The Outcast Highlander (7 page)

Kensey walked past her mother and leaned onto a far crenel, watching Robert swing his wooden sword through the air and land over and over on a defenseless tree trunk. “I think I loved Albert.”

But even as she spoke the words aloud, Kensey wondered if she truly meant them. Memories of affection were often intensified by betrayal, her attendant, Agnes, had often told her.

Gabrielle laughed. “If you only think you loved him, you did not.”

Kensey turned and admired the broad smile that lit Gabrielle’s features. She was so beautiful. “I remember loving him.”

“If you’d really loved him, you would never be able to forget it.” Gabrielle put a hand over her heart. “Besides that, he never loved you, or he would not have thrown you over for a woman half your rank and station. Men only make foolish decisions for love.”

Kensey laughed. The bright noon sun beat down, making the back of her neck a bit sticky under her still dirty hair. She badly needed a bath.

“Please promise me.” Gabrielle continued. “You must promise me you will be more discreet. I know we are not a very rich family, and I am too far out of the line for the throne now for you to be bartered away, but you are a beautiful girl, as I was. And that means you should always be on your guard against men who would take liberties.”

“Men have tried before.” Kensey laughed at little at the memories of men in France trying to steal her into a dark corner or whisper too closely to her while conversing, but she never needed protection. She held up a hand in an attempt to silence the conversation “I know how to defend myself.”

“Against the weak little boys who have chased you before, perhaps.” Gabrielle grasped her hand with urgency. “I just want you to promise me that you will guard your actions and your heart. I want to see you as happy as I have been with your father, not trapped in a loveless marriage just because circumstance required it.”

Kensey hugged her mother tightly, although the firm grasp on her hand was starting to throb. She knew how blessed she was to have such a mother, and such a father. And she never wanted to take them for granted, but she also knew that her mother worried needlessly. Not only could she protect herself from anyone, but she was smart enough not to get entangled with the wrong men.

Again, unbidden, the image of her rescuer’s face came to mind. Of course, her father would take issue with his family status, and her mother would never encourage something she knew Lachlan would be against. Plus, she didn’t even understand her own feelings for the man. But if her father wanted her to make a love match, the closest thing she’d felt to love since Albert was the warmth and safety she’d felt in the arms of the outcast Sinclair.

Chapter Six

Another two weeks passed, and still Lachlan did not appear or send word to his wife. As each day dawned, Gabrielle was a little more frantic about his absence. Duncan Sinclair, Colin Ross, and Gerald Sutherland had all gone to Berwick and returned. Lachlan MacLeod had been gone for over a month now, and there had been no messenger, no page, no note. Nothing.

Only news that he had refused to swear fealty to the king and lay in prison.

To make matters worse, Gabrielle had developed another troubling cough. Kensey had some knowledge of healing from working with Ete and Ene as a girl. Nothing like a real healer, but it passed in certain circumstances. In cases where the disease could not be cured, as Kensey had learned about Gabrielle’s coughing, she sought only to make her mother comfortable. They kept her room and her bed as warm as she could stand it, especially as All Saints Day came and went, and the weather became more unforgiving.

One afternoon without warning, the men sighted a group of men approaching, with two oxen between them carrying something on a large wooden cart. Flanking the oxen were two men walking and one man on horseback. When Reyf called for his mistress to identify them, Gabrielle was still abed, and Kensey came down to see who and what was approaching. She immediately recognized Duncan atop his horse, with his flaming red hair a contrast to the grey sky.

Duncan promised to visit before the first light snow flew, to bring a gift for Gabrielle for her hospitality to his men. On his first visit, he had mentioned to her that his mother had a beautiful loom, when he had seen Gabrielle’s own. They never spoke of Fiona.

Kensey brought her mother down to the hall when Duncan arrived, and smiled on as the two carters carried the giant instrument into their home. Duncan stood on the other side of Gabrielle, watching both mother and daughter marvel at the loom.

“My father had it brought over from Norway when he and his first wife were married,” explained Duncan as Gabrielle touched its sturdy warp beam. “That was long before I was born. She loved to weave.”

Gabrielle took a deep, rattling breath. “May I ask? What happened to your mother?”

“She died in childbirth, along with my youngest sister,” Duncan responded, without much feeling. “I was only seven years old, and I do not remember much of her. It was not long before your youngest came into the world.”

“Shouldn’t you keep this for your future wife?” Gabrielle asked before she realized what she’d said. Kensey’s insides clenched as she awaited Duncan’s response, but his blank face told her nothing. Gabrielle inclined her head and said, “Or perhaps a sister.”

“My sisters,” Duncan said quickly, “do not care for weaving. And I do not anticipate having a need for it.”

With Kensey’s help, Gabrielle sat down in the weaving seat and pulled her hands along the frame. Her body shook with a cough, and both Kensey and Duncan moved to help her, but she waved them away. “I can feel that this instrument has been lovingly used,” she said, recovering her voice. “It is surely too great a gift for a small measure of hospitality.”

“Please,” Duncan insisted. He took Gabrielle’s hands in his own. “Your daughter has shown great courage, and you provided us with safety when we most needed it. There is no gift too great for such friends.”

Kensey watched him, taken by his quiet demeanor. He had quite changed since returning from Berwick. Either the duties of his leadership were settling in, or Fiona’s marriage had taken away his fight. But he was quiet, almost docile.

Gabrielle laughed, which unstilled the cough again, and this time, Kensey pulled her mother to her side and held onto her while the spasm racked her body.

“Well you should be proud,” said Gabrielle, holding her daughter’s arm as though she might topple at any moment. “You show great generosity to us. My husband will be proud to consider you an ally.”

“And a friend,” Kensey added. She pulled her mother towards the stairs. “If you will excuse me for a moment, I must take my mother to Ete, for she has some business.” Duncan bid Gabrielle farewell, and watched them ascend the stairs to the tower. “I will return shortly.”

Despite what Kensey said, there was no business with Ete. She wanted to get her mother back to bed right away. The constant coughing, and then being in the large cold expanse of the great hall was wearing on her mother. There would be no reasoning with Gabrielle if she tried to argue in front of Duncan.

“Your mother looks very ill,” Duncan noted when Kensey returned to the great hall. She took his arm and he led her out into the courtyard, where a crowd of people busied themselves at some job or another. Some filled water buckets, some were cleaning. Women scampered with dishes—some clean and some dirty—and children played. This was the center of activity, and they would be safely public here, although of course no privacy could really be had.

Ever since her conversation with Gabrielle, Kensey had been very aware of what might be said about her and Duncan if they became too familiar. First, she did not want her father to get an idea that he needed to force marriage upon her where she did not love. And second, she wanted to protect Duncan from people’s tattling tongues, because she hoped there was a chance that he could still be with Fiona.

Even if that meant someone had to kill Colin Ross.

“You are right, she is not well,” said. They continued walking together, engaging with people as they passed, trying not to attract too much attention, although Kensey dropped his arm self-consciously when Ete approached them, carrying a basket of vegetables. She nodded to the woman and crossed her arms over one another. “She does not respond to the herbal treatments, so we just try to make her comfortable until the disease passes.”

“Your mother is a beautiful woman,” he said politely, “and she bears her sickness well. I have never seen a woman carry herself with so much grace while she is ill. She should be commended for her constitution.”

Kensey found this odd. Her mother had always seemed frail to her. Perhaps because she herself had never been sick, and neither had her father. But somehow, her mother would catch any illness that presented itself. “She is indeed beautiful,” Kensey said, absently. “She told me again to thank you for the generous gift.”

“We will speak no more of it,” said Duncan, with a kind reserve. His gold eyes did not sparkle as she had seen them in the past, and she noted his distance. “I was glad to do it.”

Just as Kensey was about to question Duncan about his coldness, Reyf came into the courtyard and saw the two of them walking. He came straight toward them and made a small bow before Kensey.

“Miss, I must speak with you,” Reyf said, gruffly. He was a stout man, near her father’s own age, who had been Lachlan’s right-hand man since he first became laird. Reyf rarely spoke to Kensey, and when he did, they knew it was important. Kensey excused herself from Duncan and walked a few feet away with the old steward.

“We still have received no news of your father,” explained the steward. “I would not wish to worry your mother, great lady that she is, but I feel that we must send word to him in Berwick that she has taken ill.”

“How will we ever get word to him?” Kensey wondered. “We don’t know where he is.”

“We could send one of the men. Perhaps Kendrick or Lewis.”

“Are you certain we can spare them?”

“It would not do us well to lose one of our few warriors when your father is gone, no.” Reyf stroked his beard.

“Certainly you’re not thinking of going yourself,” she said. The man was the only one in her father’s absence who knew all the intricacies of the castle and its running, not to mention the lands and the tenants, the crofters and the animals. He could not be spared.

“I will not allow you to go, young miss, no matter what,” Reyf said with brusque quickness. “Your father would flay me alive if he met you in Berwick, and he has charged me with your safety. He may already turn me out because of Balconie.”

“No need to speak of that,” said Kensey, sharply. She had requested that Reyf not inform her father of what had happened with Duncan, but obviously the man had other ideas, even if it meant his own punishment. “Who do you plan to send? You can’t send my brother.”

“Aye. And none of the stable hands can be spared this time of year, with the preparations for winter full upon us and the first snow to come likely within the month. I cannot require any of the tenants, and I cannot send any of the women.”

“Then it will have to be me,” Kensey said. “For there is no one else to go.”

“I will go myself before I would send a woman, let alone his own daughter.”

Duncan, who had heard the end of the conversation as it escalated, stepped toward Kensey and cleared his throat, standing behind her. “May I be of some assistance?” he wondered, eyeing Reyf carefully.

“Aye, you might.” Reyf eyed Duncan with slow care. “I must get word to our lord at Berwick of his wife’s condition.”

“I find it exceedingly odd that your father is not back and yet no demands have been placed on you or your lands for his freedom. Although I did not see him myself when I was there, I did hear that he met with the Guardians. Perhaps he has gone to Edinburgh and forgotten to send word.”

“The laird promised that if he were to leave Berwick, he would send word to us as to when he should be expected home,” Reyf responded, matter-of-factly.

“I can send someone to search him out,” Duncan offered. Kensey shook her head. Although she did not want to go herself, she feared that her father would not take kindly to being check upon by a boy he hardly knew, whether the boy went himself or not.

“We cannot ask that of you.”

“But I have offered it myself,” he said, plaintively. He put a hand on Kensey’s arm. “Your steward is right, Kensey. If I were to send someone like Malcolm or Alec to Berwick and find that something has happened to your father, they may be able to search out what has happened without raising suspicion, if there is any to be raised. It is only fair that I should help you, after you have helped me.”

“We would be most grateful, my lord.” Reyf addressed Duncan with a small bow. He spoke before Kensey could manage a retort, and he gave her a look that mirrored one her father would have, silencing her.

“I will return home and send Malcolm at once. And he will report directly to you.” Duncan took Kensey by the arm, but she followed him on less than steady feet. Malcolm responsible for speaking to her father? She didn’t like that option for some reason. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

But Duncan and Reyf already twittered away about the details and Kensey just allowed them to pull her along. She wasn’t certain how things spiraled out of her control so quickly, but she hoped and prayed that Malcolm would be discreet, or she might find herself a nun when her father returned.

***

Malcolm Sinclair arrived in the great hall nearly a week later to greet Kensey, with the dirt of several days’ ride still on him. He’d dressed in a warm green gardecorps fitted long over his tunic and appeared more as a page than a gentleman. Perhaps that had been his intention.

Reyf grasped Malcolm by the elbow in greeting and inclined his head to his better. Kensey kept behind her father’s steward, almost hiding. But Malcolm’s eyes sought her out.

“You made good haste,” Reyf said.