Desire in Tartan: 2 (Highland Vampires) (15 page)

“Well, then, Master Carrick, would you help Dugald and me this afternoon?”

“Who are you?” He’d asked the same question as Isobel, but with a charming, bright-eyed curiosity.

“She’s yer Auntie Alice,” Dugald said easily. “My new wife.”

“Oh! I have an auntie! A new auntie!” He gave a little wriggle and a squirm, bouncing in his father’s lap. ”Weel, I can help if Da and Mamma say so.”

“Aye, we say so,” Kieran said.

“Yes, it’s fine if you help Auntie Alice settle in.” Lydia glanced at her. “Did Fenella assign you someone?”

“Yes, Grizel. But we decided to eat first.”

“An excellent decision,” Dugald said. “I find meself that work goes better on a full belly.”

Servants, including Grizel, brought trenchers of food—the same stew Fenella had been stirring—and set them before the adults. Baskets of bread were placed and mugs of ale brought, with Dugald’s and milaird’s refilled. Evidently the two men had spent the morning drinking and talking, but neither seemed the worse for it.

Grizel plunked down a mug in front of Alice. Some slopped over the brim. Had that been a deliberate slight?

Dugald cleared his throat. Lady Lydia, who’d been wiping the baby’s mouth, looked up. “Oh, dear. Grizel, could you please tidy that spill?”

“Yes, milady.” Grizel whipped out a cloth from her apron pocket and cleaned the table before leaving.

“Dugald, is there any reason Grizel would be an unsuitable maid for Alice?” A slight frown marred milady’s full lips.

“Nay. She isnae one of me jilts, if that is your concern. She got along well with Elsbeth. She was at her—”

“Yes, I remember,” Milady said swiftly.

Alice glanced from face to face, noting the suddenly set expressions. “What?” she asked.

“She attended me Elsbeth at her lying-in,” Dugald said. “When she—”

“I know,” Alice said. “I’m sorry.” She leaned her thigh against Dugald’s beneath the table’s cover.

“No need.” He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear, “You make me very happy,
mo dòchas
.”

Her face flamed like the fire in the big hearth. To cover her embarrassment, she said, “I don’t actually need a maid, you know. Um…is Grizel also a midwife?”

“Nay,” Milaird said. “Mairen is our healer. Her mother, Auld Mhairi, died last year. She was training Grizel for awhile, but said she had not the gift.”

And she was demoted to kitchen wench,
Alice thought, and resolved to watch Grizel, whose gaze frequently strayed to the laird’s table and to Dugald in particular. Alice smiled grimly and the conversation moved on.

“That was after Elsbeth…passed on.” Milady turned to Alice. “She was my maid, you know. She came with me from England.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Alice said. She gulped and continued, “From what I have heard, she was most admirable. I have rather large shoes to fill.” She glanced at Dugald.

“Ye have naught to worry about, lassie,” he told her. “Now eat. We have a busy afternoon and eve.”

“Tell me about the Dark Tower,” Alice said.

“Never enter the auld keep.” Dugald’s reaction was swift. “Those are milaird’s orders.”

“That they are,” Kier said. “’Tis very dangerous. It’s been abandoned for many years, and a fire broke out there also.”

“What’s left of the floors and walls is quite unstable,” Lydia said. “There’s naught in there but ashes, dust and rats.”

Hmm,
thought Alice, and again glanced at Grizel.

After the meal ended, Dugald told Grizel that she could return to her usual duties and that he and Master Carrick would help Alice. She scrutinized Grizel carefully during the conversation, seeing nothing that would confirm her suspicions that Grizel did not want her at Kilburn Castle. She told herself that she was imagining the other woman’s hostility.

Grizel returned to the kitchen while Alice, Dugald and Carrick went to the Laird’s Tower and ascended two flights of stairs to the vast storerooms. Dugald held the toddler’s hand while she followed, ready to grab the child in case of a stumble.

With Carrick present, she didn’t feel she could ask the questions she really wanted to put to Dugald, for she wanted to know how milaird had taken the news of Malcolm’s murder and if his family had been informed. But she didn’t want to blurt out anything that a young child shouldn’t hear. Death was a sensitive subject, one every family handled differently.

At the top of the stairs was a hall and she reached for the nearest latch. Dugald stopped her. “Nay, lass, that room be occupied.”

“Up here? By whom?”

“Himself,” said Carrick’s little piping voice. “He’s usually asleep.”

“Oh!” She jerked her hand away, having no wish to awaken the sleepy old fellow within. “Where, then?”

Dugald showed her vast storerooms full of old clothes and furniture. He told her, “There’s also provender and arms stored in this tower, but no gunpowder, of course. ‘Twould be dangerous.”

She found a standing wardrobe made of a light-colored wood, with several insets of darker timber carved with images of deer and flowers. “I like this armoire.”

“Aye, ‘tis bonnie.” Dugald ran a broad hand over the dusty surface. “The stag is our clan emblem, and ye’ll see deer roundabout.”

“Not just on the furniture. Shall we need help carrying this down?”

He chuckled. “Nay.” Stooping, he eased a brawny shoulder against the wardrobe’s side, then tipped it so its weight rested on him. “Follow me.”

She and Carrick scurried after him as he descended the stairs, the heft of the armoire weighing his steps. He didn’t appear to have any difficulty carrying the burden, and she wondered anew about the manner of man she’d wed.

Once in his room—their room—he set the wardrobe beside the other. “Will this be storage enough for ye?”

She looked around. The few pieces of luggage brought from Edinburgh sat next to the bed. She eyed them then the wardrobe, and said, “Yes, but I’ll need a dressing table, a mirror and a chair.”

“Back upstairs we go!” Carrick gave a little skip.

Dugald laughed, scooped the boy up by the waist and slung him over his shoulder. The child shrieked and giggled while Dugald took the steps two-by-two, with Alice following at a more decorous pace.

By the time the afternoon had ended, Alice had formed the opinion that Carrick was the happiest child she’d ever met, without a trace of the temper his older siblings exhibited. He was also helpful, handing Alice clothing from her bags to be shaken out and hung, or given to servants for cleaning.

But like his siblings, he said what he thought. He fondled Alice’s red cloak and said, “This is quite old, is it not?”

“Yes, it was my mother’s.”

“Where does your mamma live?”

“She died quite a few years ago. When I was only a little older than your brother.”

Carrick’s eyes widened. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said in exactly the tones she’d used earlier at their meal.

Pressing her lips together, Alice repressed her giggle while Dugald turned away. When she’d composed herself, she said as gravely as she could, “Thank you.”

A tap on the door heralded Lady Lydia, who said, “Nap time, young man. He hasn’t been a bother, has he?”

“Not at all,” Alice replied. “He’s been most helpful. Will you read with me tomorrow, Master Carrick?”

“Yes!” After giving her a hug, he skipped to his mother, turned and gave Alice a winning smile that echoed his uncle’s.

They left, and Alice said to Dugald, “There goes a future heartbreaker.”

“Yes, ladies already love his sweet smile and good temper. I’m nae in danger of losin’ ye, am I?”

She laughed. “Maybe.” She went to him and nestled in his arms.

“How are ye findin’ your first day?” He rubbed his cheek on the top of her head.

“Tiring. Meeting so many new people and in such a big, new place… I’ll be fine tomorrow, and every day will be easier, I think, as I settle in. And you? You and milaird seemed to be having a serious talk earlier.” She caressed his back, running her fingers down the bumps of his spine.

“Aye, that we did. And I also spoke with Ruth, Malcolm’s mam.”

“Ohhh…that must have been hard.” She hugged him.

“Aye, it was.” He pulled away with a sigh and cast a longing glance at the bed. “And now, though I wish we could dally a bit, you and I must also go to speak with her. She wishes to meet ye.”

Alice drew a deep, frightened breath. “What if she blames me for her son’s death?”

“She willnae. I told her how brave ye were. And after that, ‘twill be sundown, time for the funeral.”

“Yes. Where is the graveyard? I didn’t notice one when we rode in, nor have I seen a church.”

“We doonae have one. This is a remote holding, lassie, and no preacher will stay here. Do ye attend church? I havenae noticed ye praying.”

“I actually, uh…no.” She felt it wiser not to announce that she didn’t believe in the Almighty, having never seen evidence of his existence. She knew from experience that such a statement could start arguments, so she kept her opinions to herself.

“Fine, then, ye’ll realize no lack. Shall we go?”

“I’m still in my habit. Shouldn’t I wash and change?”

“Aye. I’ll call for water.”

While he went to the door, she unbuttoned her jacket, took it off and untied the tapes that closed her skirt. When the water came, she took off her habit-shirt and washed, while Dugald lounged on their bed, booted feet dangling carefully over the edge.

She changed into a blouse and dark skirt, choosing plain clothing in deference to their task. ‘Twouldn’t do to show up in the woman’s house to talk of her dead son wearing ruffles and lace.

She and Carrick had unpacked her meager possessions, including her hairbrush and a few pins, with Carrick declaring that he liked her cameo. She now pinned it to her collar then brushed her hair, twisting it again into a knot at her nape.

“I have something for ye, lass.” Dugald went to his wardrobe and took out a length of Kilburn tartan. He draped it over her shoulders before tying it in the front. “Ye’ll need it. And take your cloak. The sun is setting soon. Come.”

He led her out of the castle, her arm tucked firmly through his. They crossed over the drawbridge and into the long, cold shadows cast by the castle over the crofters’ huts clustered at its base. She shivered. “The sun must already be going down.”

“Aye. ‘Tis late in the year and the days be short. Here is Ruth’s home.”

The cottage was closed up tight, the door shut and the curtains drawn. It looked forlorn—or was that her imagination speaking?

Dugald sighed. “She didnae take it well. I told ye that Kilburns breed but rarely, and Ruth is pure Kilburn. Malcolm was her only son, and she lost her man to sickness a few years ago.”

“She’s alone. We’ll have to make certain she’s knows she’s always welcome in the castle.”

“She kens, but it willnae hurt for us to oft remind her.” He knocked on the door.

After a few moments it was opened by a woman who sported the characteristic Kilburn looks as well as swollen, reddened eyes. “Dugald Kilburn.” She leaned against the doorframe, body sagging.

“This be Mistress Alice.” Dugald stepped aside.

Alice extended her hand. “I am so sorry for your loss.” She repressed a shiver, but she’d said similar words already once before this day and heard them said to her. She shrugged mentally, telling herself that death was a part of life as surely as was breathing and eating.

The woman stared at Alice with a blank expression. A long pause ensued.

Alice dropped her hand and rubbed it slowly on her skirt. “Malcolm died most bravely protecting me. I will remember and honor his sacrifice every day of my life.”

“Me son was all I had. And he died for a Sassenach.”

“Yes.” This wasn’t a good start. Beside Alice, Dugald shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“The Highlands have suffered much because of your people,” Ruth said. “Will that ever end?”

Another long pause during which Alice struggled to find something to say. She cleared her throat. “I don’t know, but when the battle at Culloden Moor took place I was but ten years old.”

Ruth huffed. “I’ll see ye soon, I’m sure.” She closed the door in their faces.

Alice turned to Dugald. “That went well.”

He blew out a breath. “She just learned the news today. I have noticed that folk say the oddest things when they are deeply grieved.”

“We’ll have to give her time and hope she’s more friendly in the future.” She looked up at her husband. “What did she mean about seeing me soon?”

“I imagine she meant at sundown.”

“Malcolm’s funeral.”

“Aye. We must give him a proper send-off, and that will take place at sundown. Come.”

Taking her hand, he led her toward the ocean, stopping at the cliff’s edge. Beneath them, in a small rocky cove, a tidy row of smallish vessels—fishing boats, she guessed—were pulled up to shore while a small group of men had gathered around a battered dinghy with a short mast and a triangular sail. She saw Blain, Murdo, Archie and the rest of their travel party among them.

She pointed. “What are they doing?”

“Preparing for Malcolm’s funeral. Without kirk or graveyard, we doonae bury our dead.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “’Tisn’t our way. Here, in the far north, our heritage is as much Viking as it is Scot. Our ancestors departed this world in fire, and we do also.”

“Oh.” She watched while the men tossed dry wood onto the floor of the boat, then spread a Kilburn plaidie atop it. Blain opened a cloth bag, taking out several bones. She shuddered.

Dugald’s arm came around her and drew her close, and she hid her face against his chest. Breathing deeply, she inhaled his aroma, a distinctive spice of pine and brisk wind. When she was ready, she looked into the cove again, seeing that a round bundle of Kilburn plaidie had been placed next to the bones. Malcolm’s head.

A whimpering gasp came from beside her. Ruth had come and stood with her fist to her mouth, trying vainly to stifle her sobs. Acting on impulse, Alice took Ruth’s free hand, though not without fear.