Page 29

29: HOW DO I BE A LADY?

THE MEN DEPARTED on their hunt shortly after dawn.

Clad in his fur cloak, Iver left Bonnie with a kiss.

Still abed, she listened to the baying of the hounds in the courtyard below.

She’d wanted to go down and see her husband off, but Iver had insisted she didn’t get up.

“It’s freezing out there, lass,” he’d said with a boyish smile, his eyes still sleepy.

“Stay here, where it’s warm.”

So, she remained under the covers, listening to the excited yipping below.

Presently, the rumble of male voices filtered up, joined by the impatient snort of horses.

And then, with a clatter of shod hooves on icy cobbles, they were off.

A short while later, silence settled over Kilchurn once more.

Bonnie lay there still, her gaze traveling to where the hearth glowed on the far side of the bedchamber.

Iver had put on a fresh log before leaving, ensuring that the room was cozy for her.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Aye, yestereve, Iver had revealed he had a stubborn streak, yet he was also considerate.

But as Bonnie snuggled under the blankets, worries about the future crept in, stealing her peace.

Whatever Iver said, it was clear that Lennox disapproved of her.

The brothers’ relationship might have been strained, but she had worsened things.

And soon she’d have to deal with the rest of his family—with his mother.

Bonnie’s smile faded.

God’s blood, she wasn’t ready.

Iver did his best to reassure her, yet his words weren’t enough.

She needed a woman’s advice on the best way to handle herself when she arrived at Dun Ugadale.

Davina.

Aye, Campbell’s daughter had problems of her own—but surely, she’d talk to Bonnie?

In truth, Davina intimidated her a little.

Nonetheless, she must have felt lonely here, without any women of her own age to spend time with.

Decision made, Bonnie threw aside the heavy blankets and sat up.

She wouldn’t lie abed—not when she had a visit to make.

To Bonnie’s chagrin, Davina Campbell didn’t look pleased to have a visitor.

Turning from her loom, her grey-blue gaze narrowed as a maid ushered Bonnie inside the solar.

Bonnie flashed Davina a warm smile.

“It’s a beautiful morning outdoors.” The woman’s frown deepened, and Bonnie’s smile faltered.

She’d felt bold earlier when she’d made her decision to intrude upon Davina’s privacy.

But now that they were face to face, nervousness fluttered up.

“And I was wondering if ye would join me for a walk.”

Davina’s jaw tensed.

“I’m occupied at present,” she replied, motioning to the loom.

It sat before the window, where silvery light filtered in.

Beyond, Bonnie caught a glimpse of cornflower-blue sky.

Bonnie moved forward, her gaze resting upon the jumble of greens and blues upon the tapestry.

Her own brow furrowed then.

Over the years, she’d seen several detailed tapestries that hung from the walls within the chambers of Stirling Castle.

They usually depicted battles, festivals, or pastoral scenes.

But this one didn’t seem to depict anything.

Seeing her reaction, Davina tensed.

“I’ve never been an able weaver,” she muttered.

“But it passes the time.”

Their gazes met, and Bonnie smiled once more.

And this time, her nerves settled.

She could tell Davina wasn’t enjoying her work.

“Well, let us pass the time by taking a walk upon the shore of the loch. Will ye not come with me?”

“It’s been a long while since I did this.”

Bonnie cast a sidelong glance at her companion.

“Why is that, My Lady?”

Davina heaved a deep sigh.

“It doesn’t matter.” She paused then, arching an eyebrow as she met Bonnie’s eye.

“We’re of equal ranks … ye shouldn’t address me as ‘My Lady’.”

Bonnie’s cheeks warmed.

Of course, Davina was right.

Nonetheless, it was difficult to change the habit of a lifetime.

She was used to keeping her gaze averted around her betters—and never would she have dreamed of addressing any of them by their first name.

Even so, she was pleased Campbell’s daughter had agreed to venture outdoors with her.

Like Bonnie, Davina was bundled up against the cold.

The fresh air had brought some color to her pale cheeks, although there remained a fragility about her.

Despite the sun, it was still cold.

The women’s breaths steamed in front of them.

The ground was slippery too, as the morning’s frost started to melt, and Bonnie and Davina picked their way gingerly along the shore.

They walked in silence for a while.

Bonnie had been tempted to make light conversation about the beauty of their surroundings or to compliment Davina on the fine weave of her cloak—yet she sensed the young woman wouldn’t welcome such talk.

Instead, she decided to be candid with her.

“I was wondering,” she began hesitantly, “if I could ask yer advice.”

Davina glanced her way and inclined her head.

“On what?”

“Ye will have heard of who I am … and how Iver and I met?”

The ghost of a smile graced Davina’s lips and then disappeared.

“Aye,” she replied, glancing away.

“The servants’ gossip has reached me.”

Bonnie’s cheeks warmed further.

“I know how they chatter only too well,” she murmured.

“For I was once one of them. We watched the lives of those above us as if it were mummery put on for our amusement.”

Davina shot her another look, her dark, finely arched brows knotting together.

“Ye did?”

Bonnie nodded.

“It made our lives a little more interesting.”

Her companion’s sharp gaze roved over her face.

“What did ye wish to ask of me?”

Bonnie drew in a deep, steadying breath.

“How do I be a lady?” Davina’s gaze widened, yet Bonnie rushed on.

“I want to bridge the gulf between Iver’s world and mine … I want to make him proud of me.”

“And ye think acting the part will make that so?” The edge to Davina’s voice nearly made Bonnie wince.

“I don’t want to ‘act the part’,” she admonished her gently.

“I want to embody whatever it is a high-born woman has that I don’t.”

Davina’s gaze widened.

After a beat, she glanced away, staring out across the glittering surface of the loch.

“That is yer mistake right there,” she said softly.

“In thinking that there is any difference between those of high and low birth. If ye cut me, I still bleed as ye do. In childbirth, I have no lesser risk of dying. And when it comes to happiness, I have no greater right to it than ye do.” She paused before glancing Bonnie’s way again.

“True nobility comes from yer heart, Bonnie. If ye want others to treat ye with respect, ye must walk with yer head held high … ye must believe ye are worthy of admiration.”

Bonnie was so taken aback by Davina’s response that she stumbled and nearly pitched forward onto the icy shore.

Recovering, she shot her companion an incredulous look.

“Is it really that simple?”

Davina’s mouth curved.

However, the smile didn’t reach her grey-blue eyes.

“Aye, it’s simple,” she replied.

“But I never said it was easy.”

Breathing hard, Iver watched his brother drive his spear into the neck of the large boar.

The animal’s black bristled bulk jerked, and then it slumped upon the ground, unmoving.

Colin Campbell whistled to his dogs then, and they removed themselves from where they’d been clinging to various parts of the boar’s body.

It had been a long and arduous hunt, and they’d chased their quarry far through copses of skeleton trees, where the undergrowth of brambles was silvered with frost.

The boar was a mature one with huge yellowed tusks, and in the end, it had turned on its hunters and charged, its squeals of outrage echoing through the frozen woods.

But now the stout-hearted beast was dead.

Around them, Campbell’s men looked on.

Once the boar had been bailed up, they’d all dismounted and grabbed their spears.

Meanwhile, their horses stamped impatiently and tossed their heads, their bits jangling, behind them.

Lennox’s bruised face was flushed as he straightened up.

He’d taken a risk, getting in as close as he had, for even injured and bailed up by the hounds, the boar was dangerous.

Many a hunter had died after being gored by one of those wickedly sharp tusks.

Yet Lennox enjoyed the thrill of such a risk.

“Well done, Len!” Campbell huffed.

“A fine kill indeed.”

Lennox’s expression softened as he glanced back down at the dead boar.

“He was a worthy adversary.”

“It was a clean kill,” Iver said then.

He and Lennox had barely spoken all morning—tension bristling between them—yet it seemed churlish not to congratulate his brother.

Lennox’s gaze swung his way, and his smile faded.

He then favored his brother with a curt nod.

“There will be much boar stew served over the coming moon, I’ll wager,” one of Campbell’s men quipped.

“Aye.” Another warrior grinned.

“And some blood sausage once Lent is over.”

Congratulating each other on the successful hunt, the two men who’d spoken made their way through the milling pack of panting dogs, to where Lennox still stood next to the boar.

Together, they helped him drag it over to the stocky garron they’d brought with them.

They then heaved the beast over its back.

Returning to where his courser stood next to Lennox’s, Iver strapped the long spear he’d been carrying onto its back before mounting.

He then glanced up at the sky.

It had been a fine morning for a hunt.

They left Kilchurn in the early dawn, yet judging from the sun—a bright silver orb in a pale-blue sky—it was past noon now.

They’d ridden far in pursuit of the boar, and now it was time to begin the ride back to Loch Awe.

The warriors were in high spirits during the journey home.

Campbell rode at the front of the party, flanked on either side by Lennox and Iver.

And although the two brothers did not speak to each other, the Lord of Glenorchy didn’t appear to mind.

It seemed the man had plenty to say.

Hunting was his favorite pastime, and so he talked at length about the morning they’d just passed, and the tactics they’d employed.

“Ye wield a spear well, Len,” Campbell said, grinning at him.

“Ye’d be a formidable foe on the battlefield.”

Lennox grunted at the compliment, although his mouth curved.

“He is,” Iver replied.

“We have fought shoulder-to-shoulder many a time. Ye should see him wield a claidheamh-mòr. The last time we fought against the Sutherlands, those remaining at the end of the skirmish ran from him.”

Iver’s words weren’t empty flattery.

Indeed, although all four of the Mackay brothers were highly skilled in combat, Lennox had a slight edge over them all.

His brother’s expression sobered.

“Aye, well that seems like years ago now.” He met Campbell’s eye then, his mouth twisting.

“These days, my brother prefers to use my aggression to collect rent from his reluctant tenants.”

Campbell snorted.

“What a waste of talent.”

Iver clenched his jaw, heat flaring in his stomach.

He couldn’t believe Lennox had complained about his lot in front of Campbell.

It appeared that, since he’d already voiced his bitterness about being Iver’s bailiff the evening before, he wouldn’t suppress it going forward.

Campbell wore a smirk now, and Iver’s temper smoldered.

Some things didn’t need to be shared.

As soon as they departed Kilchurn, he and Lennox were going to have words—again.

Iver wouldn’t tolerate his brother’s malcontent, or his disloyalty.

“Well, lads,” Campbell said after a heavy pause.

“Today’s hunt was so successful, let’s have another tomorrow … what say ye?”

Hearing their laird, the warriors following close behind gave shouts of encouragement.

However, Iver frowned.

Aye, he’d promised Campbell he’d stay at Kilchurn a few days—but his mood was soured now, and his patience had reached its limits.

He didn’t want to spend days in the company of this coarse-mannered man, neglecting his lovely wife in the meantime.

He wanted to take her home.

“Thank ye, Colin,” he replied, “but I must decline. Several overdue tasks await me at Dun Ugadale … and I have an important missive to pen to my clan-chief.” He met Campbell’s gaze then, favoring him with a thin smile.

“We shall depart tomorrow morning.”