Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Margaret possessed the unsettling habit of hearing the question beneath the one Elspeth asked.
“Has Colin always been so silent?” Elspeth inquired as they sat beside the fire in the small solar.
Margaret looked up from the embroidery Skye had found for her. “Silent?”
“Aye. During council matters.”
“Colin is silent during most matters.”
“I have noticed.”
Skye concealed a smile behind the linen she was folding. Elspeth ignored her.
“Daes he listen when Niall and Domhnall advise him?” Elspeth wondered.
“Usually.”
“And when he daesnae?”
“Domhnall argues. Niall becomes irritating until Colin changes his mind merely tae stop him.”
“That seems surprisingly effective.”
“It is Niall’s main gift.”
Elspeth considered this. “Were they close when they were younger?”
Margaret’s needle paused. “Very.”
“And Colin—”
“Me lady,” Skye interrupted solemnly, “perhaps ye should simply ask whether Laird MacKenzie preferred honey or jam as a child and be finished with it.”
Elspeth turned upon her. “I am attempting tae understand me husband.”
“Of course.”
“There is a war gathering beyond these walls. Understanding the man responsible for defending them is practical.”
“Entirely,” Margaret agreed.
Her expression was kind. That made Elspeth distrust it at once.
Margaret lowered her embroidery. “Ye have asked seven questions about Colin since we sat down.”
“I have asked questions about Niall and Domhnall as well.”
“One each.”
“They required less explanation.”
Skye made a sound that might have been a cough if coughing were ordinarily performed with such enjoyment. Elspeth folded her arms.
“Both of ye are intolerable.”
Margaret smiled. “Ye care fer him.”
The words entered the room gently and created great disorder.
“I care whether he survives,” Elspeth replied. “That is a sensible concern in a husband.”
“And whether he sleeps?” Margaret teased.
“He daesnae.”
“Whether he eats?”
“Rarely enough.”
“Whether his shoulder pains him?”
“He lies about it.”
Margaret’s smile deepened. Elspeth realized, much too late, that she had not improved her defense.
“I am only saying,” she continued with dignity, “that the man possesses nay instinct fer preserving himself.”
“Men such as Colin rarely dae.”
Something in Margaret’s voice changed. The amusement remained but softened around an older understanding.
“They ken how tae protect,” she said. “They ken how tae command, threaten, and place themselves between danger and everyone they consider theirs. But loving softly…” She glanced toward the closed door through which their husbands had disappeared into Council. “That is more difficult.”
Elspeth looked down at her hands. “Difficulty isnae an excuse fer cruelty.”
“Nay.” Margaret’s answer came without hesitation.
Elspeth looked at her again.
“A cruel man hurts others because their pain gives him power,” Margaret continued. “A frightened man may become cold because feeling gives others power over him. The harm can resemble itself from a distance, and neither should be accepted without question. But they arenae the same.”
Elspeth thought of her father. He never withdrew because he feared wounding those near him. He withdrew kindness deliberately, as punishment or instruction. He used silence to make a room smaller and affection to purchase obedience.
Colin’s silence was different. It did not demand that others suffer. It seemed built to contain his own suffering before it escaped.
“He pushes me away,” Elspeth whispered.
Margaret’s gaze gentled. “Aye.”
“Then becomes furious when I go.”
“That also sounds like Colin,” Margaret nodded.
“It is unreasonable.”
“Entirely.”
Elspeth waited for more. Margaret took up her needle again.
“Love rarely improves a man’s reason. It merely gives his foolishness a particular direction.”
Skye laughed. Elspeth did not.
She was thinking of Colin searching the castle because she was not in their chamber, of his face when he found her in the stables, of his hand closing around hers beneath the dinner table where no one could see.
He was a frightened man. She was not certain whether the thought made loving him easier or infinitely more dangerous.
The Crown’s representative was expected within three days, which caused the household to react as though the king himself intended to arrive with an army, six bishops, and a personal objection to dust.
Guest chambers were opened. Sheets were aired. Fires were lit in rooms unused since winter. The kitchens became a place of heat, flour, shouting, and three competing opinions regarding the proper preparation of venison.
Elspeth placed herself in the center of it.
“The chamber above the eastern gallery is too damp,” she told the housekeeper. “Use the one beside the library.”
“That room hasnae been prepared, me lady.”
“Then we shall prepare it.”
The woman blinked when Elspeth bent to lift one end of a folded coverlet.
“Me lady, ye neednae—”
“I possess arms. They may as well justify their expense.”
Skye took the other end. “Her arms also possess a wound nearby, which she has forgotten because inconvenience has never interested her.”
“I have forgotten naething,” Elspeth corrected.
“Then yer disregard is deliberate, which is worse.”
Two maids standing near the doorway exchanged surprised glances.
Elspeth noticed. At her father’s house, ladies summoned, instructed, corrected, and departed before the work began.
Elspeth had been taught that usefulness consisted of directing another person toward labor while remaining elegantly untouched by it.
She never found elegance especially satisfying.
By afternoon, she had inspected four rooms, changed the sleeping arrangements twice, discussed wine with the steward, rejected a fish which looked personally resentful, and helped Margaret select linens for the royal visitor.
The household’s surprise slowly became cooperation.
An older maid asked Elspeth where the additional candles should be placed.
The cook sent for her opinion on the evening meal.
A young servant brought her a ring of keys without being told.
Each small question settled strangely within her.
They expected her to know. More alarming still, Elspeth wanted to know.
Skye watched her rearranging the flowers in the guest chamber.
“Ye are beginning tae behave like the lady of the castle.”
Elspeth removed a drooping stem.
“I am preventing a Crown official from believing Highland hospitality consists entirely of damp walls and threats.”
“Aye, the lady of the castle.”
“I am only trying nae tae be useless.”
The words escaped before she could stop them. Skye’s expression changed. Elspeth turned away, pretending great concern over the flowers. Her father’s letter seemed to whisper from wherever she had hidden it.
Ye have at last proved useful.
She set the vase down too firmly.
“Where dae ye want this?” Colin’s voice came from the doorway.
He stood holding one end of a heavy wooden chest. A broad-shouldered guard supported the other, though from Colin’s expression he considered assistance a personal criticism.
Elspeth stared at him. “What are ye daeing?”
“Moving the chest.”
“I can see that. Why?”
“Ye ordered it moved.”
“I ordered two servants tae move it.”
“They were needed below.”
“So ye decided the laird should carry furniture?”
“Aye.”
The guard’s mouth twitched. Elspeth pointed toward the wall beneath the narrow window. “There.”
The men set it down. Colin straightened carefully, favoring his healing shoulder. Elspeth noticed.
“Ye shouldnae lift with that arm.”
“I didnae,” he assured her.
“Ye did.”
“I used the other.”
She sighed. “Both arms are attached tae the same unreasonable man.”
The guard coughed and escaped before Colin could answer. Colin looked around the chamber. Fresh linen covered the bed. A fire warmed the air, and beeswax candles stood ready upon the table. The scent of rosemary and clean wool had replaced the old dampness.
“Ye did this?”
She smiled. “The servants did most of it.”
“But ye arranged it.”
Elspeth adjusted the vase again. “Someone had tae.”
Colin watched her too closely. She disliked when he did that. It made her feel as though her thoughts had been written upon her face in a hand he alone could read.
“I heard what ye said,” he told her.
“Tae whom?”
“Skye.”
Elspeth’s shoulders stiffened. “Listening at doors is a poor habit in a laird.”
“The door was open.”
“Then the household has failed me grievously.”
Colin crossed the room. “Ye arenae useless.”
She continued staring at the flowers. “I didnae say I was.”
“Ye said ye were trying nae tae be.”
“That is different.”
“Nay.”
His hand closed lightly around her wrist, turning her toward him. Elspeth expected command in his face. She found something quieter.
“Ye dinnae have tae earn yer place here,” he said tenderly.
The words struck the place her father’s letter had wounded.
Colin looked down at their joined hands. Then he lifted hers to his mouth and pressed a brief kiss against her knuckles. The tenderness of it undid her far more efficiently than argument.
“The room looks well,” he gestured with his eyes.
Elspeth swallowed. “The representative may still be an idiot.”
“Almost certainly.”
“And if he insults the household?”
“I will let ye speak first.”
Her mouth curved. “How generous.”
“I have learned yer tongue is often more damaging than me sword.”
“That is the kindest thing ye have ever said tae me.”
He almost smiled.
“Me lady, the cook wishes tae ken whether twelve pies are sufficient,” Skye spoke from the corridor.
Elspeth called back. “Fer the guests or fer Niall?”
A maid laughed somewhere beyond the doorway. Colin’s smile appeared fully then. It was small, reluctant, and entirely hers.
“Fer Niall,” he said, “make twenty.”
Elspeth laughed and drew him toward the door. She did not notice that she left the room carrying the household keys at her waist, and his hand remained at the small of her back as they walked together into the castle that was slowly becoming hers.