Page 39

Chapter

“ I can finish here, my lady,” Cook said.

Maisie’s pigeon pies were one of the reasons the Red Stag Inn had thrived these past months despite her missteps.

“You are certain?” she asked the woman, who’d been cooking at the inn for many years and had finally convinced her to give over the duty of making these particular pies.

“Aye, I am,” she said, shooing away one of the kitchen girls who had come too close to her. Cook was excellent at her job, but very particular about her space.

“Very well,” Maisie said, wiping her hands on the apron before pulling it off. “I would ensure the rooms are clean for this eve anyway.”

Unfortunately, the morning had been taken by an unexpected problem in the stables.

The door had come off its hinges somehow and Maisie had been forced to travel into the village to see the blacksmith herself.

She really needed a new runner; the boy who been working for her since last summer had decided he no longer cared for the duty.

When she was his age, Maisie had not been able to choose her duties. The boy’s parents, certainly more indulgent than her own, had agreed to allow him to quit the inn and she’d not yet found a replacement.

“Pardon, my lady,” Alice stopped her. The girl had lost both parents to a fire that had spread through the village, taking more lives than any cared to recall.

It had been before Maisie came to the inn, but the “great fire” was a tragedy she’d heard of often.

Living with her aunt, and now at the inn, the girl did not listen easily but Maisie still felt an affinity toward her, knowing of her turbulent past. Not yet ten and six, nearly ten summers younger than she, Alice was like a little sister to Maisie.

Her own sister was long married, so Maisie had never quite known what a close sibling bond was like.

As her parents told Maisie often, she was not supposed to have been born. Both her brother and sister were married before she reached ten years, and they were as much strangers to her as the man who had stunned her this morn with his revelation.

He was staying.

Throughout the day, whenever Maisie thought of it, she was forced to attempt to slow her overly rapid beating heart at his proclamation. He was staying, though she knew not for how long.

“Is all well, Alice?”

The girl appeared concerned. “Of sorts. You asked that I speak with Harold about his debt.”

Ahh, Harold.

“And?”

“I did, my lady. He claims not to owe the inn any debt.”

“Of course he does.” She sighed. “I will speak to him. Is there aught else?”

“The new serving girl is still abed. She claims to be ill, but ‘tis the second illness”—Alice said the word as if she did not believe it—“in as many weeks. I believe she avoids the hall as night approaches.”

What an odd thing to say. “Night? I do not ken.”

Alice sighed. “As the men begin to . . .” Her eyes raised to the ceiling, as if Alice struggled to find the word.

But there was no need.

“I will speak to her as well.” And then, so that Alice did not judge the girl too harshly, “If you will remember when you began, how difficult it was with some of the men.”

“Was.” Alice laughed. “Is. There are some I still cannae control.”

“Ahh,” she said. “And therein is the problem. To think you can control a man deep in his cups. ‘Tis not possible, Alice. We can simply use the tools at our disposal to avoid them. And one of those is to listen when your mistress tells you not to walk past MacBrannigan.”

“I am sorry for that, my lady. I forgot he sat there for a moment, and hurried to refill a pitcher of ale at the table next to them.”

“Aye, but there are some men you must be more vigilant with than others. And he is one of them.”

Alice smiled. “But the one who defended you. What a man, indeed.”

The maid was not too young to appreciate Kieran’s fine qualities.

And though Maisie silently agreed, she did not dare speak it aloud.

“I was fortunate he came to my aid. I do fear we’ve not seen the last of MacBrannigan, though.

” Then, realizing what she said, Maisie quickly covered her words.

“But ’tis not for you to fret over. Simply avoid the man if he comes to the Red Stag again. ”

“Aye, my lady.”

“Is there anything else to report?” she asked.

“Nay, my lady.” With a bob of her head, Alice scurried away.

Maisie went about finishing her duties. She spoke to Harold and the new serving girl.

She ensured all was prepared for the evening, in the kitchen and the hall, and then stepped outside for a moment.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tilted her face upwards.

The sun had set, the chill in the air remaining.

Maisie should have grabbed a cloak first before heading out of doors.

“You shiver.”

Her eyes popped open, as the deep voice, so close to her, was already a familiar one. Kieran had returned.

As he’d done the day before, he removed his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“I had not planned to remain out of doors long,” she said, accepting his offer. “’Twas a busy day, and I simply wished for a bit of respite.”

“Then a respite you shall have. Will you walk with me?”

She peered up at him. The man nearly always smiled, and it was difficult not to return it. Maisie shivered again, but this time it had naught to do with the cold.

“I should return to the hall, but . . .”

“You will, soon enough.” He began to walk the path that led to their stables. She followed.

“Was your trip to Aberdale a successful one?”

As they circumnavigated the stables, she and Kieran continued on a path that eventually led to the village, though they would not walk so far as that.

“It was not as successful as I’d hoped. I spoke to many but learned little.”

“You said before that the wayward cattle had been investigated before? Do you truly believe to learn more than you have already?”

Kieran slowed to a stop. Looked down at her with such intensity, Maisie considered looking away. But she did not. Instead, she held his gaze, something passing between them that was unexplainable.

He wanted to tell her something.

“I would not break your trust,” she found herself saying.

“I do not believe you would, though there is little cause for such a thought. I know you not at all—”

“You know some.”

“But not enough to share my true purpose today. And yet, I will do so anyway.”

Of course she wished to know what he would tell her, but Maisie was also curious why he’d do such a thing. And so, she asked.

“Why?”

“I do not know. Perhaps because you have agreed to lodge me for the duration of my stay. Perhaps because . . . I wish to tell someone.”

“Tell me,” she said, so softly Maisie was not certain if he’d even heard her.

The woods behind the Red Stag Inn stables were so quiet, Maisie could hear her own heartbeat as she waited for him to continue.

“My oldest memory as a child is as the son of the chief of Duncraig. When I’d just seen ten and two summers, my mother told me what others knew already. I was not their natural-born son but adopted as such three years prior.”

“How could you not have known this already?”

“As the story goes, I was found on a riverbank, near death, and taken in by the chief’s wife. When I finally did awake, I knew not my name nor from where I hailed. I was told, by my mother, that she and my father had sought my identity far and wide, to no avail.”

“You say, ‘I was told,’ as if you do not believe it?”

It was odd to see such a man as Kieran, fearless and brave, obviously very strong, with an expression almost soft.

“Because I no longer do. My brother, when we traveled to Castle MacKinlay to inquire about the cattle, fell in love with the chief’s sister. Married her.”

“Your brother married a MacKinlay? I’d not heard that before,” she said, shocked.

“It was only a fortnight or more since it occurred. Our father was incensed, refusing to accept her into our family. There was a time, as he would take her to wife anyway, my brother Niall believed he might no longer be the clan’s second and spoke of Father naming me as such.

Though our father—or Niall’s father, rather—eventually did welcome Lady Avelina into the family, my brother continued to tout my merits as second.

Apparently, our mother—his mother—paid Niall a visit to tell him why he should cease such talk.

That I could never be the Duncraig’s second. ”

Even knowing something big, something disturbing, was coming, Maisie was unsure if she was properly prepared.

“Why,” she asked hesitantly, “can you never be the Duncraig’s second?”

Kieran’s jaw clenched. Yet she did not press him. Instead, Maisie waited.

“Because,” he said finally, “apparently my parents knew more of my origins than they’d told me. It seems . . . I am a MacKinlay.”

That, she was not prepared for.

Maisie’s mouth opened. She stared at him, waiting for any indication he might be jesting. But of course, he was not.

“A . . . MacKinlay? Your brother told you this?”

If possible, Kieran’s expression darkened even more. “Nay, he dinnae. I discovered it only by inadvertently overhearing a conversation between Niall and his wife.”

“He dinnae tell you?”

“Nay.”

“And yet, you are close with your brother.”

“Was close. Aye. Niall is . . . was . . . my world. Him. My parents. My clan.” Kieran shrugged but was not successful in making Maisie believe he did not care. It was the opposite, in fact.

He cared very, very much.

“Perhaps he planned to?” she offered.

“Or perhaps not. I left without speaking to him, or to anyone.”

“You . . . left?”

“I did.”

“Where did you go?”

He gestured to her inn up the hill. “To the Red Stag.”

Oh dear. “This occurred just before you came here?”

“Aye.”

She wanted to hug him. To comfort him, somehow.

And yet, she sensed he’d not told her for that reason.

Kieran did not seem like a man to need comforting, but did not everyone?

Still, she held back, as embracing him felt both too forward for their relationship and not advisable, given she had vowed never to be with a man again.

He began to walk.

“Why do you tell me this?” she asked.

He sighed. “I will inquire about the cattle while I am there, but would not continue to lie to you about my true purpose for being here.”

“You plan to learn more of your identity?”

“I do. Shall we turn around here?”

“Are you cold?” she teased him. “Without a cloak?”

Kieran’s smile was as genuine as they came. “Not so cold that I cannae continue to walk if my lady wills it. But I know you’ve many duties back at the inn.”

“Let us walk some more,” Maisie said. “I’ve duties, aye, but none so pressing that I cannae allow myself a brief respite.”

“You’ve few of them, I assume?”

“Very few. My husband was not a good man, or a kind man, but he was capable. Had run the Red Stag from a young age, alongside his own father. I am fortunate to have learned enough that when he died, I knew most tasks. I care least for the accounting but would not spend money to hire someone when the hall needs new furnishings desperately.”

“Would you tell me of him? Of your marriage?”

Usually, she would decline to do so. Maisie did not speak of him. Not to the girls who worked for her, and they’d asked often, especially the newer ones who did not know him. Not to her parents, who she’d seen but once since the wedding.

Not even to herself, in her own mind. It was easier to forget.

And yet, Kieran had told her something of himself no others knew. So she made an exception.

“I was furious when my father betrothed me to him. None could look at Baldwin and believe him to be suitable for me. Twice my age, he took better care of the inn than himself. Worse, he was not a nice man. Cared for coin, and naught else.”

“Had he married before you?”

“Aye. He was widowed twice, and Baldwin was desperate for a son. I should amend, he cared for coin, but also his legacy. Shall we turn here?”

Kieran did not answer but he did make the turn with her. His look was a questioning one, and so she told him the truth.

“I will say simply,” she said, “his will and ability to beget a son dinnae align well.” She added, “Thankfully.”

Kieran stopped. Maisie followed.

“I am sorry for it,” he said, his expression sincere.

“I am not,” Maisie said bluntly.

Kieran smiled. “You would be, if you knew a man properly.”

His meaning was clear.

No. No. No. Do not gaze at me that way.

Her mind and body did not seem to be of the same accord. Maisie wanted to end the conversation. To continue walking. To do anything but what her traitor feet did next.

They stepped toward him. A wee step. But a step, nonetheless.

And he noticed.