Fated Hearts 02 - Highland Echoes (6 page)

“I escorted Mistress Breive back after her meeting with Da because I wanted to make a special request for dinner.”

Lady Sutherland arched an eyebrow at him. “Since when have ye cared what was served for dinner, as long as there was enough of it?” The women all chuckled.

“I just had a sudden desire for roasted neeps.”

Lady Sutherland’s musical laughter filled the kitchen. “Yer father told me what happened. It serves him right. In fact, I think I’ll serve him one on the end of my knife.”

Grinning at Grace, Bram said, “I think that is an
excellent
idea, Mother.”

Grace buried her face in her hands.

Lady Sutherland laughed again. “Come with me now, Son, and leave Innes and her staff to their work.”

The day before Pentecost was a day of fasting, so only the evening meal would be served. Still, there was a flurry of activity as the women prepared for the feast of Pentecost. Hours later, when the kitchen had been put to rights during the afternoon lull, Innes sat dozing by the hearth in her cottage, as Kristen napped on a pallet in the tiny bedroom.

Grace had obtained some new wool and had skirted and washed it in Durness while staying with Dugald. She had prepared it to the point it could be carded and wound on her distaff for spinning. She would take this opportunity to further work the wool. She opened the chest her grandmother had given her for storing her belongings in order to return the brooch and letter back into the box for safe keeping and to get her cards and distaff.

The creak of the lid caused Innes to stir from her sleep. “Ah, Grace, lass, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to nap.”

“Ye have earned a wee rest grandmother, I didn’t intend to wake ye. I was just putting the letter and brooch away. I thought I’d spin this afternoon.”

“That reminds me. I was surprised that the laird wasn’t convinced of who ye were by the letter.”

“Grandmother, I didn’t show him the letter.”

“By the saints, lass, why not? Ye wouldn’t have had to prove anything more if he had read that.”

Grace sighed. “I was afraid.”

“Why, pet? He would have believed ye fully then. I told ye, Laird Sutherland is fair.”

“I know ye did, but that letter reveals that my mother was a noblewoman, the daughter of a clan chief.”

“What harm would there be in that?”

“What if he insisted on trying to find out who she was?”

Her grandmother shook her head. “I think he would have respected yer wishes.”

“Do ye? Are ye absolutely sure? When my mother told me about her da—well I have never seen that kind of fear in her eyes. I can only believe that her fears were well grounded. She was terrified that her father might visit his revenge on me or use me as a commodity. I wasn’t sure what she meant, but now that I know she was the daughter of a Laird, I can only assume she feared he would force me into a political marriage.” Grace looked down for a moment before continuing. “Grandmother, I know what men with power can do. On Lewis…Laird Morrison’s son…well, he is ruthless and has a reputation for cruelty. So while ye trust Laird Sutherland, I still worry about powerful men. Perhaps it is best if the past remains in the past where my parents left it. What if I am discovered and my mother’s father forces me into a marriage? I was not raised as a noblewoman. My child is the daughter of a fisherman. What if my husband wouldn’t allow Kristen in his home?”

The color drained from her grandmother’s face. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Grandmother, I wish I were braver. I wish I could find mother’s father and tell him how many lives were ruined by his actions. But I can’t risk it and I promised mama I wouldn’t.”

“Aye, lass, I understand now. We will keep the contents of the letter secret.”

*

At the evening meal, Bram’s father took the roasted neeps with good humor. When his mother waved one on her knife under Eanraig’s nose, his father laughed, saying, “Rodina, I would be the tiniest bit more impressed by yer skill with a knife if that neep hadn’t been lying perfectly still on yer trencher when ye pierced it.”

Bram found himself glancing around the hall, wishing to see Grace among the serving maids. He knew she wouldn’t be, she had a bairn to mind, but that didn’t stop him from hoping.

Perhaps no one else noticed, but his sharp-eyed mother missed very little. “Bram, lad, what has ye so preoccupied?”

Bram flashed her a smile. “Nothing, Mother.”

“Ye don’t lie well, lad.”

He laughed. “Fair point. I guess I was just thinking back over the events of the last few days.”

She touched his hand. “I am sorry about yer betrothed.”

It was Innes’ auburn-haired granddaughter who occupied his thoughts, not Fiona, but he didn’t correct her. “There is nothing to be sorry for. We weren’t meant for each other. It’s not as if I had had the chance to grow fond of her. I didn’t know her.”

“Nay, ye didn’t know her but I know ye. For certain ye wouldn’t admit this, but while ye might not have grown fond of
her
yet, ye had begun to grow fond of the idea of marriage.”

Bram laughed but he didn’t deny her words. He couldn’t.

“Well, my braw young lad, ye said it yerself, ye evidently weren’t meant for each other. Fate has something else in store. So the lass who is meant for ye is still out there. Ye just have to get busy and find her.”

“Ye sound like Da now.”

It was her turn to laugh. “I suppose I do, but it’s true and ye’ll get no closer to finding her if ye keep evading yer da when he wants to discuss the matter.”

His mother was right. Considering his desire to marry, he wasn’t sure what he was avoiding. The image of Grace, focused and determined just before she let his knife fly, flashed in his mind. He smiled.

“So ye agree, lad?”

“With what?”

“Bram, where is yer mind tonight? Do ye agree that ye need to discuss potential betrothals with yer da?”

“Oh. Aye, Mother. Perhaps I’ll discuss it with him tomorrow.”

Bram didn’t discuss the issue of his betrothal with his father the next day. It was Pentecost, one of the three most important holy days of the year, celebrating God’s gift of the Holy Spirit to the Apostles.

That morning, the church had been decorated with pink and red flowers, as symbols of the Holy Spirit. A carved wooden dove was attached to a thin cord, looped over a rafter. Before mass, the cord was pulled until the wooden dove rested just under the rafters. During Mass, when the sequence hymn,
Veni Creator Spiritus
was sung before the gospel, a boy was given the task of lowering the dove.

This was usually a beautifully symbolic representation of the descent of the Holy Spirit, but occasionally the boy chosen would make a wee mistake. The dove might descend at the wrong time, or much too quickly. Bram looked up at it before Mass began and grinned. “I remember the year ye were chosen to lower the dove,” he whispered to Ian.

“I’m not sure anyone will ever forget that,” Ian said. “It wasn’t my fault. The cord was stuck and the dove wouldn’t move.”

“Aye, so ye gave it an almighty yank, and it flew…right over the top of the rafter. It came crashing down on the altar, barely missing the priest’s head. Da took a switch to ye for that.”

“And he took a switch to ye for laughing so hard that ye fell off yer seat.”

“It was worth it. To this day it is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in Mass.”

Ian grinned conspiratorially. “I tried to talk Boyd into making it fly when it was his turn. I told him to pull it up and down a few times to really get it swinging.”

“That must have been after I had left to train.”

“Aye, but it didn’t work. Boyd asked Da how hard he needed to pull the dove to get it to fly.”

“And Da took a switch to ye again, when he found out who gave Boyd the idea.”

“Aye. No sense of fun, our brother.”

“Wheesht,” their mother hissed.

The dove came down during this Pentecost Mass, without a hitch. As with other great feasts of the Church, the solemn Mass was only the start. There would be games in the village square, as well as a huge feast later in the day followed by music and dancing lasting into the night. In fact, Pentecost was celebrated with games and other festivities for an entire week.

As he left Mass, Grace Breive’s auburn curls caught his eye. Kristen walked beside her, holding her hand. He quickened his pace until he reached her side. “Good morning, Grace, Kristen.”

“Good morning, sir,” Grace answered.

“I’ve asked ye to call me Bram.”

“I have a wed wibbon,” declared Kristen, waving the red ribbon she held.

“Aye, and that red ribbon was supposed to be for yer hair, miss,” Grace chided good naturedly.

“I can’t see it when it’s in my haiw,” said Kristen.

“Well, she has a point,” said Bram, winking at Grace. “What good is a ribbon if ye can’t see it?”

Grace smiled. “Don’t encourage her.”

He believed this was the first smile she had given him. It lit her face, making him want to see much more of it. “Will I see ye later at the feast?”

“I doubt it. I’ll be helping Grandmother in the kitchen. There’s so much to do.”

“Grace, ye really must take some time to enjoy the festivities. If ye can’t get away for the feast, at least come for the music and dancing later.”

“Thank ye, but nay. I suspect it might be a bit overwhelming for my wee lass.”

“Nonsense. There will be lots of children there. Surely ye have memories of great feasts from when ye were small?”

“Nay. Our village was a fair distance from the keep—too far really to attend feasts and the like.”

“Ye’ve never been to a proper feast?”

“I wouldn’t say that. We had village celebrations.”

“’Tisn’t the same thing at all. Ye must come.” Bram wasn’t precisely sure why this had become so important to him, but he wanted her there. He wanted to see her laughing and smiling. He wanted to dance with her. “It’s a holiday, don’t say me nay,” he cajoled.

“I fear I must. We may go down to the village to watch some of the games for a while later. Now, I really must get to the kitchen to help Grandmother. Good day, Sir Bram.” She curtsied, picked Kristen up, and hurried off.

Kristen waved her ribbon over her mother’s shoulder, calling, “Good day, Sir Bwam.”

As he watched her retreat, he felt a keen sense of disappointment.

*

Grace’s stomach had fluttered when Bram approached her after Mass. She was beginning to like his warmth and friendliness. And while his idea of serving the laird roasted neeps the previous evening had embarrassed her at the time, she had to admit that it was very funny. His ability to make her laugh was as attractive to her as his golden good looks.

The thought of attending a feast with music and dancing had tempted her, but her better judgement intervened. It wasn’t that she shouldn’t attend. Her friends and even the priest who served their clan had advised her to remarry as soon as possible.
Ye are very young and ye have a bairn to consider. Ye need to marry again, ye need the protection of a husband
. They had been right. If she had married a young man from their village, Fearchar Morrison would not have been a threat.

Avoiding that kind of celebration had been more an act of self-preservation. Her losses in the last year had nearly overwhelmed her. If she never gave her heart to anyone, she would never again feel that kind of agony. She had built a fortress, walling out everyone but Kristen, and now Innes, to avoid that kind of pain.

Developing an attraction for the laird’s son was even more foolish. Absolutely nothing could come of it but heartache. Better to stay well out of his path.

As she hurried through the inner bailey to the kitchen, two of the young women, Peggy and Moyra, who worked in the kitchen and served in the great hall, caught up with her.

Peggy was short, well curved, and had a riot of light brown curls, which regularly escaped the braid that tried to tame them. Moyra was taller, reed thin, and had straight blond hair. Both were vivacious and talkative. When they teamed up, it could set Grace’s head spinning.

“Did I hear ye correctly just now?” demanded Peggy.

“I didn’t say anything,” said Grace.

Kristen waved her ribbon at them. “I have a wed wibbon.”

“Aye, pet, I see,” said Peggy.

“She doesn’t mean
just
now, she meant just now a few minutes ago when ye were talking to the laird’s son,” said Moyra.

“Oh,” said Grace.

“Well?” asked Peggy.

“Well, what?” asked Grace.

Moyra harrumphed. “Well, did we hear ye right? Did ye just say nay to the young laird when he asked ye to come to the feast?”

Grace nodded. “Aye.”

“Are ye daft?” both women said in unison.

Grace feared they might make her daft, but she wasn’t quite there yet. “Nay. There is too much to do and I have Kristen.”

“Ye
are
daft,” said Moyra.

“Aye. If Bram Sutherland made a point of asking me to anything, I’d be there,” said Peggy.

“Aren’t ye afraid ye’ll make him angry?” asked Moyra.

Grace stopped, suddenly concerned. “Does he have a bad temper?”

Peggy shook her head. “Nay. But if ye didn’t know that before ye said ‘nay’, maybe ye shouldn’t have said it.”

Grace started walking again. “The two of ye are the daft ones. I wasn’t
ordered
to go to the feast, he just asked if he would see me there and he won’t so I said nay.”

Moyra said, “There will be lots of single men there. Ye will never find another husband this way.”

“I’m not looking for another husband.”

“That makes it very hard to find one then,” said Peggy. “Ye really should start looking.”

Grace just laughed. They were hopeless.

*

By midday, when things were well underway in the kitchen, Innes chivvied Grace out for a while. “Take Kristen down to the village and join in the fun.”

Men were playing shinty just beyond the village. She didn’t know much about the game but generally it wasn’t a good game unless there were a few black eyes and bloody noses. From a distance she saw some of both so she figured it must be going well. She decided to avoid the mayhem, so she walked with Kristen to the village green.

They stopped to watch some people playing quoits, tossing flat metal rings at iron spikes in the ground. A young man with hair so black it was nearly blue was tossing the quoits, ringing the iron spike with every throw. When his turn was finished he handed off the quoits and walked toward Grace. “Ye must be Innes’ granddaughter. Grace, isn’t it?”

“Aye, and this is my daughter, Kristen.”

“I’m Michael MacBain. I’m a guardsman.”

“I’m pleased to meet ye, Michael.”

“Ye can’t possibly be as pleased as I am,” he said, taking her hand and bowing low over it. “Tell me, are the rumors true?”

Grace’s brow furrowed. “What rumors?”

“That ye plucked a flying neep from the sky with a wee flick of yer knife.”

Grace felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “Oh, that. Aye, I did that.”

“A lass with that kind of aim must surely be good at quoits. Care to try yer hand?”

Grace had played quoits before and she was quite good at it. “I won’t today, but thank ye.”

“Are ye sure? Ye might have a bit of fun.”

“I’m sure.”

“Michael, leave the lass be and come finish the game,” one of his friends called.

“Well, if yer sure then. But save a dance for me tonight.” Michael went back to his friends before she could tell him she wouldn’t be at the feast.

“Mama, I want to pway peevers,” Kristen squealed when she saw a group of children playing the hopping game on a course scratched into the dirt.

Grace played this game with Kristen, but with very lax rules. “We’ll go watch.”

As they drew nearer, Grace noticed several women chatting to one side as the children played. They were perhaps a little older than Grace and she assumed they were the mothers of some of the children.

“Can I pway wif them?” Kristen asked.

“They look very good at this. Maybe today we should just watch.”

“She can play,” said a slender lass with dark hair who looked to be about eight. “We let my baby sister play.” The lass leaned in and whispered loudly, “We don’t count their mistakes. It’s just for fun.”

“Thank ye, lass, that’s kind of ye. Her name is Kristen.”

“Mine’s Teasag,” the lass said, taking Kristen’s hand and walking her to one of the courses.

“And my name’s Una,” said one of the women with a grin. “Teasag is my daughter and it’s a good thing they don’t count mistakes because they practically have to redraw the course when my little one is through.”

“I’m Grace. Very nice to meet ye.”

“Yer Innes’ Grace? I’m Senga and this is my sister, Nell. My
older
sister Nell.”

“Aye, I’m Inne’s granddaughter. It’s a pleasure to meet ye.”

The third woman smiled warmly. “Aye, I’m her older sister—by a few minutes. We’re twins. She loves telling folks that.”

Grace enjoyed chatting with the women. Not surprisingly, the story about Grace’s arrival and why her parents had fled to Lewis had apparently made the rounds but the knife throwing incident seemed to capture even more attention. She enjoyed the light banter and they made her feel very welcome.

After a while, Teasag came over and tugged at her mother’s hand. “Mama, ye said ye would play with us.”

Una grinned at Grace. “Have ye ever played peevers with a burden?”

Grace laughed. “Aye, I have.”

“Then ladies, choose yer burdens,” said Una as she scooped up a giggling lass of about two. Nell and Senga also picked up small children who squealed with glee.

To the absolute delight of the older children, the women took turns hopping the course for roughly half an hour, each with a child on her back. Nearly through with one turn, Grace stood balanced on one foot with Kristen clinging to her back. She had leaned forward to pick up her stone when she lost her balance. She toppled forward, catching herself with her hands, but having failed that round, rolled to one side, landing on her arse to the vast amusement of everyone present.

Kristen chortled with an abandon Grace hadn’t heard in months. She pulled the child into her lap, planting kisses on her face, causing Kristen to laugh harder.

The laughter from the onlookers quieted rather suddenly when Una said, “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Don’t let me interrupt ye ladies,” a smooth masculine voice said.

Grace looked up into the mirth-filled eyes of Bram Sutherland. “Mistress Breive, allow me to help ye up.”

Mother of God
. Grace felt the color rise in her face. What a sight she must be sitting in the dirt with her skirt twisted around her legs. She looked more like a ragamuffin than a responsible, grown woman with a child. Sighing, she accepted the hand he offered, letting him pull her to her feet.