The Marriage Contract (8 page)

“Have a good day, wife,” he said, and left to join the others. As he opened the front door in the alcove, Anne heard Fang’s sons yelling outside. “…three…four—!” The door closed behind Aidan.

She started to have a little sympathy for Roy.

Looking around, she searched for Norval. They had a lot of work to do, but the servant had disappeared. Frowning, she hunted for him in the kitchen. He wasn’t there.

He was either taking a nap…or could he have bolted?

Anne stood in the center of the filthy kitchen and realized she was defeated. She couldn’t clean this room in a week, let alone in a day. And then there
were the great hall, the bedrooms, the laundry, the candles, and those ridiculous rushes.

It was enough to make her want to return to London.

And that was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

The door opened. “Excuse me, my lady?” a woman’s soft voice said.

Anne turned. A group of women crowded in holding buckets, mops, and brooms. She pushed a stray lock of her hair back. “May I help you?”

A rosy-cheeked woman stepped forward. Her eyes were the blue of the sky on a sunny day, her hair the red of a rusty nail. She bobbed a curtsey. “My lady, we don’t mean to intrude, but we’ve come to welcome you to Kelwin. I’m Bonnie Mowat. I’m the mother of that brood of boys you fed this morning.”

Anne was surprised such a tiny woman could birth such strapping sons. In her bitter frustration she couldn’t help saying, “Welcome me? Do you mean you don’t mind that I am English?”

Mrs. Mowat laughed. “We despaired of the laird ever getting married. There isn’t a lad in the parish, including mine, who feels his obligation to settle down and raise a family, because they all want to ape the ways of the bold and heroic Laird Tiebauld. Oh, don’t mistake my meaning. The laird is a great, generous man. There’s none like him…but he’s been needing a wife. You’ve done us a favor, my lady. A great favor.”

It was on the tip of Anne’s tongue to tell them she’d be sent back to London posthaste after today, but she didn’t. She wasn’t ready to admit defeat—yet. “Thank you, Mrs. Mowat. I appreciate your welcome.”

A tall, silver-haired woman pushed forward. “I’m Kathleen Keith. You know my son, Hugh?”

“Yes, I’ve met him,” Anne said.

Kathleen smiled with a mother’s pride. “I’d like to see him married too. He’s a fine lad, but the time has come he made me a grandmother.” She turned to the women close to her. “This is Mary MacEwan and her daughter Fenella.” Mary looked almost as young as her daughter, who was a lovely strawberry blonde.

Suddenly, Kathleen changed the subject. “I understand Roy is gone.”

Anne didn’t know how to answer. Were they his friends? Would they blame her for his fate? “Well…he—”

“You don’t need to explain,” Kathleen said in her forthright manner. “It’s good riddance to him and to his lazy wife, too. I hope they run all the way to Edinburgh. But you’ll be needing a cook, and Mary and Fenella are the best in the village.”

Anne hesitated. Aidan hadn’t said anything about household accounts or hiring servants.

Bonnie read her mind. “If Laird Tiebauld can spend what he does on sheep, then he can spare a few coins for a good meal every night at his table.”
She lowered her voice to confide, “Mary’s husband died last month. The laird slipped her a bit then. I know he has been worrying about her. He’ll be pleased if you hire her.”

Anne gestured to encompass the kitchen. “I don’t know if it is a position you would want,” she told Mary. “The place is—” She broke off with a shake of her head. There were no words adequate enough to describe the mess.

“It will be fine,” Mary assured her. “Nothing is wrong here that good hard work and soap won’t clean.”

“Oh, yes,” Anne agreed. “But I don’t know if there is enough soap to meet all the needs of Kelwin.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Mrs. Keith said proudly. “We’ve come to welcome you, and to offer our help. I’ve been itching to get my fingers on that mush of stems and leaves the laird takes such pride in on the floor of his hall.”

“I’d like to see it gone, too,” Anne agreed.

A sly smile lifted the corners of Mrs. Keith’s mouth. “Then let’s see it gone together…before he comes home.”

“I can’t expect you to help—” Anne started to protest but Mrs. Mowat shushed her.

“It’s a housewarming we are giving you, my lady. If we’d known you were coming, we would have forced our way in before your arrival.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Keith agreed. “We would have barricaded those bachelors—and their dogs, too!—out of
the castle, and scoured the place with boiling water.”

“It needs it,” Anne said. “But it is almost too big a job, even for us.”

“Och,” Mrs. Mowat said, taking Anne’s arm and leading her forward. “It’s not just us. Come along, my lady, and meet the rest of the women in the village. They are outside waiting.”

Mrs. Keith swooped in to take her other arm. “And they are armed with buckets, brooms, and mops.”

“And enough soap to scrub every brick in this drafty place,” Mrs. Mowat added.

As Anne stepped outside, the sun came out from behind a bank of clouds and she caught her breath. What they’d said was true. There were close to fifteen women and their children of all ages waiting to pay their respects. Their names ran together during those initial introductions in her mind, but she would never forget their welcoming smiles. Each of them was unique and special.

“I can’t believe you are all so generous,” Anne told them. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

Mrs. Mowat gave her arm a squeeze. “We don’t mind. We do this because you are one of us now. You are the laird’s wife. The Lady of Kelwin.”

For a moment, Anne couldn’t speak. Their open-armed acceptance swept her away. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before.

She was one of them.

Mrs. Keith took charge. “Let’s clean,” she cried out like a commander leading the troops into battle, and the women sallied forth.

The trip to
McKenzie’s to buy sheep was a hard one for Aidan. He usually took pleasure in the company of Fang’s sons, although this time only the eldest four rode along. Their good-natured rivalry and bantering tended to make him laugh. Plus it was a good day for traveling. He should have enjoyed himself.

But he didn’t.

In the past, the eldest boys, Thomas and Douglas, rode with him. Now, they stayed close to Deacon—and the others followed their brothers. There was a new sense of manliness about the lads, a determined set to their jaws, an unspoken purpose that Aidan hadn’t seen before, and he feared the source.

Deacon had recruited them. When the time came, they would march against the English.

On the return trip, he nudged Beaumains closer to Fang’s horse. Ahead of them, Hugh, Deacon and
the boys were making outrageous wagers and laughing whenever someone lost.

“Are you really going to let your sons go with Robbie and Deacon Gunn?” he asked Fang.

The old man’s eyes hardened and then softened on a weary sigh. “Do I have a choice? Thomas and Douglas are men full grown. William and Andrew are old enough to make their own decisions, too.”

Aidan rode in silence for a moment, then said, “I have known your sons since the youngest was a toddler. I don’t want to see them go to war.”

“Strange words from the descendant of Fighting Donner Black. Especially since Deacon told me you were in.”

“He did?” Aidan frowned. “He goes too far. I have yet to commit myself.”

“But you are smuggling in the gunpowder.”

A trap seemed to close in around Aidan. “Aye.”

“Then you are in, Laird.”

Aidan rubbed the polished leather of Beaumains, reins between his gloved fingers. “I hope to avoid it. My family knows first-hand war is never a solution. My grandfather taught me the lesson.”

Fang shook his head in sad agreement. “Aye, but sometimes, Laird, a man must make his own decisions—even if it has dangerous consequences. I canna stop my sons from being the men they must be. They are young and full of spirit. If there is a war, they will go.”

“Would you join them?”

There was a heartbeat of silence. “Do I have a choice? I must protect them. I canna let them go without me. They are my heart.”

The trip lost all of its luster for Aidan after Fang’s words. The Mowats were an important part of Aidan’s clan. He couldn’t imagine not having them around Kelwin…if there still would be a Kelwin.

Deacon had been right. Too soon the time would come when he could no longer hover between the two factions but must choose a side. Either way, his clan stood to lose.

The sun was setting when they rode into the courtyard where Fang’s youngest sons and their friends waited to take in the horses. They loved to act as Aidan’s groomsmen.

Handing Beaumains’ reins to Davey, he paused, listening. “Why are the dogs barking?”

“Because you are here, Laird. They’ve been happy up till now,” Davey said.

“Where are they?”

“In the stables.”

The stables? Aidan had always given them the run of his estate.

Sure enough, when one of the boys opened the stable doors, the whole group of hounds charged Aidan, who rubbed their heads with true affection.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked them.

Davey answered. “Our lady said they’d be happier here with the other animals and so they have been.”

Aidan frowned. Anne had ordered the dogs to the stables? He turned to Fang. “Will you come in?”

“No, Bonnie will be waiting.” He bade Aidan farewell and left with his sons.

Aidan nodded. Hugh and Deacon had already gone in. He followed and then stopped abruptly when he discovered them standing in the doorway leading to the great hall, expressions of stupefied wonder on their faces.

He pushed his way through, and then it was his turn to gape. The room was more than clean; it sparkled. The rushes were gone, but he didn’t notice their absence until he’d been favorably impressed by all the other changes.

Two chairs sat in front of the hearth with a small footstool for comfort and a colorful rag rug for warmth. The table had been set with covers over delicious smelling food. Hot food.

Hugh’s stomach grumbled. When the other two looked at him, he whispered, “I can’t help it. I’m hungry.” He entered first, heading for the table. Halfway across the room, he made a small circle and said happily, “Can you believe it? It’s a miracle.”

“It’s not a bloody miracle. It’s housekeeping,” Deacon muttered as he marched in a straight line for the ale keg by the fireplace.

The dogs followed him in, but they too acted out of place. Some moved toward the fire, York charged after Hugh, but they all ended sitting on the floor,
their brown eyes searching the room as if asking where the bones and smells had gone. They were obviously ill-at-ease without them.

“Tiebauld, you should come eat.” Hugh pulled his chair out at the table. “It’s fantastic! There’s a feast here fit for a king.” He lifted a slice of meat, the juice dripping from it, and plopped it in his mouth.

Since he’d had no breakfast, Aidan quickly joined him. It was an amazing meal. He couldn’t remember the last time his table had been set correctly. Under the dish covers were slices of tender mutton, peas, and boiled potatoes. But what had really excited Hugh was the fresh bread.

He bit into it and pretended to faint. “’Tis better than my mother’s.”

“You had better not let her hear you say that,” Deacon responded. He’d been hanging back, a victim of his own suspicious nature, but now he wandered closer. He lifted the covers on his own plate—and sat down.

The three men made a good meal. But there wasn’t any sign of Anne.

Norval crept in when they were about finished. “May I remove the dishes, my lord?” At Aidan’s assent, he docilely went around the table, clearing dishes. His hair was even combed.

Aidan stared, dumbfounded.

“How did she do it?” Hugh asked the question Aidan wanted answered.

“She’s new,” Deacon replied impatiently, his mouth
full. “He wants to please a new mistress. Servants behave in that manner.”

“But a clean Norval is something I’d never thought to see before I died,” Hugh countered.

“I think I will find out the truth,” Aidan answered, rising from his chair.

“Are you going to go ask Norval?” Deacon said.

“No, I’m going to go find Anne.”

Deacon muttered something unintelligible, but Aidan didn’t care to listen. Anne’s success had piqued his curiosity. Since when did London debutantes know the intricacies of house cleaning?

He bounded up the stairs taking them two at a time. A torch lit the hallway. He went to the guest room. She wasn’t there, but he did notice the bed had been made with clean sheets. Cobwebs, dust, and grime had disappeared as if they had never existed.

Not bothering with the other rooms, Aidan walked straight to his. He opened the door.

His room had never been kept as poorly as the rest of the house, but there were obvious signs of cleaning here too. Dust had been swept away and wood polished with oil.

Two candles gave the room a soft light and there was the smell of cloves in the air. His bath waited, warming in front of the fire in the hearth. His soap was dry and his towel hung exactly where he liked it. But there was no sign of Anne.

Until he turned to the bed.

She lay there, fully dressed and fast asleep, her braid a silky band across the sable spread. Dark circles marred the tender skin beneath her eyes. Her hands were roughened red from hard work.

Guilt pricked his conscience. He walked over to her. “Anne?”

She didn’t move.

He understood how hard she slept. There had been days at Kelwin when he’d dragged himself up the stairs and fallen on his bed, unable to have taken another step even to undress himself.

Funny, but he’d never noticed the graceful line of her neck before…and the faint birthmark located right under the curve of her jaw. He’d found her attractive from the beginning. Her stormy eyes were her most spectacular feature and she did have long legs…but now he saw other things, refinements, the details one perceived only after having lived with another for a while.

He removed her shoes from her feet. She’d ruined the heel of her stockings. There was a huge hole there. He wondered what she’d done. He was also going to have to get her sturdier shoes. Kid slippers were fine for tapping toes to a musical beat at some ball or spending a day in idle shopping, but not suitable for highland life.

Stunned by the direction of his thoughts, Aidan dropped the shoes. They landed on the floor, one
thud followed by another. He backed away. He was not going to buy shoes for Anne. Buying good sturdy shoes for a woman was a more personal act than purchasing perfume or jewelry or even a closet of silky small clothes.

When you bought practical shoes for a woman, she was your wife!

He headed for the door, needing to put distance between himself and Anne. Good food and cleanliness had sparked these thoughts, he assured himself. He would never have had them otherwise. Besides, every bachelor had weak moments when his belly was full.

Deacon met him in the hall. “I discovered what happened, Tiebauld,” he announced pompously. “The English lass didn’t do this all herself. She hired Mrs. MacEwan and her daughter Fenella to cook. The village women came in to clean. Norval said there was an army of them.”

Aidan stared at him, barely comprehending his words, and when meaning did sink in, he frowned. “Of course she didn’t do this all herself.”

“You knew it?”

“She couldn’t have. Think, Deacon, my stables were cleaner than this house. She couldn’t have done it all in one day.”

His brows came together. “You aren’t angry to find out she cheated?”

Aidan silently begged for patience. “It wasn’t a game, Deacon. There was no cheating.”

“I thought you were hoping she’d grow so frustrated with the task, she’d leave.”

“I was.”

“But?”

Aidan sliced the air with his hand. “But nothing. I set up the task. She performed it.”

“She hired a cook! Did she ask you? What sort of wife hires servants without permission from her husband?”

“A sensible one,” he snapped, and then growled in frustration at his defense of Anne. “I don’t consider her my wife,” he said more for himself than Deacon. He drew a deep breath. “I am not displeased she hired Mrs. MacEwan to cook. I’ve been meaning to do something about Roy for ages. Anne has taken a load off my mind—”

“But the Danes—”

“I know,” he said, cutting Deacon off. He shot a warning glance toward his bedroom door. They must be careful of every word. Deacon, like his brother Robbie, often let his temper overrule his good sense.

Deacon lowered his voice. “Their signal could come at any time.” Shepherds and village men kept watch nightly in Kelwin’s left tower for the Danes’ signal, a green and red light raised and lowered at the same time.

Aidan didn’t know Anne well enough to trust her. “I will have to be harder on her tomorrow,” he said. “She’ll leave…eventually.”

“What if the Danes come tonight?”

“If they send the signal tonight, she’ll not know a thing. She’s so tired she might as well be dead.”

“Now that could be a solution.”

“Deacon!”

“I was joking,” his friend said.

Aidan wasn’t so certain. “I’ll have no harm coming to her. If it does, you answer to me.”

“A joke, a wee joke,” Deacon reiterated.

“Yes, like your talk of a rebellion. That’s the way it started, you and Robbie playing ‘what if.’ Now Fang’s sons are among those involved.”

“And all your neighbors.”

“Not all. I can’t imagine Argyll and Sutherland anxious for such a thing.”

“They are some of those we are revolting against.” But he understood Aidan’s point and changed the subject. “So what are you going to have her do tomorrow? Build chicken coops? Patch the cracks in the walls? The keep itself is immaculate right now.”

Aidan smiled thinly. “Coops aren’t a bad idea, but I’m ready for my bed.”

“Your bed? Where she is?” Deacon asked cynically.

“Relax. I’m sleeping in the guest room. She
will
leave. A plan will come to me before morning. By the way, when you go back downstairs, tell Norval to put the dogs back in the stables.”

Deacon shifted uncomfortably before admitting,
“You said they’d cleaned all the rooms up here. I thought perhaps I’d claim one for myself.”

“It’s nice to have clean sheets, hmmm?”

Deacon shrugged, then confided, “Norval says they smell of fresh air.”

“You are welcome to a room, Deacon. Pleasant dreams.” He went to the guest room.

Tomorrow, a plan to scare her off would come to him before tomorrow…but his last thought before drifting to sleep was that the sheets did smell of the sweet highland air they’d dried in.

Anne sat up and stretched. Every muscle in her body ached. Outside, the sun was just rising over the North Sea. For a moment, the beauty of the brightening sky captured her attention and then she glanced around the room. The tub and towel were where she’d had Norval place them last night.

Had Aidan not come home?

She’d assumed he would wake her. For no other reason than to tell her to get out of his bed, she mused. But she had wanted to see the expression on his face when he first walked into the great hall.

She put her legs over the edge of the bed and frowned at the wrinkles in her dress. Why did she fall asleep in it?

She had plans for this day, finishing touches she wanted to add. There was no time for pressing a dress. She knew better than to ask Norval to do it.
The man should be pensioned off and given a cottage of his own. He was too old to work so hard, and yet yesterday he had gamely kept up with the women. She’d talk to Aidan about the issue later.

But first, she had to dress. She chose a periwinkle sprigged muslin that made her feel like spring had arrived. It was her best dress of those left from the wreck. Wisely, she threw on a yellow Kashmir shawl because the air was damp, especially this time of year.