Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (97 page)

Again the muscles in his neck and arm seized violently. Bloody hell! Connell looked up, instantly worried, but the moment he did so, he realized her call wasn’t fearful or panicked. She was walking down the road holding Adam against her shoulder and her basket over her arm. She waved as she passed, headed for market.

Well now, her first foray alone into the unknown wilds of the Edinburgh market. He hoped she would remember what he had told her. He had absolutely no desire to kill anyone else. He returned her wave and noticed Smith and Marcus also waved at her.

She gave them a winsome smile and continued down the road.

“A delightful little lassie ye have there, Connell.”

“Thank ye,” Connell said, hoping the man wouldn’t ask any questions. Smith started to turn away. This time, Connell waited before lifting his hammer.

“That reminds me,” Smith said, turning back to him. “Many times my wife comes tae the shop with me when she doesna have anything pressing at home. I told her about ye and yer family. She’s going tae insist on meeting yer wife and bairn. And then she’ll insist on them visiting the shop whenever she’s here.”

Connell frowned. “Why did that sound like a warning?”

Smith guffawed. “That’s the spirit. I kenned there be a reason why I liked ye. Because it was, laddie. I just wanted ye tae be prepared because my Fionna doesna take nay for an answer.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good lad. Now I’ll let ye get back tae work.”

Connell waited again, but this time Smith disappeared deeper into the shop. Finally! Once again he turned his attention back to the steel on his bench. He set it in place and lifted his hammer.

“Do ye need anything?” Marcus asked, stepping so close that his nose was practically right under Connell’s. The lad gazed at the steel curiously.

Connell’s muscles protested violently as he again stopped his downward swing, but this time it was to keep from striking the lad. And this time the curses he muttered were much more colorful. “Laddie, ye do that again and I’ll be braining ye with this hammer, and it willna be entirely unintentional.”

Marcus looked up at him wide-eyed. “Sorry,” he said and quickly stepped back.

“If I need anything, I’ll ask ye for it. Otherwise—stay.” He pointed to a stool in the corner.

The lad deflated and promptly sat on the stool.

Good! Maybe now he could actually get some work done. He lifted his hammer again.

“Connell!” Smith called. “Give me a hand with this.”

Again muscles screamed as he stopped his hammer. For a moment, Connell squeezed his eyes closed and sucked in a breath, trying to steady his temper before it boiled. The morning was not only off on the wrong foot, it was as lame as a three-legged mule, and Connell had a feeling it was only going to get worse.

HHH

Mairi managed to keep her smile and relaxed manner at least until Connell was no longer watching her. She didn’t want him to see her acting like a frightened child, but she battled to keep her chin up and not jump at every little thing. Mary have mercy, she was going to drive herself daft like this.

She spotted the English guardsmen in the same spot as before and fought not to look at them. Connell’s words about the dog came to mind and helped ease her nerves just a bit. At least the thought brought a smile to her lips. Connell could be downright mischievous when he wanted to be, and the fact that he could do so without changing his demeanor—one had to be paying attention to know if he was jesting or serious.

She approached Dugal’s booth, glad she had accompanied Connell and met everyone before. She felt much more comfortable. But she couldn’t resist stealing another glance at the guardsmen, then she immediately wished she hadn’t. Two of them had stopped their conversation and were watching her.

She swallowed hard and turned her back on them.

“Good morrow, Mairi,” Dugal said warmly. “How be ye and the laddie today?”

“Just fine,” she said, but her voice sounded more like a frightened squeak, and her attempt to smile was absolutely pitiful, she knew.

Barked shouts arose from the small square. Mairi flinched violently and only just stopped herself from bolting. She looked over her shoulder and saw a wagon moving much too quickly through the crowded streets. People leapt out of the way and shouted for the drover to slow down.

The guards were no longer paying attention to her but looking toward the ruckus. The driver did not slow and nearly ran over a woman who could not get out of the way in time. Fortunately, a man standing within arm’s reach of her grabbed her and yanked her from the wagon’s path.

“Damnation,” one of the English guardsmen muttered. “MacFie is drunk again.” Their hands on their weapons, the guardsmen strode purposefully toward the square, barking at others to clear the way. The man in the wagon looked over his shoulder and saw the guards moving. He whipped his horses to go faster, but in the crowded streets, there wasn’t much room for them. Just beyond the square, the road leading to the docks turned sharply and narrowed. Another wagon blocked the way, its driver apparently in no hurry at all as he chatted with two other men. He looked over his shoulder as the man jerked his galloping wagon horses to a stop and shouted, shaking his fist at him.

The man blocking the path apparently was not worried. He simply turned back to the men he had been chatting with and continued his conversation.

More guards ran up the street from the direction of the docks. Mairi heard more shouts, and two others ran into the square.

“Where did they come from?”

“A few blocks over. When any guard starts bellowing orders, others usually come tae make sure he doesna need help. Besides, they’re bored today.”

Mairi looked back as the guards coming from the docks stopped in front of the man’s wagon horses. Two of them grabbed the horses’ reins, making sure the animals could not go forward if the road suddenly cleared.

“MacFie, that’s enough!” one guard barked.

In the blink of an eye, about a dozen English guardsmen surrounded the wagon. Mairi had to look twice; the guardsmen were not only English but there were a couple of Scotsmen in their ranks as well.

“I didna expect tae see that,” she murmured.

“MacFie?” Dugal asked and snorted softly. “Ye will be seeing this, lassie, at least once a sennight. The bloody codswallop canna stay out of the brew.”

“Nay,” she said, shaking her head, “I meant I didna expect tae see Scotsmen in the guard.”

“Och, aye, lassie. There be plenty of Scots in the guard. They dinna get paid as much as their English counterparts, but they be a part of it nonetheless. The English would stretch their numbers too thin if only they worked the guard.”

“I see,” she said. “And there be no trouble?”

“Some, but most ken this be the way of things, at least for now. We’re all waiting tae see what the Bruce decides tae do about it.”

“Have ye heard anything about how the war is going?”

“Well, ye ken after his da died, Edward II made a halfhearted attempt tae continue the war but then turned around and went home. He sent some forces after the Bruce, but without the main vanguard, the English dinna seem tae have the stomach for fighting. The Bruce took care of them right proper. Of course, lassie, ye ken that even the daftest fool doesna fight in Scotland during the winter.”

“Aye,” she said and smiled as he looked up at the sky as if expecting his words to bring the snow.

“But the English still hold many a castle in the Lowlands. So the Bruce be consolidating his power, having his lairds swear fealty and trying tae wrest castles from English control. I heard rumor that he be bringing different tactics into play. After he takes a keep, he doesna garrison it. Instead, he destroys it so the defenses are worthless tae the English.”

“He destroys it?” she asked, startled.

“Aye, says the strategy of the siege plays too much into the English strengths, so he does what he can tae take that strength away.”

Mairi frowned. She had heard mention of something like that before. Who was it? Connell? Aidan?

“But dinna vex yerself. The weather be getting colder, and soon the church bells will be announcing the approach of Christmastide. It doesna matter how bitter this war, the season usually brings out the best in men here, ye will see.”

Mairi blinked at him. Christmas? It was still a long . . . wait. It was September. “Three months?” she whispered. “Christmas canna be three months away.”

“Forgive me.”

“’Tis all right, Dugal. I just . . . where does the time go?”

“I be asking the same thing every year, and every year it goes by faster.”

“Aye. Well, I’ve taken up enough of yer time. Thank ye for the vegetables.”

“My pleasure, lassie. See ye in a day or two?”

“Aye.” She continued down the road, her thoughts still spinning about Christmas. She had no idea what they were going to do. Connell probably had not thought of it any more than she had. But she had no idea if he wished to celebrate the holiday, especially with what he had told her this morning. A holiday such as this might awaken painful memories for him. On the other hand, they would be expected to keep up appearances. She was going to have to talk to him.

Abruptly, she rolled her eyes. She couldn’t even get him to sleep in a bed, how was she ever going to broach the subject of Christmas?

“Ne’er underestimate the lassie behind ye.”

~
Connell MacGrigor

W
hen Connell had a duty set before him, he focused on it with single-minded determination, developing a plan for the best, most efficient course of action to complete the work to his high standards and within a reasonable amount of time. He also planned for minor issues that might arise, so he could typically adjust and continue without missing a beat.

Today, his plan had failed miserably. Every time he attempted to get a little work done on the projects the smith had given to him, the smith seemed to come up with new ones. Unfortunately, they had nothing to do with working steel and everything to do with moving heavy boxes, metal, ore, horseshoes, tools, anything and everything in the bloody shop, it seemed. Connell briefly wondered if the man had just up and decided to rearrange everything simply because Connell was there.

And if Marcus got underfoot one more time, Connell was going to throttle the lad. He meant well, but Connell marveled that the boy continued to possess life and limb. He didn’t have the sense God gave a goose, and every damned time Connell was carrying something heavy, he found himself tripping over the lad. The muscles in his back ached terribly from contorting in such a way to keep from falling.

Connell finally had to snarl at Marcus to get him to stay out of his way. He didn’t like frightening the lad, but it was either that or they were both going to end up under a pile of bloody horseshoes or some other foolishness.

At last Connell was able to return to his workbench and pick up the steel once again, but he hesitated when he heard the smith whistling a lively tune. He looked up as the man closed the door to the back of the shop, locked it, and glanced in his direction. “Everything all right?” he asked, eyeing the metal Connell held. “Ye’ve had that for a full day, but ye’ve barely started it, and it be time tae go home.”

Connell hung his head and released his breath slowly.

“Worry not over it, laddie. I’m sure ye’ll make up for it tomorrow. Have a good eve.”

“Good night,” he said softly, although his hand fisted around a piece of scrap metal and twisted it as easily as if it had been a raw piece of dough.

“Do ye need anything, Connell?” Marcus asked from right next to him.

Connell nearly jumped a foot in the air. The scrap metal he held twisted even more. “Nay,” he growled. “Lock the gate behind ye.”

“Are ye certain? I dinna mind helping.”

“Ye’ve helped enough for one day. Lock the gate.”

“I can at least—”

“Lock. The. Gate.”

“Uh . . . verra well. Have a good night.”

“Good night.”
And dinna come back tomorrow,
he wanted to add but kept his jaw clamped shut.

Thank God Marcus left the yard and locked the gate behind him. Connell put everything away and closed the vents on the forge. He prayed that tomorrow would be better. He finished closing up the shop and walked slowly to the fence separating the smithing yard from his home. He hesitated, and instead of vaulting over it as he normally did, he bent over and ducked between the split rails.

Bloody hell!

That was a mistake. The muscles in his back grabbed, and his vision went dark for a moment. Somehow he managed to pull himself through without falling, but he caught himself on the rail and battled to catch his breath. It took him a good ten count before he could see straight and trusted himself enough to release the fence. He faced the house, seeing the warm, welcoming golden glow coming from the shuttered windows.

He hoped Mairi had not had as awful a day as he had. One of her fine meals would be wonderful right now. But as he thought about food, his stomach curled. Now, why didn’t that surprise him? Even though he knew a good meal would cure a world of ills, he was in so much pain he wasn’t sure if he could eat at all.

Slowly he trudged to the door. Of course, the way this day had gone, he wouldn’t be surprised if he found Mairi with a screaming bairn, at wit’s end in her own right, and no food on the table.

Bracing himself, he opened the door. A mouthwatering aroma reached him, and his gaze fell first on the table, dressed and ready for everyone to take their seats. Mairi hummed softly as she worked in the kitchen, and wee Adam played on his blanket on the floor, burbling to himself.

Connell couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped him. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and locked it.

Mairi turned and smiled, but her smile vanished as she studied him. “Glory, Connell, what happened tae ye?”

“Nothing,” he growled. He moved slowly toward the table simply because he couldn’t move any faster.

“Are ye hurt?”

“I be fine,” he snapped as he sat.
Almighty Father, please dinna let there be an argument, no’ now, no’ today.
He braced his head in his hands, wondering if the Almighty would heed his prayer.

A warm hand gripped his shoulder, and Mairi instantly sucked in her breath. Her fingers gently began to explore the knotted muscle she felt. Connell groaned softly. He worried at first that she would press too hard and cause the muscle to knot even more, but her hands only gripped his shoulders and worked the knots loose with a firm but gentle touch.

Thank ye . . . thank ye.
The Almighty had not only heeded his prayer, it seemed He took mercy on Connell.

“Ye must have had a difficult day tae come home like this.”

“I’ve had better days when mercenaries outnumbered me three tae one on the trail. At least I could shove my sword into one and that would be that. End of problem.”

“Oh, dear. It’s no’ Smith, is it?”

“Nay,” he said after a long moment. “I was fit tae be tied with him today, but now I think he just went so long without someone tae help him that he be trying tae get it all done at once. Practically had me running in circles. And then there was Marcus.”

“Marcus?”

Praying she didn’t stop working the muscles in his shoulders, Connell related everything that had happened. “As I was running in those bloody circles, I was tripping over Marcus every time I turned around. The lad’s only talent I ken is getting underfoot.”

“Well, the day be done. Do ye think ye can eat a little something?” To his disappointment, she lifted her hands.

“It smells wonderful, but my gut is no’ happy with me. I will try though,” he said quickly, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

She stepped away, and Connell was at least able to turn his head. His neck popped loudly, and he felt as if the blood flow had suddenly been restored. He turned his head the other way, and his neck popped again. Sweet Jesu, that made him feel a little bit better. Mairi set a bowl of thick stew before him. His belly rumbled. Good. Perhaps he would be able to eat something after all.

HHH

Connell was able to eat about half a bowl of stew before his weariness and pain tightened his belly so much it forced him to stop. He caught Mairi watching him closely, but she said not a word to him. He had been dreading an argument but now almost wished for one to get it over and done.

He could barely rise from the chair and headed straight for the bedroom as Mairi put Adam in his cradle.

He stared at his bedroll. He was a bloody daft fool, but he was going to do this to himself again.

“Connell, ye be hurting. Will ye please sleep in the bed?” Mairi asked.

“Nay,” he said and lowered himself onto his bedroll, biting back a groan of pain. He shivered, feeling a nasty draft skitter across the floor.

He noticed she only asked once and didn’t argue.

As the house fell silent, once again sleep eluded him. The night dragged on interminably, but when dawn finally arrived, he did not welcome it. He was in so much pain he could barely stand, but he said not a word, although he knew Mairi was worried when he refused breakfast entirely and left for work.

Connell was first into the shop, like usual. He unlocked the front gate and opened the vents on the forge, kindling the embers into flame. He wondered if he would actually be able to work on his project today or if Smith had even more nonsense awaiting him. Connell hauled the heavy bit of steel from its place, and his body protested more violently than he had yet known. The pain that shot through him nearly sent him to his knees. His vision went black and stayed that way for an alarming moment. He caught himself against the workbench, panting.

He heard Smith whistling cheerfully as he entered the shop. He took one look at Connell and the tune died on his lips.

“Laddie, ye be all right?”

“Aye,” Connell said tightly, refusing to admit he was already sweating and couldn’t catch his breath.

The smith looked at him as if he didn’t believe him one whit. “Ye ken this war has turned everything upside down and inside out. A man can grow accustomed tae plying a trade, but when things interrupt that trade, it can take a bit for him tae fall back into it. I dinna care how strong ye be or how good with yer sword, a return tae lifting a hammer full time is going tae take its toll.”

Connell scowled at him. He was hurting so terribly he could barely make sense of the man’s words. All right, so he had spent too much time on the trail and not enough with the hammer recently. He was man enough to admit that. It was moving everything around this bloody shop that wasn’t helping. But it didn’t matter. He had work to do. “I be fine.”

The smith arched an eyebrow at him. “Suit yerself.”

As the day progressed, Connell’s pain didn’t improve—it only grew worse. But he gritted his teeth and muscled through it, even though it finally occurred to him that that was the last thing he should be doing.

He went home at Nones, trying to eat a bit of dinner, but only managed a few bites.

Mairi didn’t say a word to him. Her silence bothered him more than if she would have argued with him. But he rose from the table and returned to the shop.

That night, he stared at his bedroll on the floor and dreaded what was to come.

“Will ye sleep in the bed?”

His reply wasn’t as immediate, and he looked at her, suddenly longing to tell her aye, but he stubbornly shook his head. “Nay,” he finally said.

She only asked once and didn’t argue with him.

Exhaustion finally allowed him to sleep a couple of hours, but when he awoke at dawn, he was mortified to discover he had to use the furniture to haul himself to his feet. How he managed to dress himself, he had no idea. He didn’t even attempt to break his fast and headed straight for the door, afraid if he sat down he wouldn’t be able to rise.

Again the smith entered the shop whistling his tune. He stopped and studied Connell. “Laddie?”

“I be fine.”

“Suit yerself.”

Bloody bleeding hell! He wasn’t fine and he knew it. He had gotten himself into this mess but had no idea how he was going to get himself out. Connell couldn’t believe his own thoughts. Here he was wishing he could have an argument with Mairi rather than admit he was being daft in the head. He blamed his state on moving items around the shop when he knew full well the reason for it.

He was being a hardheaded lout and sleeping on the cold floor when he should have been in a warm bed. Mairi was right; the bed was big enough for both of them. Just because he wanted her didn’t mean he couldn’t control himself. He wasn’t a bloody animal. He was, however, quite barmy. That much he was certain of. But at least tonight would see an end to it. Now, all he had to do was get through the day.

“Ho, Smith!” a voice shouted from the gate.

Connell looked up and groaned.

A large wagon entered, filled with crates of ore and other supplies the smith needed for his trade. It was so heavily laden that four oxen pulled it instead of horses. Connell knew it would be up to him to unload it. He closed his eyes for a moment and sent a brief prayer heavenward, then lifted his head and strode to the wagon.

Marcus trotted into the yard behind the wagon. Connell eyed him, immediately wanting to warn him away from it. But Smith was there and he didn’t wish to anger the man. “Ye be late.” That was definitely true.

“Sorry,” Marcus said, ducking his head. “It willna happen again.”

Connell shrugged. “Just stay back, laddie. Ye hear me this time?”

“Aye, Connell.”

Connell eyed the load. “How much of this be ours?”

The drover walked to the oxen, unhitched them, and led them through the gate. “All of it,” he said with a knowing grin. “I’ll be back for my wagon tomorrow.”

“All of it?” Connell looked at Smith in shock.

“It be crates of ore, charcoal, some steel blanks that I canna find anywhere else. Things like that. The war wreaked havoc with my suppliers. I have tae do more business on the continent, and it’s more expensive tae ship it across the Channel. So I get as much as I can in one go.”

Connell stepped toward the wagon as the smith paid the trader. Gritting his teeth, he manhandled a large box and carried it into the shop.

The crates of black rock containing the raw ore were the worst, he realized. They were large, and Connell struggled to get a good grip. And they were bloody heavy. Half as tall as a man and twice as long, they were stacked up six high on the back of the wagon. It took both him and the smith working together to carry them one by one into the shop.

Connell wiped the sweat from his brow and followed the smith back out to get the next. His entire body trembled as he walked, and he looked up at the top crates in dread.

“Take care with this one,” the smith said of the crate on top as he vaulted into the wagon. Together, they battled to shift the crate so Connell could lower it to the ground.

“I’ve got the small one,” Marcus declared.

Connell only glanced in his direction as the boy reached for a much smaller box. But then Connell looked twice, his eyes widening as he realized that smaller box supported much of the weight of the larger crates, keeping them from toppling out of the back of the wagon. It wasn’t much, just partially wedged in, so the lad would be able to free it, but the moment he did so . . .

“Marcus, nay!”

Too late. Marcus hauled the smaller box away. Connell heard a thud and then the snapping of wood. The entire load quivered. Connell found himself moving to stop the collapse some way . . . any way . . . but then he realized he could not. He prepared to leap out of the way. Nails screeched hideously as they bent and came loose. Marcus blinked at the teetering stack in fear. Another board cracked. Marcus leapt backward, tripped over his own two feet, and landed on his backside in the dirt, just as the massive crate toppled over.