eastern edge of the square, then.”
“Near the hitching posts.”
Her hand moved without hesitation. They had begun dividing the work on the first morning, though Roy could not recall either of them proposing it.
Donaldina understood the people of Dun Ard and the neighboring villages with an instinct no ledger could teach.
She knew which disputes concealed old grudges, which complaints were sincere and which men exaggerated hardship because they enjoyed the sound of their own suffering.
Roy understood roads, supplies and danger.
She assigned trading spaces. He calculated how many guards were required to keep those traders from robbing or striking one another.
She approved musicians and food sellers.
He ensured the ale carts could enter the square without blocking the northern road.
Neither asked permission of the other. Neither seemed to require it.
When Donaldina promised the widow Mòr Campbell a place near the center of the market, Roy added her stall to the night watch without comment. When Roy ordered another patrol along the wooded road, Donaldina reduced the number of wagons expected to travel after sunset.
Their decisions met in the space between them and became something whole.
On the third afternoon, two farmers entered the solar arguing over the same patch of ground.
“I have sold oats there every harvest since Lachlan was a lad,” one declared.
“And I was granted the place last winter,” the other countered. “Lady Donaldina herself said—”
“I said ye might use it while Angus was injured,” Donaldina corrected.
Angus folded his arms in satisfaction.
“However,” she continued, “yer stall has grown too large for the western passage.”
His satisfaction disappeared. Roy concealed his amusement by lifting the supply ledger.
Donaldina moved two markers across the rough map of the town. “Angus will take the northern corner. Seumas will remain near the western passage, but his carts must be unloaded before the morning bells.”
Seumas frowned. “The northern corner is larger.”
“It also stands beside the road,” Roy observed. “Which means Angus will assist the guards in keeping it clear.”
Angus opened his mouth. Donaldina looked at him. He closed it.
The farmers left with the dissatisfied expressions of men who had not received everything they wanted but could discover no reasonable cause to continue shouting.
Over the next few days, it happened repeatedly.
Servants began placing reports between Roy and Donaldina instead of in front of just one of them.
Guards directed their questions to both of them.
Councilors stopped discussing MacIver provisions and MacNicol arrangements, instead focusing on festival preparations as if a single authority was overseeing everything.
Roy noticed every alteration. He told himself it was practical. Dun Ard required unity, and people were naturally inclined to follow whichever appearance of order caused them the least trouble.
Yet, when Donaldina leaned across the table to examine a map, her sleeve brushing his wrist, practicality became considerably more difficult to maintain.
On the final evening, she read through the approved petitions while Roy checked the guard assignments.
“Twenty-eight stalls,” she declared.
“Twenty-seven.”
Donaldina looked up. “Twenty-eight.”
“The fortune-teller was refused,” he told her.
She shook her head. “Well, I approved her this morning.”
He frowned. “Ye said her presence would encourage foolishness.”
“I have reconsidered,” she shrugged. “Foolishness will attend whether she does or nae. We may as well collect a fee from it.”
Roy looked at the final market plan. Her marker already occupied a narrow place beside the cloth merchants. He ought to have objected. Instead, he added the stall to the night patrol.
Donaldina smiled. The expression was small, private, and entirely too pleased with him.
Roy looked back at the page before he forgot that several councilors remained in the room with them.
“Then it is settled,” Malcolm announced. “The plans are complete.”
The council began gathering its papers. Chairs scraped against stone. Men spoke of departure times and weather, though several looked toward Roy and Donaldina with the air of witnesses departing after something more important than festival business.
Roy watched Donaldina stack the petitions into one neat pile. The festival was ready. The roads were secured. Supplies had been arranged, disputes settled, and guards assigned.
He could no longer say which decisions belonged to her and which to him. They were simply theirs.
The realization should have troubled him.
Instead, it felt dangerously like peace.
The following morning, Roy found Donaldina in the stables before sunrise.
She stood beside her mare, her cloak draped over one shoulder and her hair loosely braided down her back.
Pale light filtered through the high windows, catching dust and straw.
Horses shifted in their stalls, filling the stable with the warm scents of leather, hay, and living breath.
“Ye are early,” Roy remarked.
Donaldina tightened a buckle. “Ye said we depart after the morning meal.”
“That is two hours from now.”
“I wished tae inspect the horses.”
“Bran was inspected last night.”
“By ye.”
“Aye.”
“Then a second inspection was necessary.”
Roy approached the mare and ran one hand along the saddle strap. “Are ye questioning me judgment?”
“I would never question it without excellent cause.”
“And have ye excellent cause?”
Donaldina considered him. “Frequently.”
He almost smiled.
The stable hands were occupied loading the first wagons. Near the outer doors, two empty buckets waited beside the well. Roy collected them.
“We require water for the horses.”
Donaldina followed him into the yard. The morning was cold enough that mist rose from the stone trough. Roy lowered the first bucket into the well while she held the rope clear of the wheel. The chain creaked, and water splashed faintly far below.
“Ye have checked the road three times,” she observed.
“Twice.”
“Three times.”
“The first inspection was performed by Hamish.”
“Under yer orders.”
Roy drew the full bucket upward. “The road passes through woodland. Cormac’s men remain unaccounted for.”
“The guards ken their duties.”
“A man may ken his duty and still perform it poorly.”
Donaldina rested one hand upon the well’s edge. “Ye might attempt tae enjoy the festival.”
“I intend tae.”
She looked pointedly at his face.
He gestured at his face with his finger. “This is me expression of enjoyment.”
“It bears a remarkable resemblance tae suspicion.”
Roy lifted the bucket onto the stones. “Suspicion has kept me alive.”
“It has also made ye intolerably solemn.”
He bent for the second bucket. Cold water struck the side of his face.
Roy stopped.
A stream ran from his temple, beneath his collar and down the back of his neck. Donaldina stood with one hand cupped above the first bucket. Her expression possessed an innocence so carefully arranged that no sensible judge could have believed it.
Roy straightened slowly. “Did ye just throw water at me?”
“A drop escaped.”
“A drop.”
“The bucket is very full.”
He looked at the distance between the bucket and his face. Her mouth trembled. Roy dipped his hand into the water and flicked it toward her. She gasped as droplets struck her cheek.
“That,” she declared, “was deliberate.”
“A drop escaped.”
Her eyes narrowed. Then both hands entered the bucket. Roy had enough time to recognize the threat, but not enough to avoid it. Water struck his chest in a cold sheet.
Donaldina laughed. The sound scattered through the stable yard, bright and unrestrained. Roy stared down at his soaked tunic. He should have reminded her that they were preparing for a journey. He should have behaved with the dignity expected of a Highland laird.
Instead, he seized the bucket.
Donaldina shrieked and leaped backward as he sent water over her skirts. She retaliated at once, scooping from the trough and striking him across the shoulder. Roy advanced. Donaldina retreated around the well, laughing so hard that half her attacks landed upon the ground.
Within moments, dignity had been entirely abandoned. Water darkened Roy’s hair and ran into his eyes. Donaldina’s braid clung to her back, and the hem of her gown dripped upon the stones. She tried to hide behind the well, only to emerge with another handful ready.
Roy caught her wrist before she could throw it. She twisted free and ran toward the stable doors. He followed.
Donaldina had several advantages in argument, but length of stride was not among them. Roy caught her within three paces, closing one arm around her waist and drawing her back against him.
Her laughter broke into a breathless cry. “Release me!”
“So ye may attack again?”
“I have nae water.”
“Ye are standing beside a trough.”
She struggled once, though without any true effort to escape.
Roy turned her within his hold. The laughter left them both.
Donaldina’s hands rested against his chest. Water shone upon her lashes and traced a slow path from her temple to her jaw.
Her cheeks were flushed from cold and exertion.
A wet strand of hair had loosened across her mouth.
Roy lifted one hand before caution could stop him and brushed it aside. Donaldina became very still. His arm remained around her waist. Beneath his palm, he felt the swift rise and fall of her breathing. Their soaked clothes offered little protection from the warmth of her body.
She looked at his mouth. Every sensible thought Roy possessed deserted him. He bent his head.
Donaldina’s fingers tightened upon his tunic, drawing him nearer or perhaps merely failing to push him away. He no longer cared which.
But at that exact moment, footsteps and voices approached from within the stable.
“Bring the gray geldings intae the yard!”
Roy released her, and she moved back as three stable hands entered, then paused when she saw their laird and lady standing soaked next to a toppled bucket. No one spoke.
Roy looked at the nearest man. The fellow immediately became fascinated by a saddle hanging upon the opposite wall.
“The well rope slipped,” Roy explained.
Donaldina covered her mouth. Her shoulders were shaking. Roy turned away before the stable hands witnessed him smile.
Behind him, Donaldina’s laughter followed him into the stable, warm as summer and far more dangerous than any festival road.