CHAPTER SIX
T he front room was long with staircases at either end, in the middle were a set of corridors that led to a place she could not see. Ruben took her to the left staircase, and she followed him up to a second and then a third level.
The hallway was massive, its walls were worn stone with wooden inlays here and there; beautiful rich wood with intricate paneling that held large, ornate portraits. Some wooden panels had shields, broken swords and even pieces of armor.
Is it a constant memory of the wars they’ve been through... or a testament to this victory?
The wing he led her to had five rooms spaced on either hall. He stopped at the left side where only two doorways stood. He pulled a door in and stepped aside for her to enter and when she did, another wave of awe washed over her.
Her room had a large four-poster bed against the back wall, far away from the row of windows on the north side. Heavy, light blue velvet swaths hung above it, draping down on each side ready to close the occupant of the bed in its velvety warmth.
Across from the bed was a fireplace, that while empty, she could see how a blazing fire from it would light and warm the room.
Most of the room had fresh rushes but near the fireplace were two plush chairs with a blue rug beneath them.
The furniture there was ancient but exquisite, in good condition, and well cared for.
Her throat felt tight.
It was lovely and such a stark contrast to their room back at her manor house. Her father’s home was a crumbling pile of stone, filled with dusty, moth-eaten, musty things.
“Is it to yer likin’?” Ruben asked.
She nodded jerkily. “It’s…it’s magnificent.” Paige admitted. “I’d once thought me home was luxurious, but yer home puts mine to shame. I ken it’s nae a competition, but I realize the difference.”
Ruben leaned on the wall, crossed his arms and cocked a boot to the wall. “And how do ye figure that?”
Resting a hand on the wall, Paige replied. “Ye take care of yer home because ye prize it and ye ken it’s a home ye want future generations to have. Me faither cares nothin’ for our home. I daenae believe he plans for days ahead.”
With a derisive snort, Ruben pushed away from the wall with a scornful grunt. “Of course nae.”
Frowning, Paige asked, “What do ye mean by that?”
He pivoted to her, his face softening with something that faintly resembled pity. “I daenae think ye ken this but there is a recurrin’ jest around the rest of the lairds that yer faither does nae ken his head from a headless chicken.”
His meaning made her heart plummet, “The other lairds think me faither is weak?”
“And foolish, presumptuous, easy to manipulate and very reactionary instead of wisely seekin’ opportunities to increase his wealth or his lairdship,” Ruben said. “He is also a spendthrift and irresponsible.”
His frank words hit Paige like blistering catapults. It did not feel good to know her father was the laughingstock of the rest of the Scottish nobility. “I’d ask ye what ye meant by all of that…” She slowly sat in one of the chairs. “But I doubt I’d get an answer.”
Pushing away from the wall, Ruben said, “Maisie will come and find ye when it’s time for supper.”
She did not say a word when he left the room and when he was gone, she looked around the room, to examine it.
Everything in the room was so rich, combining to make a room fit for a princess. She ran her fingers over the beautiful old wardrobe and looked down on the thread for the rug.
Was it English—or from the East? Either way, it looked exquisite. The whole room was gilded—a gilded prison.
There were two doors in her rooms, one that led to the hallway and another one that she assumed led to a washroom.
It was thick and massive, as well as heavy to push open, but she did so. Her assumptions were right; it was a washroom with two basins and on stands and a wide bathtub that stood over a bed of unlit coals.
A second door was to the end of the room, and she pushed it in, stepped one foot in and stopped. The bedroom inside was a vivid counterpoint to hers. While her room had a faint feminine air, this one was starkly masculine.
His bed was wide with dark sheets, the shutters in his windows open while his curtains fluttered. There was a chest of drawers to the side, baskets were placed here and there but what drew her attention was the left wall.
“He really is a warmonger…”
Weapons of every size and shape were on the walls. She counted halberds, maces, swords and daggers of all sizes and shapes. Some of the blades were straight, some were wickedly curved with leather handles and jeweled pommels.
His fireplace was banked, a set of chairs and a short, squat table were before it. There were no carpets, and the floorboards were swept off the rushes.
There was nothing sentimental in the room, there was nothing to show any attachment to anyone or anything.
“Isnae this just sad…” she murmured.
Then, her eyes landed on the metal bowls in a corner of the room and she realized they were for his dogs. Closing the door, she retreated to her rooms and found that footmen had delivered her trunks and bags, so she set out to unpack them.
Striding to his meeting room, an intimate assembly room where his father and his advisors would gather, Ruben summoned a messenger. He had to make the church and the Crown aware of the marriage and could not delay.
As he arranged the papers, the door slipped open. He did not look up. “I daenae need ye, Howe.”
“It’s me, brother,” Norah said quietly.
Instantly, his head snapped up. “Norah—” He dropped the papers and strode to her, “Are ye well? Did the journey exhaust ye?”
“Nay,” Norah said as she took a seat.
“Was the marriage and the celebration too much for ye? Because we will have another one tonight and I?—”
Exasperated, Norah waved her hands, “Stop, please, stop. Nay, nothin’ of the marriage or the feast after flustered me. Why does everyone think I am that fragile? Doesnae anyone see that me health has improved? I’m nae as weak nor useless.”
“Nay one is sayin’ that, Norah,” Ruben assured her. “But we do ken ye get flustered at times.”
“I am nae flustered,” she said, “But I am unhappy. Why did ye have to be forced to marry the enemy?”
Taking a seat across her, Ruben leaned in and braced his forearms on his upper thighs. “It was an order from the King, Norah. I could nae ignore or disobey his order.
“I suppose the war years ago and the continuin’ skirmishes between our men and theirs had reached the King's ears,” he said. “The King already has his hands tied up in issues with the English. I suppose he dinnae want any more troubles on his hands.”
She rolled her eyes. “There are always issues with the English.”
His lips flickered up. “That’s very true.”
“This girl,” Norah said. “Do ye like her?”
Ruben shook his head and stood as the messenger entered the room. After handing off the letter to the man with strict order to go straight to the archbishop, he returned to Norah.
“Likin’ her or nae likin’ her has nothin’ to do with this marriage,” he said. “All that matters is that we hold the union long enough for the two lairdships to be civil. The King will be satisfied then.”
Taking her brother’s hand, Norah asked. “But what of yer happiness? What about yer satisfaction? Should that nae count?”
He swallowed and took a moment while deciding what to say. His shoulders fell an inch. “I am a soldier, Norah. Me satisfaction comes from kennin’ that the people I serve are happy, healthy and safe.”
Her face fell in disappointment. “But what about love, Ruben? I ken ye remember how Maither and Faither were, even when Faither was as dedicated and decisive as a warrior as ye are. Ye deserve to be happy as well, nay just—ye cannae sacrifice yer life all the time for others and nay have anything for yerself.”
Ruben did not have the heart to tell her he had given up on love she spoke of a long time ago. His sister was a dreamer—or at least she used to be. He remembered when she’d come to the breakfast table recanting the last fairy tale she’d read with a hopeful glimmer in her eyes.
Tales about forsaken princes and poor women or hopeless princesses and the men, farriers, blacksmiths, or fishermen who loved them. The tales of forbidden—and unexpected—love were ones she saw as the best and the worthiest, but Ruben had no such ideals.
He tried to smile, but it fell flat. “Norah, ye have to understand, leaders daenae have the freedom to find love like ye want.”
When her face fell, he was quick to add, “Nae to say it doesnae happen. There are a few lairds I have heard of who have found the love of their lives in the most unexpected way, but the best I can do with this marriage is hope for civility.”
She shook her head. “Do ye want to have bairns with a woman ye daenae love?”
“T’is me duty,” he said. “I ken ye are worried, Norah but worryin’ will nae make any of this better. Why daenae ye take yer mind off it by helpin’ the servants prepare for the welcomin’ feast tonight, eh? I am sure cook will turn a blind eye one of those sweet buns go missing.”
She narrowed her eyes, “Ye’re tryin’ to distract me.”
“I simply daenae want ye to worry,” he replied. “I ken it’s nae what ye wanted but let’s make the most of it.”
Norah let out a long sigh but still stood and hugged him warmly before she left the room. Rubbing his palms on his thighs, Ruben stood and left the room as well, only this time, he headed out to meet with the guards.
Tonight of all nights, they needed to be vigilant. He was not sure if MacPherson would try some trickery, but if he did, he would be prepared for it.
Halfway there, he doubled back; he suddenly felt the need to speak with his father about the king’s edict.
Without a backward glance, he started toward the spiral staircase that led up to Niall Miller, his father, the former laird. Sixteen years ago a cruel malady had started to take his father’s knees from under him.
It would have crippled him if their wise healer Cassandra Gilmour had not devised a set of teas and salves to stay off the disease. One leg was lame but he could hobble on the other. Though Cassandra was a lady of the McDougal clan, she had never given up on her duty to heal the infirm.
He knocked, hoping his father was not asleep.
“Enter,” Niall said.
His father’s voice sounded stronger than most days, especially the wintery months when the cold air wreaked havoc on his frail body. Pushing the door in, he strode in to find his father sitting up in his bed.
The windows, opened wide, let in cool air. Lennox saw that the old man was sitting up in a chair, a warm plaid wrapped around his bony shoulders. Leaned on a wall to the left side of him were two of his crutches.
The simplest one was a handheld pole with a leather strap to hold the leg in place, while the other held a platform where his father could rest his knee and lower leg on it. He used the latter one in the winter months when his knee was seized up.
“Ah, son,” Niall closed the book on his lap, his spidery fingers tapped on the back cover. “How did it go?”
Pulling a chair to his father’s side, Ruben replied. “Without conflict, as I’d hoped.”
“Och lad,” Niall shook his head. “I’d hoped for a different solution to our troubles. Nay one wants to be married to one’s enemy.”
“I ken,” Ruben said. “But if it brings peace to the people, I will gladly accept it.”
Hunching over to cough into his hand, Ruben tried not to react to the unsettling rattle in Niall’s breastbone. Leaning back on his pillows, Niall said, “This lass, how is she?”
“Quiet but spirited,” Ruben admitted. “She is a na?ve too, but I supposed a few months or years away from the sheltered seclusion she has been living in with her faither should cure her of that.”
A nostalgic smile curved his father’s lips as his eyes wistful. “Yer maither was like that. God above, she adored love stories, old myths and even present tales of unexpected love. T’was somethin’ she wanted for ye to experience as well, nae only this defend and protect mandate.”
Ruben cocked his head. “Did ye speak with Norah perchance?”
“Nay, why do ye ask?”
“Because she gave me the same spiel,” Ruben said, while getting to his feet. “And I will tell ye the same thing I told her, me duty is me duty. I will perform it to the end. As long as me people are safe and provided for, I am complete.”
His father’s head met the wall behind him. “I used to think so too until Miriam walked into me life,” Niall’s rheumy blue eyes held Ruben’s.
“When I would put pressure on meself about the poor harvest or the lochs breakin’ away and floodin’ the fields, she took me to see the middle of the wheatfield and forced me to look at the sky.”
Ruben’s brows lifted. “What? I never heard that before.”
“We never told ye,” he said. “She told me that nothin’ is stationary, that the seasons change and when they do change, we have to allow them to take their toll. Nay man can control the wind or the water or the sun. I had to learn to let the things I could nae control go.”
Leaning unto a wall, Ruben rubbed his face. “Things could have been prevented. If— if I had been with her that evening?—”
Sympathy marked his father’s face. “I ken, son.”
“And then there was the land issue with the MacPherson’s,” Ruben groaned.
“That too,” Niall nodded. “I ken it does nae make sense now, but I hope this will turn into something good one day.”
Shaking his head, Ruben said. “We’re have a feast tomorrow morning to welcome her. Are ye feeling well enough to join us, Faither?”
“I should be,” he said. “Let me get some rest and I will be down with ye.”
Leaning in to rest his hand on his father’s shoulder, Ruben nodded. “Get all the rest ye need.”