Chapter 14
Ceana turned toward Oscar’s side of the bed before she was fully awake.
The tenderness between her thighs checked the movement. She sucked in a sharp breath and lay still beneath the blanket, conscious of the unfamiliar heaviness in her limbs and the linen sheet brushing her hip. The deep hollow beside her remained; the blankets were rumpled at the foot of the bed.
Oscar stood near the fireplace, fastening his shirt. The morning light caught the scars across his hands as he worked each tie into place. Ceana watched those hands, now aware of the care they could show.
He looked up, and his gaze dropped when she shifted again and winced, then returned to her face. Without comment, he poured water into the cup beside the basin and brought it to her.
“Mairi is waitin’ outside. She will come in when ye summon her.”
Ceana reached for the cup and tried to sit. The soreness between her legs sharpened, forcing her to brace one palm against the mattress.
“Take me hand,” Oscar offered.
His grip was firm enough to lift her and careful enough to make every place he had touched the night before tingle. Once she was sitting upright with the sheet gathered beneath her arms, their eyes met. Oscar glanced at the blanket over her thighs, his breath deepening.
“Heather and David mean to leave after breakfast,” he said.
Her fingers tightened around the cup. “Today?”
“Aye.”
Mairi entered at Ceana’s call and helped her wash and dress while Oscar finished lacing his boots. He waited until the maid had fastened her gown before leaving.
Ceana entered the breakfast room more slowly than usual and chose the chair with the thickest cushion. A letter bearing a broken Gilmore seal lay beside David’s plate, attached to an open, stained packet.
Oscar sat at the head of the table with one hand beside his cup, composed enough to make the man from the night before seem like an entirely different person.
He cast a glance at his wife, taking in the gentle way she lowered herself into her chair.
His thumb pressed once against the rim of his cup.
David folded the letter. “Bryce calls Daphne’s escape a breach of the alliance we discussed. Yer marriage is named as a second insult against his house.”
“What does he intend to do?” Ceana asked.
“He demands an answer or satisfaction, but he gives nay honest shape to either.” The strain around his eyes had deepened since the wedding celebration.
Heather reached across the table and put her hand on his. “We must return to Morrag. If Daphne comes home or sends word, I willnae have her find us gone.”
“And Bryce may try to attack our tenants while he thinks us divided,” David added. “I need to go back to Morrag before he starts thinkin’ that our silence means weakness.”
Ceana set down the loaf she had grabbed and picked up a spoon. “Ye would be ridin’ toward the danger he has threatened.”
“Lennan will instruct men to escort ye,” Oscar said. “They will remain with ye until ye are safely in Morrag land.”
David’s shoulders stiffened. “Havin’ MacKane soldiers escort us may look like a challenge.”
“They are protection,” Oscar countered. “Any man who sees a challenge in a guarded carriage has already come lookin’ for one.”
David held his gaze, then tucked the letter in the packet.
Tommy had abandoned his porridge during the talk of alliances and borders. He looked from Oscar to Ceana. “What changed when ye married her?”
Ceana’s spoon paused above her bowl.
“Ceana already lives here,” he continued. “She eats with us, and she comes to family hour.”
Every answer that occurred to Ceana belonged upstairs, behind closed doors. She shifted in her seat and regretted it at once. From where he was, Oscar caught the small tightening of her mouth, and his fingers closed around his cup.
“She is still Ceana,” he replied. “But she is also Lady MacKane now.”
Tommy frowned. “What does a lady do?”
Oscar looked at Ceana before answering. “Our people may bring her their troubles. She must learn our customs, and we must learn her judgment.”
Paisley lifted her eyes from her bread. She studied Ceana, one thumb pressing into the crust.
“I will take ye to the village this afternoon,” Oscar continued. “Ye should see how our people live before their troubles reach this table.”
Ceana raised her eyebrows. “Will I be permitted to speak, or will I only be permitted to watch?”
“If I wanted silence, I wouldnae take ye.”
Heather hid a smile behind her cup. David pushed back his chair, and the meal gave way to the final preparations for their departure.
In the courtyard, Heather wrapped both arms around Ceana and held her close. She searched her daughter’s face before pressing a kiss to her temple.
“Send word at once if Daphne contacts ye,” she whispered in her ear. “Any word, even a single line.”
“I will.” Ceana held her a moment longer before turning to her father.
He took both her hands. “Take care of yerself, Lady MacKane.”
His thumbs pressed against her knuckles, a familiar gesture from childhood, while MacKane riders waited by their horses.
“Take Bryce seriously,” she urged. “Please.”
“I do, lass.” His mouth tightened as he glanced toward the carriage.
Oscar called the escort leader forward. “Keep the carriage between ye. Stop only where ye can hold the road, and send word the moment Laird Morrag reaches his land.”
The man repeated the orders, mounted, and signaled the others into place.
Heather and David left beneath Morrag colors, with MacKane riders guarding the front and rear. Ceana watched until the carriage passed through the outer gate and vanished around the bend.
Oscar came to stand beside her, his sleeve a hairsbreadth away from hers. “This afternoon ye’ll meet yer people,” he said, his voice sharp.
Later that afternoon, they took the road curving down the hillside. Tommy and Paisley were already ahead with Ness. Lennan followed at a discreet distance, ready if they needed him.
Oscar walked beside Ceana. The downward slope pulled at muscles still tender from the previous night, and her next step shortened. He noticed, matched her pace, and said nothing.
Soon, they cleared the first row of cottages.
Ceana had expected the villagers to guard their speech before their Laird. A fruit seller came to the roadside, and Oscar asked whether the repaired thatch above her fireplace had held through the last rain. The miller joined them from the lane.
“How many sacks are waitin’?” Oscar asked.
“Seven, me Laird. I can have them ready by Friday.”
“See Mrs. Bain’s grain ground tomorrow. Her meal willnae last until Friday.”
A small boy waved from a doorway. “Good day, me Laird.”
Oscar answered with the same gravity he had shown the miller, and the child stood taller.
Ceana noticed that he remembered matters reported days or weeks ago. He checked the roof after its repair and knew which household could not endure any more delay.
Warmth coiled low in her belly, close to the mild soreness she felt with every step. Oscar caught her watching, but did not smile. His eyes held hers while the miller moved away, and she looked toward the green first.
A silver-haired woman waited near the market tables with both hands folded over a stout walking stick.
“That is Elspeth Kerr,” Oscar whispered to her as the woman approached them. “Bit of a firebrand, this one, so just… keep calm.”
“I see,” Ceana muttered.
“Lady MacKane,” Elspeth said. Her greeting was correct and measured. She turned to the man and the woman beside her. “Morna and Callum have a matter to discuss with ye. His cow broke through their dyke and ate her winter greens.”
Morna’s mouth pinched. “The whole plot, me Lady. I want payment for all of it.”
“The dyke was crumblin’ already,” Callum argued. “I brought stones for the repair. She left them where I dropped them.”
Elspeth faced Ceana. “Will Lady MacKane judge the matter?”
Ceana looked at Oscar. She would not take authority he had yet to place in her hands.
“They have brought the matter to ye,” he reminded her.
Callum shifted his weight. “With respect, me Lady, ye have never seen the dyke.”
“Then tell me what I have yet to see.” The people nearest the tables turned toward her. “How many rows did ye plant, Morna?”
“Eight.”
“How many remain untouched?”
Morna hesitated. “Three. And part of a fourth.”
“Has yer cow broken anythin’ before?” Ceana asked Callum.
His gaze dropped. “She pushed through a weak fence in spring.”
“Who was to maintain that section?” she asked.
Elspeth confirmed that the dyke belonged to both households. Callum had supplied loose stone without labor, and Morna could not lift the larger pieces herself, so the gap remained.
Ceana’s mother had taught her to ask which foods were truly lost and what each household could give without going hungry.
“Callum will replace the greens his cow destroyed and give one day’s labor to rebuild the dyke,” Ceana decided.
“Morna will accept the stones and send someone from her household on that same day. Ye will share the repair, as ye share the boundary. Neither of ye will claim payment for the rows left sound. A barrier must stand there until the stones are set.”
Callum pressed his lips together. Morna looked once toward the untouched rows, visible beyond the cottages. Neither had gotten what they wanted; it was perfectly clear from the way they both bowed.
Oscar waited until they stepped back. “Lady MacKane’s ruling stands. Lennan, see that they have a barrier before dark.”
Lennan called two men toward the sheds.
The villagers continued watching Ceana.
As Morna and Callum left, Oscar whispered in her ear, “I would have made Callum replace the entire plot.”
“His cow didnae destroy the entire plot, and full payment would still leave the dyke broken.”
He studied her. “Aye. Ye heard what they needed beneath what they demanded.” His gaze flicked to Elspeth. “Bring the next matter to her as well.”
Two young men had been throwing smooth stones toward a stick while the dispute was heard. Their argument now drew several children. One stone lay further away, though a track in the damp earth showed where it had rolled.
“What do ye think, me Lady?” Elspeth asked.
Ceana called Paisley over. “Show me where each stone first struck.”
Paisley examined the tracks with grave attention, then planted one heel in each hollow. The cleaner throw had first touched the ground beyond the other throw. Ceana awarded it the win.
“Mine traveled farther,” the loser protested.
“Oh well, next time it most certainly will.”
Even Callum smiled as the others laughed.
Across the green, Oscar watched Ceana with the sharp attention he had given her behind closed doors. Her breath caught before Elspeth reclaimed her attention.
“Ye must attend our fire festival in three months,” Elspeth said. “We build the fires here, and anyone bold enough may attempt the jump. The Laird judges the highest clean crossing.”
Ceana’s interest was piqued.
“And I record each one,” Elspeth continued when Oscar drew nearer. “Any boot or hem that clips the fire is struck out. The winner is held fortunate through the next season.”
“May I question the Laird’s judgment?” Ceana asked.
“The village will expect ye to.”
“Elspeth encourages disorder whenever she can,” Oscar interjected, a small smile on his face.
Ceana met the widow’s bright gaze. “Then I shall attend.”
A young mother nearby watched Tommy balance along a low stone ledge with his arms spread. “Children grow up before anyone is ready,” she commented. “Ye’ll ken it when ye have another little one runnin’ around yer skirts.”
For an instant, Ceana saw a small child stumble after Tommy, dark hair fluttering in the wind and one hand reaching for Oscar. The image made her chest tighten.
“Tommy and Paisley already seem determined to grow up too quickly,” she said.
Paisley had heard. Her eyes moved from Ceana to Oscar, her earlier interest replaced by a guarded look.
“Will ye teach me which jumps count as clean?” Ceana asked her.
Paisley raised her chin with tentative confidence. “Both feet must clear the flame, and yer clothes cannae touch it either. Elspeth sees everythin’.”
At that moment, Lennan approached with a tenant from the eastern border.
The man twisted his cap between calloused hands as he told them that two cattle were missing and that he had seen several riders near the border that morning.
According to him, one wore Gilmore colors, though he could not identify their faces.
Oscar’s shoulders tensed. He asked how many riders there were, which way they traveled, where the tracks began, and when the tenant last saw them.
“Send scouts along the border,” he instructed Lennan. “Move the nearest stock inward and warn the other tenants. I willnae have talk of war carried from door to door.”
Ceana stepped closer. “Do ye believe this is connected to the letter?”
“I will ken when me men return. Until then, I willnae give Bryce guilt he hasnae earned.”
As Lennan opened his mouth to respond, a cry cut across the green.
Tommy sat beside the stone ledge, clutching his knee. Ceana and Oscar moved at once. She reached him first and kneeled, though the quick movement pulled sharply at tender muscles. She drew him against her, and his tears dampened her shoulder.
“It stings,” he sobbed.
“Aye, it does.” Ceana moved his hand aside and examined the scrape. Blood beaded on his skin, surrounded by dirt. “Can ye bend yer knee for me?”
He bent his knee, crying harder. Ceana wiped the loose dirt away with her handkerchief and held him close again.
Oscar kneeled beside them and set one hand on Tommy’s back. He looked at his son curled up against Ceana before raising his eyes to her face. His mouth was set in the same tight line from the previous night.
“I want to go home,” Tommy mumbled.
“Then home we shall go. We will make yer favorite honeyed bannocks in the kitchen.”
Paisley crouched beside them. “He will drop the meal.”
“I willnae,” Tommy said, his wet face lifting from Ceana’s shoulder. “Me knee is injured.”
Oscar waited until the boy released her, then lifted him.
“Da, ye must come too.”
Oscar settled him against his chest and looked over Tommy’s shoulder at Ceana. “I will make sure that ye daenae destroy the kitchen in the process.”
Paisley slipped her hand into Ceana’s.
Oscar glanced once toward the eastern ridge, then turned around. “Let’s go home.”