Page 7 of Claiming His Highland Bride (A Highland Feuding #4)

I n the first few minutes each morning when she awoke, Sorcha wondered what new challenges she would face that day. So far, in the weeks since her disappearance into the night, she’d faced many of them.

She’d never had to prepare her own food.

She’d never had to ride for hours and days.

She’d never truly feared for her life. Oh, her father would make it miserable, but she served a purpose until she married.

But, and this was an alarming and enlightening revelation to her, she’d never been amongst people who cared.

These Mackintoshes cared about each other and that extended to their chieftain, too. For they did not seem to fear him as her kith and kin feared her father, rather they respected him and even liked him. Stranger still was that here in Glenlui village and in Drumlui Keep asking questions was not forbidden nor even discouraged. If anyone raised a voice or question to her father or his orders, their life and limbs were in peril.

Oh, she’d seen The Mackintosh stand his ground over a few things and, when he did that, everyone supported him. When she considered to whom he listened, she was confused even more.

The only other person of noble blood living here was Lady Eva. She was the daughter of a powerful nobleman in the north. Everyone else, all those who counselled this laird, were family and friends who had proven their loyalty and worth in the fight that nearly destroyed this clan.

And here she was, in the midst of people who took her as she was. Clara and James opened their home to her and, in doing that, the rest here welcomed her. The biggest challenge she faced was these people.

So many times each day, she was tempted to tell her story to one or another of them. Margaret, Clara’s sister by marriage, was the worst. The woman had a way of drawing Sorcha in and then asking her insightful questions. Sometimes, Sorcha wondered if she had a bit of the Sight and knew all her secrets already.

‘You are awake?’

Sorcha glanced over at the door to her cousin’s bedchamber and nodded. After stretching slowly, she pushed back the blankets and stood. The morning chill, even in late summer, made her wrap one of the woollen blankets around her shoulders.

‘I am.’ Glancing past her cousin, who carried the youngest on her hip, Sorcha saw no movement to indicate anyone else was awake. Yet.

‘I could almost hear you thinking,’ Clara said, walking to the bucket of water and dipping a cup for herself. She offered a few sips to the bairn before she held it out to Sorcha. ‘Are you still thinking about the porridge?’

Sorcha laughed and shook her head as she accepted the cup of water. Each day Clara had taught her, or tried to teach her, a new skill or task. Yesterday’s morn it had been to make porridge, something she’d eaten enough to know how to make it.

Porridge, good porridge, was harder to make than it seemed it should be. There were still burned bits on the bottom of the iron pot that she’d used to make it! Just as the children took advantage of a moment’s hesitation or inattention, so did the porridge for it burned, thick and black, when she’d turned away from stirring it.

‘Nay,’ she lied. ‘I have let the disaster of the porridge go now, Clara. On to other tasks!’

‘Worry not,’ Clara said, holding out Robbie to her so she could see to her personal needs. ‘We will find something for you today.’

Sorcha held the bairn close, rubbing his head as he grabbed as much of her hair as he could and shoved it in his ever-open mouth. Until the fire in the hearth was lit, the chill would remain so she lifted one end of the blanket and wrapped it around him. He leaned against her and she closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of him.

This was another thing she would give up by entering the convent.

The blessing of children.

Sorcha would not think on that right now. For the next weeks or month, she would allow Clara to teach her some basic tasks and help her cousin as she could. There was no way to adequately repay all that she’d done already, but Sorcha knew that some of the gold coins would help them.

Clara returned then, hair covered and dressed for the day, and held out her arms for her bairn. But her cousin studied Sorcha as she lifted Robbie away.

‘I have seen this expression in your eyes many times now,’ Clara said. Reaching up, she touched Sorcha’s cheek. ‘You have lost so much in such a short time. And you have faced some impossible choices. Worry not, Sorcha, it will all be for the best.’

‘Sorcha?’ James said, walking into the common room. He rubbed his face and pushed his hair back. He glanced at them, one at a time, then back to Sorcha. ‘Is her name not Saraid?’

Silence met his words and Sorcha wondered if it was time to tell him the truth. Clara had other ideas.

‘Her mother’s name is Sorcha, Jamie. She looks so much like her, may her soul rest in peace, that I called her it by mistake.’

‘Ah,’ he said, kissing Clara as he did each morning. ‘Just as I call the bairns by most any name I can think of when they jump on me.’ His acquiescence seemed too easy a thing given.

As though it was an invitation, Wee Jamie and Clara ran out of their bedchamber and jumped on their father. It would seem to be their morning ritual, for he would stumble around the cottage, with one grabbing each leg, until he fell to the floor and they climbed on top of him.

Such innocent fun. Somehow the tears had gathered without her realising it. Only when Clara used the corner of her apron to dab at them did Sorcha feel them. Clara mouthed some words to James, who nodded and met Sorcha’s stare with a sympathetic expression.

‘I will get water,’ she declared. Clearing her throat and wiping away the tears, she knew she must get out of here before the self-pity overwhelmed her. ‘And, aye, I know the way.’

She grabbed an empty bucket and left, even while trying to ignore the whispering behind her. Why the scene had bothered her, she knew not. She suspected that having seen the warmth that could be between father and bairns, it reminded her of the gaping lack of it in her own upbringing.

Sorcha’s upbringing had been like that of many noble women and based on the value she held. For her father, she was linked to the castle that they held for the MacDonalds. Her mother’s family were castellans and controlled the headlands, or had until her marriage to Hugh MacMillan. Now, an heir was the only way for him to retain control. So, either she had to marry someone strong enough to fight the Lord of the Isles or her father needed to get another heir.

Her mother’s death had given him an opportunity to seek another legitimate heir, the son he did not have yet. Her value as a female was tentative and only based on what it would bring him. Whether or not her father would have affection for a male heir, she knew not. Yet, watching these people, she knew it would never be like this for anyone born to Hugh MacMillan.

Sorcha reached the well and nodded to the others already there. Located in the centre of the village, it was a meeting place during the day. Even now, just past sunrise, there were villagers filling their buckets for their daily tasks. She nodded to the baker’s lad and the cooper and his helpers. A few of Clara’s neighbours stood whispering, as was their custom, sharing the latest bits of news and gossip. She knew from her time here that those bits of gossip would make their way all around the village and back by nightfall, enhanced and changed by each person who shared it.

With the help of a tall, strong young man, she’d just filled the bucket and turned towards the path when she saw James standing there studying her with a dark expression. Sorcha tried to smile but could not. From that gaze, she suspected he knew the truth...her truth.

‘Here,’ he said, approaching with an outstretched hand. ‘Let me take that.’ With his height and strength, his hands were double the size of hers and he took the full bucket as though it weighed nothing more than a bird’s feather. ‘Clara worried over you so I said I would fetch you back.’

‘I did not mean to worry her, James,’ she said, following him down the path. It was not the one she would have chosen if left on her own. ‘I just...I...’

He stopped then and motioned for her to come off the path and into the shadows there. When she saw the fierceness in his expression as he put the bucket down at his feet, she feared his words. James lifted a hand and ran it through his reddish-brown hair, pushing it out of his face. Then, stepping closer, she saw not ferocity but compassion in his forest-coloured gaze.

‘First, my name is Jamie,’ he said. ‘My father was James and so was my granda. So, call me Jamie as everyone does.’

He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her to agree. Although familiarity such as this had always been discouraged by her father, it warmed her that her cousin’s husband attempted to put her at ease. Sorcha nodded. ‘Jamie it is, then.’

‘I know who you are.’ He said it in a calm voice but it struck terror into the deepest part of her. ‘Clara and I have no secrets from each other, so I have known since you arrived on my door that there was more to you than you let on.’

‘But she said...’ Clara had promised her. She’d promised not to share her truth.

‘She did not want you to worry,’ he said, shrugging. ‘She did not break any confidence or word given to you.’ He stepped closer and lowered his voice though they seemed alone. ‘I did not press her for the details that would have done that. I trust her and her judgement. She said you are her cousin and you need a refuge while you sort out things. That was and is enough for me to ken.’

His kindness overwhelmed her and the trust he placed in his wife awed her. Sorcha did not know whether to smile or cry or fall to her knees and thank him. So she offered him the only thing she had.

‘My name is Sorcha,’ she whispered.

‘I suspected that much,’ he said. ‘I have reminded Clara to have a care around the wee ones. They repeat all sorts of things that they shouldna when you least expect it.’ From the mischievous glint in his eyes, she had no doubt that they had repeated the worst things at the worst possible time. ‘So, shall we return home before Clara sends out Wee Jamie to find us?’

Her heart lighter, she nodded and walked beside him the rest of the way back to the cottage. This path brought them in from a different direction, to the smithy first and then around to their croft. She took the bucket from him when he stopped there.

‘Are you serious about seeking a life in the convent?’

Of all the things he could have said or asked, she’d never thought he would ask about that.

‘Aye,’ she said. ‘If I must remain hidden, ’tis the perfect place.’

‘I go to the keep this morn,’ Jamie said. ‘If you wish to go to the chapel and speak to our priest, I can take you there.’

She’d heard about their priest, Father Diarmid, from Clara and Lady Arabella, but had not met him yet. Though he lived at Drumlui Keep, he travelled to other villages to minister to the spiritual needs of the Mackintoshes. He’d been away for several weeks when Sorcha had arrived. ‘He is returned?’

‘Aye. If you wish to seek his guidance, I have always found him a fair man, one who will listen and not judge too harshly.’

‘I would like that, Jamie. Tell me when you are ready and I will go with you.’

He walked away, glancing past her for a moment before he made his way to his work. Sorcha heard the footsteps and knew Clara had been watching and waiting for her. Facing her, Sorcha recognised the guilt in her cousin’s eyes and understood the reason for it. She walked to Clara, put the bucket down on the ground there and took Clara’s hand in hers.

‘With only my mother and father to judge marriages by, I had no idea of the faith and trust that could exist,’ she said softly.

‘Puir lass,’ Clara whispered back.

‘I am glad I have witnessed what marriage could be at its best.’ She patted Clara’s hand. ‘Jamie has offered to take me up to the chapel when he goes to the keep. To meet Father Diarmid.’

‘So, if you have courage to do that, do you have enough to learn to make bread this morn?’

‘Is it as hard as making porridge?’ she asked. Her heart felt lighter after seeing the love and trust between Clara and Jamie. Now, she would meet the priest and begin the journey forward. Surely she could conquer a bit of flour and water?

‘Nay, not harder. It just takes some strength and patience.’

Which was exactly how Clara described each and every chore and task she’d taught Sorcha since her arrival there.

‘I thought it might.’

Together, they went back inside and spent the next several hours trying to mix the perfect loaf of bread. Lucky for her, Clara had both the strength and the patience to dominate the unruly mixture of flour and water and yeast. By the time Jamie sought her out, she wore enough of all the ingredients to make another loaf. But Jamie, being the wonderful husband whom Clara praised, knew better than to point that out to either of them.

Soon they were riding up to the keep in a small wagon with Jamie’s tools that were too heavy to carry. The chilly morning fog had burned off and the sun looked as though it had gained control of the day. Sorcha loosened her cloak and pushed it back from her shoulders.

‘That cloak is quite heavy,’ Jamie said. She thought he commented on the changeable summer weather here in the Highlands, but when he continued, she understood it was not the weather of which he spoke. ‘I have a strongbox with a stout lock in my workroom where your valuables would be safe.’

The jewels and coins were still sewn into the hem and the pockets of her cloak. Jamie knew it. Sorcha did not say anything, but nodded.

‘You might want to keep one or two in place. If you have to leave quickly or have need of such a thing.’ She looked at him then. ‘I know you sought refuge, so you must be running from something or someone. If the time comes when you must flee, at least you will have something to help you on your way.’

‘Very practical,’ she said, glancing down at the cloak. ‘Something that my mother would have said.’

Sorcha smiled then, remembering several times her mother had offered such advice, even before she’d explained about the need to run. It would seem that her mother had been planning this for much longer than Sorcha had known and she’d had faith that Sorcha would be able to do this.

The rest of the way up the road to the keep and through its open gates was accomplished in silence, but for greetings called out to Jamie. By the time they reached the small stone chapel, the yard was busy with those going about their duties. Most attention seemed to be on the training yard where Robbie Mackintosh worked with his men. On previous visits here, she’d witnessed part of the tough regimen he put his warriors through, in sun or rain, to keep them well prepared.

From her place on the wagon, she could see the two men fighting within the larger circle. One was Robbie and the other one was Alan Cameron. Her gasp drew Jamie’s attention and then he looked over to see what had caught her eye.

‘I wondered when he would challenge Rob,’ Jamie said. ‘Do you want to watch?’ He climbed down and held his hands up to help her to the ground. ‘Though I suspect prayers might better serve him in this.’

‘Why?’ she asked, following him without thought towards the fence encircling a large clearing there.

‘Because Rob is one of the best fighters,’ Jamie said over his shoulder as he cleared a path for them to the front. ‘And Alan has not trained with him for a while.’

When they reached the fence, Jamie called out a bit of advice to his friend. Even though she wanted to watch, it was unseemly to do so. She stood back behind Jamie, letting his size block most of her view until the two fighters moved towards them. Bared to the waist, with their hair pulled back and out of their faces, Sorcha saw the blood already flowing from Alan’s mouth and one eye. Rob looked untouched but out of breath.

But Alan’s chest glistened in the sun’s light as they turned and spun and stepped this way and that. Muscles she’d felt when she’d held on to him on the horse were now visible and she watched as they flexed and tightened with each movement. He smiled at Rob, but it was a grim one, promising pain and defeat. Sorcha could not breathe as they circled each other, delivering blows when they discovered a weakness or opportunity.

The two did not use swords due to their deadly nature. Instead they used wooden poles which, as much as she could tell, could still inflict a goodly amount of pain and damage. At least those weapons would not kill the one receiving the blows.

They feinted. They struck. They circled. All the time others cheered or booed, calling out insults and advice. Rob and Alan appeared impervious to all the interference and Sorcha found herself staring at his every move. At some point, she moved to Jamie’s side to better see them.

Then, Alan managed to back Rob up against the fence in front of where she and Jamie stood and she gasped aloud as he hit the wood with enough force to shake it.

Which drew Alan’s attention to her, his eyes widening a scant second as he recognised her there.

Which was enough to give Rob a chance to take control once more.

Which he did.

Horrified, she watched as Rob rolled to his side and swiped Alan’s legs out with the pole. Alan fell hard, his breath knocked from him as he landed in the dirt. As Rob made a final move to complete his win, Sorcha stumbled back and ran to the chapel, hoping no one had noticed her there.

But Alan had. His gaze at that moment told her so. A flash of recognition in those stormy eyes, followed by a second of something else, unidentifiable and yet something that sent a thrill through her at the same time.

She grabbed the cloak she’d heedlessly left on the wagon and made her way into the cool, dark chapel. Tossing it around her shoulders, she sought refuge in the shadows of the silent building.