Highland Storms (13 page)

Killian had told him everyone would know their place and, surprisingly, this turned out to be the case. He was just about to take the seat at the head of the table, as was his due, when an exclamation of surprise hissed through the diners and everyone turned to stare at the door leading into the northerly part of the house. There stood a tiny, middle-aged woman with rather mousy hair and pale features. She looked incredibly frail, but nevertheless walked into the room with purposeful steps and her head held high. Brice left his chair and went to meet her halfway.

‘
Aunt Ailsa,’ he said, smiling at her and bending to kiss her porcelain cheek. ‘I was told you were resting earlier and you weren’t to be disturbed, so I thought I’d visit you later. And Flora, how lovely to see you too.’ He greeted his cousin who hovered behind her mother, adjusting the older woman’s shawl and generally fussing over her.

‘
And you, Brice. Welcome back to Rosyth.’

Brice had always liked Flora, who was kind and gentle, but since she was six years older than him they had never played together. She’d acted more in the role of mother hen to him and his siblings, although usually without much success as the Kinross brood ran wild. He was pleased to see she was still passably pretty, with strawberry blonde hair, the same pale blue eyes as Kirsty and a neat figure. Unfortunately though, her face was marred by pock-marks and he wondered when that had happened. Some time during the ten years since he’d last seen her, poor girl.

‘
Thank you,’ he said, and took Ailsa’s arm to lead her to the table. He seated her on his right, with Flora next to her, and Kirsty took the chair opposite her mother. Everyone else adjusted their seating accordingly. Brice looked around and noticed Seton was about to sit down by Kirsty. As the highest ranking member of the household after family members, this would have been his due except for one fact. Brice hid a smile and called out to Iain, who was much further down the table.

‘
Iain, you’re in the wrong seat, man. I hear you’re to be part of the family so your place is next to Kirsty.’

Iain only hesitated for a fraction of a second. Brice guessed the man in no way wanted to be beholden to the new laird, especially after their altercation that morning. But on the other hand he’d never pass up a chance to sit next to his beloved. Brice caught the look of annoyance which flickered across Seton’s features, but since this was an honour for his son at the same time, he couldn’t very well say anything.

When everyone was finally in place, Brice stood up and they all fell silent without being told this time. ‘Thank you again for coming this evening,’ he began. ‘I’ll only keep you from your food for a moment while I thank Mrs Murray and Miss Buchanan for their sterling efforts today. Organising this so quickly was a tall order, but they managed it, so thank you both and all your helpers.’ He saw Marsaili look down while a blush of pleasure spread over her cheeks. ‘I want to apologise on behalf of myself and my father for leaving you to fend for yourselves for so long. Circumstances made it impossible for us to reside here, as I’m sure you all know. But I’m back now and it is my intention to improve the estate, not just for my own gain, but for all of you. I hope you’ll help me in this endeavour so that from now on, no one need go hungry or cold at Rosyth. I promise I will do my very best if you do the same. Now, let’s eat!’

His words were greeted with quiet murmuring and some sceptical glances, but no exclamations of appreciation. He hadn’t expected universal approval straight away, but couldn’t help but feel disappointed at such a lukewarm reception. Still, he had to start somewhere and he’d prove his words soon enough. With a jolt, he realised he really did feel responsible for these people already and he was determined to make sure they never went hungry again. They were his people, his clan.

Killian had been right – he belonged here and he wanted to stay, so they’d all better get used to him.

Marsaili was exhausted from the day’s endeavours, but unaccountably pleased at the praise she had received from the laird. The great hall did look wonderful, or at least as good as it could, given the state of the soft furnishings. It was amazing what water, soap and some polish could achieve in a short space of time.

She listened to the little speech their new master gave and had to concede he sounded sincere. Whether he would be able to follow through on his promises, only time would tell, but it seemed as though he meant every word. She didn’t want to like him, after the ruse he’d practised on them and their exchange of words that morning. A part of her had to admit he’d been well within his rights though. Especially given the fact that she suspected Seton had been swindling him for years. The estate Brice Kinross had returned to was not what it should have been.

Only a fool would have failed to notice something was seriously amiss at Rosyth. Marsaili had been a witness to many encounters between Seton and the tenants over the years.

‘
We need more food, extra rations for ourselves and the bairns,’ they’d begged. ‘We’re starvin’ and it’s our right.’

They were invariably turned down. ‘There’s none to be had,’ was Seton’s usual reply. And yet the harvests hadn’t failed for several years and the cattle thrived. So where did all the surplus go, Marsaili wondered?

It was true the estate didn’t yield as much as it had in the old days by all accounts, but Marsaili was sure the crops ought to be able to feed everyone adequately. Somehow there was never enough grain and no money for repairs, however. It simply didn’t add up.

She glanced diagonally across the table at Seton, who was a few places away from her on the other side. His face was like a miniature thunder cloud. Everyone else was loosening up a little and the combined volume of the voices all around them rising. Seton said nothing, just ate in silence.

Once, he looked up, turning his head to fix his hazel eyes on her. Marsaili suppressed a shudder. If he was unhappy, he’d brought it on himself. It was nothing to do with her and she had no sympathy for him. His expression grew even darker when, after the meal, Brice announced there was a sack of oats over by the door for each family to take home.

‘
I hope it will be enough to keep you fed until harvest time, but if not, please come and tell me,’ he said.

Marsaili saw Seton’s mouth set in a grim line and he left as soon as everyone else stood up, barging a few people out of the way in his hurry to reach the door.

‘
Hmm, that went well, don’t you think?’

The voice just behind her, low and slightly sarcastic, made Marsaili swivel round so fast her braid swished across the laird’s chin. ‘Oh! I’m sorry, I …’ She felt her face turn warm, but he didn’t seem bothered. ‘Er, you were saying?’

‘
The meal wasn’t quite as much of an ordeal as I’d thought,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘It would have been nice if they’d talked to me, but at least they didn’t all try to skewer me with their dirks. Or not yet anyway.’

Marsaili watched with him, as the last of the clansmen shuffled out into the balmy evening, the men hefting a heavy sack of grain each. ‘You matched your deeds to your words,’ she commented. ‘People who have children to feed can’t be too hasty.’ She looked up at him and added, ‘Besides, haven’t you heard? Dirks are forbidden.’

Brice shook his head, the smile widening. ‘I may be considered an outsider, but even I know they’re not going to abide by that rule. I doubt very many dirks were handed in to the authorities, at least not the best ones.’ He held up a hand to stop her protesting. ‘But I don’t want to know. It’s none of my business.’

‘
Perhaps not. If it’s any help, I’d say they’ve reserved judgement for now. If you want to win them over, you’re going about it the right way.’

‘
Thank you. That was exactly what I needed to know and I’ll keep it in mind.’ He bowed to her. ‘Goodnight, Miss Buchanan. I trust you’ll sleep well after all your hard work.’ With a twinkle in his eyes, he added, ‘For someone who wants to keep her own position, you’re going about it the right way too.’

Marsaili was torn between wanting to hit him and laughing. In the end, she just shook her head after his retreating back and took herself off to bed, muttering, ‘Dratted man. I hope they do skewer you, and soon.’

But she knew she didn’t mean it and that worried her.

Chapter Eleven

Marsaili slept badly. A combination of too much rich food, which her stomach wasn’t accustomed to, and an unseasonably warm night, had her tossing and turning. In the early hours of the next morning she decided there was no point staying in bed any longer. After all the previous day’s hard work, she felt in need of a complete cleansing, so she gathered together what she required and headed for the loch. With Liath trotting at her heels, she felt safe to go for a swim. The women usually used a small bay secluded by trees when they wanted to bathe. Since it was so early, she didn’t think anyone else would be about in any case and Liath would warn her.

It was the first day of September and the water almost too cold, but she steeled herself and ran in quickly. She let out a shriek, but only under water so it wouldn’t be heard, then swam as fast as she could back and forth until her body had accustomed itself to the temperature. It wasn’t easy to swim wearing a shift, but she managed it. There was no way she’d risk being seen without a stitch on, like some of the others. That, to her mind, was courting disaster. Finally, she set about washing herself and her long hair with the home-made soap which was Flora’s speciality. This took quite some time.

Emerging from the water, she dried herself and changed to a clean shift, bodice and skirt. Further along the shore, closer to the house, there was a small jetty with a magnificent view across the loch and Marsaili decided to go and sit there while she tried to comb out her wet hair. Untangling the unruly curls was always a mammoth task and it helped to have something else to distract her from the frustration of it.

‘
Come, Liath,’ she called to the dog, although this wasn’t strictly necessary since he always followed her anyway. She stroked his shaggy grey fur when he came up beside her, shoving his muzzle against her affectionately. ‘Good boy. What would I do without you, eh?’ She smiled at him and humoured him by picking up a stick to play a game of fetch.

Once seated at the end of the jetty, she took out her comb and began the laborious task. She’d often cursed the fate that gave her such a curly mess instead of the lovely wispy waves her half-sisters had been blessed with, but she was used to it now. She worked methodically, dividing the hair into sections and combing out each one before attempting to join them up. About halfway round one side of her head, however, she was startled into dropping the comb when a face popped out of the water right in front of her without warning.

‘
Oh!’ She stared, enthralled, at the vision before her.

The new laird, naked to the waist, rose to stand half submerged only yards away from her. His tanned torso gleamed in the early morning sun as the water ran in little rivulets down his chest. She followed their course with her eyes, but blinked and looked away when they reached the edge of his breeches. She couldn’t resist another peek from under her lashes at him though – he was truly magnificent.

Hard muscle under sun-kissed skin, with a trail of golden hair leading downwards from his navel to wet breeches that clung to him. Powerful arms and shoulders which looked like they’d make short work of swimming all the way across the loch. A stomach that was both flat and ridged at the same time in the most fascinating way. Marsaili felt a thrill race through her at this sight.

Then she realised he was grinning at her.

‘
I’m sorry if I startled you, Miss Buchanan,’ he said, pushing wet hair out of his eyes. ‘That was not my intention.’

‘
Well, you did a good job of it even so,’ Marsaili snapped, annoyed with herself for being caught staring at him again. ‘And now I’ve lost my comb too.’ It had bounced off the end of the jetty and straight into the loch.

‘
That, at least, I can rectify,’ he said and dived back under the water. A moment later he came up with her comb in one hand. He held it out to her and she had to swallow a gasp as he was now so close she could have reached out and touched his smooth skin had she wanted to.

Which she definitely didn’t. Or so she attempted to tell herself.

‘
Thank you,’ she murmured, and tried not to show her surprise that his fingers felt so warm against hers despite the cold water. A jolt shot through her at the small contact between them and this made her even more flustered. What was the matter with her?

‘
You’re very welcome.’

His voice was a bit hoarse this morning. The husky timbre sent shivers down her spine though, so she wasn’t complaining. She realised she was still staring and pulled herself together.

‘
What are you doing out here so early?’ she asked. She sounded a bit grumpy, but she couldn’t help it. He seemed to have a knack for rubbing her up the wrong way at the same time as making her feel attracted to him. It was rather unsettling.

He crossed his arms over his chest, which showed off the muscles to great advantage. Marsaili gripped the comb tightly to stop her fingers from touching his taut biceps. It was incredibly tempting and she’d love to know if they were as hard as they looked.

‘
Just having a bath,’ he replied with a smile, ‘like you told me last time I was here. I was given to understand hot water was scarce.’