My Highland Lover (4 page)

“Fearghal wishes to see his brother. Let us pass. ’Tis our right to see the chieftain.”

Gray closed his eyes against the nasal voice shattering the pleasant comradery of the great hall. As much as he wished to bar the owner of the voice from his presence, his conscience wouldna grant him leave to do so.

“Allow Lady Aileas entry, Colum!” His shout echoed the length of the high-ceilinged room and rang out into the bailey. All the better. At least those who might escape Aileas’s presence had now received ample warning.

“May the gods strike the woman mute or have mercy and strike me deaf.” The hounds sprawled at Gray’s feet lifted their heads as though nodding in complete agreement. Gray dug his thumbs hard into his throbbing temples. He was in no mood for another bout of petty complaints from Lady Aileas and her simpering son.

The dried rushes spread about the stone floors hissed out whispered warnings with every sweep of Aileas’s drab, heavy skirts. The great, hairy dogs lying on either side of Gray’s ornate chieftain’s chair perked their heads higher, then groaned with a unified whine when Aileas passed the final column and neared the center of the room.

Gray dropped a hand to the nearest dog’s head and buried his fingers in the thick, wiry fur. “I feel the same way, lad. But we must be tolerant of the past chieftain’s wife.”

The hound disagreed with a low, rumbling growl.

Both dogs lumbered to their feet and retreated to the passage connecting the meeting hall to the outer kitchens.

Cowards.
Gray glared at the retreating beasts, all the while wishing he could join them. Ever since the
dearbh fhine
had named him
Tànaiste
to the chieftainship rather than Fearghal, his father’s only legitimate son, Aileas had seen fit to test his patience, along with his leadership, at every opportunity.

The bitter woman had never publicly denounced him as the bastard son of her dead husband’s leman, but sources reported she had shared this opinion privately on more than one occasion.

A sad smile pinched one corner of Gray’s mouth as he straightened in the chair. Damned if he wouldna wager his best warhorse that his parents had reunited on the other side and stood together at this verra moment…laughing because he had been left behind to deal with the unpleasant Aileas.

The tall, gangly woman lumbered forward. She kept one oversized hand locked in the crooked arm of the puny young man stumbling along beside her. Aileas’s wispy hair had escaped its combs, fluttering about her perspiring face and wide shoulders like a veil of mud-brown cobwebs. The exertion of dragging her clumsy son the length of the hall had reddened the broken capillaries covering Aileas’s bulbous nose and her sallow, pockmarked cheeks.

When Aileas came to a halt in front of the main table, she yanked her ill-fitting dress back into place across her sturdy, big-boned frame.

As he had more times than he cared to remember, Gray wondered how his father could e’er bed such a woman and manage to seed a son. There was nay enough whisky in all the Highlands to blind a man to the undeniable truth that the Lady Aileas more closely resembled a surly blacksmith than a comely chieftain’s wife.

“My chieftain.” Aileas coughed out the word “chieftain” as though it had lodged crossways in her throat and she was trying to hack it loose. “Fearghal is greatly distressed o’er the treatment he received this verra morning at the stables.”

Gray shifted his gaze to the nervous man twitching at Aileas’s side. Gray almost felt sorry for the poor excuse for a Scot.
Almost.
Fearghal might be a sniveling wimp, but he also possessed a cruel streak Gray had witnessed on several occasions. Fearghal’s preferred method of bolstering his own confidence was to torment those less fortunate than himself. Fearghal was a bully. In the worst possible ways, the unpleasant oaf mirrored the cruelties of his hateful mother. Gray rolled his shoulders against the wave of disgust Fearghal and Aileas always triggered. It couldna be that he and Fearghal shared the same father.

“What distressed ye this time, Fearghal?” Gray struggled to keep the contempt out of his tone as he straightened in the chair and feigned interest in Fearghal’s plight. His father’s words rang in his ears: a chieftain is known by his actions as well as his words.

“They…” Fearghal’s annoying voice stalled out. He swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple skittered up and down his long narrow neck like a mouse scurrying beneath the bedclothes. His wide-set eyes darted nervously to the right of the room where several of Gray’s men were seated. “Yer guard would nay grant me wish to ride one of the horses that best suits me station. The man dared suggest I take one of the children’s training mares.”

Fearghal’s pompous statement soured Gray’s mood further. What arrogance. Gray didna doubt Fearghal’s claim. The last time the dunce had been given a decent horse, Fearghal had returned on foot and the valuable horse had ne’er been seen again.

By this time, Colum, Clan MacKenna’s chief man-at-arms, had assumed his usual position close beside Gray’s chair. With one hand resting atop the pommel of his sword, Colum stepped forward and joined the conversation in a tone leaving no doubt as to how little he thought of Fearghal. “Our clan’s stables can nay afford to turn our stock of best-bred horses free into the Highlands. Too many thieves lay wait to claim them for their own.” Colum sneered and jerked his chin toward Aileas’s scowling face. “Perhaps yer mother might grant ye access to her decrepit mount or mayhap e’en her closed wagon. Yer arse might stay seated atop a wagon’s board better than it stays planted in a saddle.”

Well said, m’friend. I thank ye for sayin’ what I cannot.
Gray shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Tha’ll do, Colum. Thank ye.”

The tips of Fearghal’s huge ears turned deep red. Gray would nay be surprised if the fool’s head burst into flames.

Aileas growled and surged forward, squaring her stout body in front of Fearghal like a lioness defending her young. Her meaty fists trembled against the dark folds of her skirts. “Will ye just sit there then? Will ye no’ demand respect toward m’Fearghal? Toward yer own brother—the chieftain’s
true
son, no less?” Aileas’s mouth snapped shut and her eyes widened as the realization of what she had just voiced hit her.

“Take care, Stepmother,” Gray warned in a low voice. “I am chosen chief to Clan MacKenna.” He had always defended Aileas and her worthless son to the elders, insisting his father’s widow and her son be treated with honor and respect. But if Aileas decided to publicly challenge him, the two would be stripped of his protection immediately.

“Give the order,” Colum hissed. The slightest wave of his hand caused every warrior seated across the room to rise and step forward. “Give the order, m’chieftain,” Colum repeated. “And we shall relieve your presence of this offensiveness. Permanently.”

Aileas’s trembling jowls and watery eyes resurrected what little compassion Gray still possessed for the two. He raised a hand and spoke to the men without taking his unblinking gaze from his stepmother’s face. “Nay.” Gray barely shook his head. “I feel sure the Lady Aileas realizes the rashness of her words. I am certain she claims a mother’s concern for her child as the reason she forgets herself.”

“Aye.” Aileas bobbed her head and stood taller while her cold, proud gaze swept across those standing in the room. “I dare say any of ye would nay do any less if your child’s honor had been so sullied.”

Gray slowly rose from his seat. For some strange reason, the tender healing flesh of the burns across his shoulders had suddenly begun to tingle. A warning, perhaps? Gray shrugged away the feeling and motioned toward Fearghal where he stood trembling behind his mother. “N’more horses, Fearghal. If ye must travel, ye will go by wagon until ye learn to better stay astride.”

Aileas emitted a strained groaning noise from deep within her throat.

“Ye would say something, Lady Aileas?” Gray waited. It was Aileas’s move. He would nay have his authority questioned further.

“Nay,” Aileas snapped.

“Nay?” Gray repeated sharply.

“Nay.” Aileas’s voice softened and she respectfully lowered her gaze in as humble a bow as she could manage. “I would say nothing more,
my
chieftain.
”

“I don’t understand why you don’t want to go. You’ve always loved jumping and enjoy exploring different centuries even more. How many history books did old Mr. Brown make you copy to the blackboard because you argued they were wrong? Granny taught us more in all our jumps than Mr. Brown could ever imagine.” An impatient
tappity-tap-tap
bounced against the loose plank flooring of the outside shed attached to the old barn.

Kenna. Even if the girl hadn’t spoken, Trulie would know it was her from the rabbit-kicking thump against the wood floor. Whenever Kenna didn’t or couldn’t control the outcome of a situation, the staccato tapping and jiggling of her right foot transmitted her frustration better than Morse code. Trulie didn’t bother turning around. Instead, she slid on the heavy gloves, clicked the striker, and lit the propane torch. Maybe if she ignored Kenna, her sister would go away.

“I am not going away. You know better.” Rusted springs squeaking in protest told Trulie that Kenna had just planted herself in the lean-to’s only chair.

Trulie settled the safety glasses more comfortably on her nose, touched the solder to the joint of copper tubing, and carefully applied the heat of the torch. “I’m busy, Kenna. I’m behind a full month in orders since I lost that truckload of oils and I won’t be able to restock the shelves in the store if I fill all the website orders first. If you’re not gonna help me get this second distiller going, then go check the drying racks and see if they’re ready to be rotated. I don’t have time for idle chatter, so either make yourself useful or go away.”

The worn springs of the chair groaned again and the old wood comprising the frame of it crackled and popped as though about to disintegrate. Trulie gritted her teeth and leaned in closer to the expensive coils of copper pipe. If Kenna would get off Granny’s meddling team and help, they could get this second distiller built in no time and replace the lost stock. Trulie clicked off the torch, pushed the safety glasses to the top of her head, and scrutinized her work. Not too shabby. This one would be producing essential oils in no time. Now, if she could only resolve her gnawing uneasiness just as smoothly. A growing restlessness, a sense of opportunities slipping away, ached deep inside her. She felt like she was perched on a rickety footbridge over a bottomless pit. One wrong move in either direction, and it would all be over. What the hell should she do?

“I am still here. You ready to talk or do you still think this is all just gonna go away?” Now both of Kenna’s feet thumped an impatient tap-tapping against the floor.

Trulie rolled from her knees to her heels and carefully rose from the corner where the metallic monster promising to double production stood. Edging sideways out of the corner, she returned the torch to the work crate along with her gloves and safety glasses. “I’m ignoring you. Now go away.” Trulie flexed and stretched, working out the kinks that had knotted her muscles.

Kenna snorted while drumming her fingers on the weathered frame of the chair. She shifted to sit with her legs crossed, her right foot still bouncing with impatience. “Be honest, Trulie. Don’t you really think it’s past time”—Kenna winked and folded her hands into a fidgeting knot in her lap—“you gave Granny the benefit of the doubt and took her up on an extended visit to the past? What’s a few months—give or take a year or two—to a time runner?” Kenna bounced her foot faster and grinned. “Think of it as a vacation. You’ve never had a vacation.”

Trulie ignored Kenna’s flippant attitude. Thirteenth-century Scotland was not at the top of her list of perfect vacation spots. “Since when do you side with Granny? You two usually mix as well as oil and water.” Kneading the small of her back, Trulie made her way to the open end of the three-sided shed and looked out into the trees. Great. She smelled rain. The muddy ruts of the road were never going to dry out if the spring rains didn’t let up.

“Why are you so damned determined not to give an inch this time? Aren’t you ready for a change? Just the other day you were complaining about how life had gotten so predictable.” Kenna rose from the chair and joined Trulie. She wrinkled her nose as she squinted up into the treetops. “The leaves are blowing inside out. It’s fixin’ to storm.”

“Yeah, it is. In more ways than one.” Trulie trudged across the springy moss of the clearing and yanked open the truck door. She was so sick of this conversation. As soon as Trulie cranked one turn of the window crank, the corroded piece of metal fell off in her hand. A fat raindrop plopped into her palm beside the broken window handle. The drop of water was soon joined by another and another. Trulie raised her face, glaring up into the clouds as the gently pattering droplets increased to a pouring deluge.

Trulie threw the broken bit of metal to the ground. Damned if everything wasn’t falling apart all at once. Nothing seemed to be going right. Maybe she did need a break from this time. “Are you trying to tell me something?” Trulie scowled at the cloud-filled sky, squinting against the raindrops.

Kenna swooped toward her with a tattered quilt stretched over her head. “Get in the truck. I know you’ve got enough sense to know when to come in out of the rain.”

Trulie slid beneath the steering wheel and scooted over to the passenger side. Kenna could drive.
The way my luck’s going, I’ll just land us in another ditch.

Kenna shoved the quilt between them and slammed the truck door shut. Grabbing the edge of the lowered window, she jiggled and cursed at the piece of glass until it finally inched upward. Glancing back over one shoulder, Kenna feigned a stern expression. “If I break a nail, Trulie Elizabeth, you’re paying for my next manicure.”

Trulie snorted as she grabbed the quilt and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Take it out of the money you owe me. I think you’ve built up a pretty good-sized tab over the past few years.”