Page 20 of Tender is the Heart (The MacCallens and Randalls #2)

Chapter Twenty

T he first response to Margaret’s invitations to attend a clan gathering arrived mid-February. It came from Chief William MacKenzie, on behalf of his wife, Lady Kathryn. It was a resounding no thank you. His letter left no room for doubt as to what he thought of the Randall clan and Margaret’s invitation. He signed it, “May ye all be wiped out by the Black Death.”

As soon as she finished reading the letter, she went in search of her husband.

’Twas a bright, sunny afternoon. Aiden was out of doors with George, Emery, and Thomas. They were working diligently to repair a hole in the roof of the granary. Though, why ’twas so important, Margaret couldn’t fathom. The granary was as empty as the devil’s soul.

“Aiden!” she called out. He was on the roof of the granary, a hammer in one hand and betwixt his lips, a few iron nails. He had been so focused on his task that he was startled by the sound of his wife’s voice. The nails fell out of his mouth and began to slide down the roof.

Thankfully, Thomas was there to catch them.

“Aiden!” Margaret repeated as she rushed towards the tall building, waiving the MacKenzie’s letter in her hand.

“Margaret!” he called back to her. “I am busy.”

“I ken that,” she shouted up to him. “But this is important!”

Thomas was finding great amusement in the interaction between his brother and Margaret. Aiden’s fierce glower stopped him from putting to voice anything he might be thinking.

“Cannae it wait?” Aiden asked, letting out a heavy sigh as if he already knew the answer.

“Nay!” she called back to him.

He grunted as he hung his head in defeat. “I will be right down,” he said, sounding both perturbed and deflated.

“I think he likes his wife,” George said as he was climbing off the ladder and onto the roof. He had a bundle of wood shingles on his shoulder. “What do ye say, Thomas?”

“Thomas is nae sayin’ a word,” Thomas said. “He looks as though he wants to throw us off the roof. I wish nae to give him a reason.”

George laughed at Aiden’s expense.

“Shut up, George,” Aiden told him through clenched teeth.

George continued to laugh, not at all concerned his brother would actually throw him off the roof. He watched as Aiden threw a leg over the ladder and climbed down.

Margaret was waiting for him. “The MacKenzie wrote back!” she exclaimed as she waved the parchment in the air.

“What did she have to say?”

“Nae she,” Margaret corrected him. “Her husband. The MacKenzie.”

Growing impatient, Aiden asked, “Well? What did the man have to say?”

His wife was upset. More angry than hurt, to which he found he was eternally grateful. An angry wife, he could manage, but one whose tender feelings were hurt?

“He said, and I quote...” She looked down at the parchment, though Aiden was quite certain she had the man’s letter memorized. Clearing her throat, she said, “'I hope ye all die from the Black Death.’”

Stunned, she glanced up at her husband. “Can ye believe that?”

He should have known it was a rhetorical question because she answered it herself. “Well, I can believe it,” she bit out. “Curse him,” she added. “I am going to write the man back and tell him that I would nae give him the sweat off my backside if he was dyin’ of thirst!”

George, Thomas, and Emery had heard her and were now laughing hysterically.

“Margaret, do nae write the man back,” he told her. “It will only add to the man’s ire.”

“ His ire?” She was incredulous. “What about my ire? To wish a plague upon us? Bah!”

Aiden took in a quick breath. “Margaret, I mean it. Do nae write to him. He is nae worth the ink or the parchment.”

Long moments passed as his wife stewed on the contents of the MacKenzie’s letter.

“Margaret. Promise me ye will nae write to him.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “Verra well. I will nae write to him. He is a fool. He probably cannae even read. I wager someone had to read my invitation to him!” She was waving the letter in the air again. “I would also wager he had to have someone write this.”

Aiden suspected that his wife simply needed a few moments to calm herself down. While he could appreciate her frustration at the MacKenzie’s letter, he had more important things to deal with. “Lass, I need to finish repairing the roof on the granary,” he told her as he turned to climb back up. Half way between the roof and the ground, he stopped and called down to his wife. “Promise me, Margaret. Ye will nae write to him.”

She blew out a quick breath. “I told ye I would nae write to him!”

Why, then, didn’t he believe her?

Margaret’s spirits were lifted significantly when she received a gracious letter of acceptance from Isobel Hay. Isobel also provided a few dates in April and May that they would be able to attend.

She couldn’t wait to share her good news with her husband. On this morn, he was working on taking down a large tarp that covered the laundry. As always George, Thomas, and Emery were helping him.

“Aiden! Aiden!” she called out to him as she raced across the courtyard.

Once again, she startled him. This time, he fell off the ladder he was walking up. Thankfully, he was only two rungs up. Still, ’twas embarrassing, especially when his brothers all began to laugh at him.

“Bloody hell, woman!” he shouted.

She stopped dead in her tracks and looked positively forlorn.

Closing his eyes, he counted to ten before opening them and crossing the yard to meet her. “Lass, ye cannae simply come shoutin’ at me like that. I could have broken my neck.”

He was doing his best to keep his tone even and calm. His wife’s tender feelings, however, had already been hurt.

“Ye need nae yell at me,” she murmured as tears welled in her eyes.

Feeling like a heel, he apologized. “Lass, in future, if ye need me, simply send someone to find me.” He offered her a most sincere and warm smile in the hopes that it would lift her spirits.

“I only wanted to share our good news with ye,” she said most solemnly.

“Again, lass, I am sorry. But ye did give me a fright. I could have broken my neck.” He knew he was repeating himself, but he simply couldn’t help it.

Apparently, she was too upset to respond. With a sniffle, she turned to walk away.

He hung his head, ashamed at his own behavior. “Margaret,” he said her name loud enough that he knew she had heard him.

The woman didn’t even bother to turn back. “’Tis nay important,” she called out over her shoulder.

“Ye have done it now,” Thomas called out from the corner of the laundry. “Ye have upset yer wife.”

Ignoring his brother’s taunts, Aiden went after his wife. Grabbing her shoulders, he stopped her and spun her around slowly. “Lass, tell me what it is ye need to tell me.” Aye, he knew he sounded gruff. He had work to do. Important work.

It took a moment and a few sniffles before she finally looked up at him. “Isobel Hay has replied to our invitation.”

“And?” he asked her impatiently.

“They will be happy to attend.”

She didn’t seem at all excited about the news. He realized then that he had ruined her happy moment. Wanting nothing more than to make her feel better, he pulled her into his chest and hugged her tightly. “That is verra good news, lass.”

She shrugged and sniffled and muttered something into his chest. “What did ye say?”

“I said, aye, it is.”

“I am sorry I yelled,” he told her. “It will nae happen again.”

She pulled away and looked him directly into his eyes. “Ye say that,” she said. “But ye will. Ye always yell at me.”

“Nae always, ” he said with a chuckle hoping to lighten the mood and her spirits.

“Almost always,” she told him.

He sighed. “I give ye my word that I shall do my verra best nae to yell again. If ye give me yer word.”

Confused, she asked, “Word on what?”

“That ye will first look to see if I am on a ladder, or a roof, or something equally dangerous, before ye begin calling out to me.”

She drew her lips inward, undoubtedly to stop a smile that threatened. “I shall do my best.”

“That is all a man can ask for.”

A few short days later, a letter from Lady Farquar arrived. Her reply and acceptance was most gracious. Just as Lady Hay had done, Lady Farquar provided dates she and her clan would be available. Thankfully, there were two dates that would work for everyone.

She decided to calmly wait for her husband to return from his duties, instead of chasing after him and possibly scaring him half to death.

While she waited, she made herself busy with her own duties. First, she helped Flossie and Elayne in the kitchens before taking a tray up to Lizabet, who was still recovering from the birth of her twins.

Margaret would use any excuse she could think of in order to see the babes. Knocking gently so as not to wake the babes, she waited to hear Lizabet bid her entry.

’Twas Alyce who opened the bedchamber door. “Aunt Margaret!” she whispered excitedly. “Mamma is sleeping.”

“I was,” Lizabet called out from her bed.

“I am so sorry to disturb ye,” Margaret apologized as she tiptoed into the room.

Meredith was at the foot of her mother’s bed. Margaret chanced a peak at the sleeping babes in the cradle beside the bed. It was a wonder how they both could fit into the tiny cradle.

The babes, Emery the younger and wee Andrew, were thriving. Lizabet, however, looked completely done in.

“Meredith and I are helpin’ Mamma,” Alyce explained proudly. “We are bein’ verra quiet so she can rest.”

Lizabet smiled warmly at her eldest child as she patted the bed next to her. “Come sit, Alyce,” she said. “Margaret, there is a chair by the hearth.”

Margaret grabbed the chair and sat as close to the cradle as she could manage. ’Twas nigh on impossible not to scoop the babes up.

“I fear I am not long for this world,” Lizabet said half heartedly. “These boys of mine think they should eat every hour, on the hour.”

A wave of guilt washed over Margaret. “Lizabet, I am so verra sorry! I should come to help ye more often than I do.”

Lizabet smiled weakly. “Dinnae fash over it,” she said dismissively. “Between Elayne, Annabella, and Flossie, I am well taken care of. Besides, I be the only one who can feed the little beasties.”

The babes were nearly a month old now, and from what Margaret could see, they were growing quite well. “And Emery? Does he help?”

Lizabet laughed. “Emery worries. He worries enough so that I dinnae have to.”

Margaret was puzzled by her declaration. “Emery? He worries?”

Alyce laughed along with her mother. “Das always worry, Aunt Margaret.” She said it with only the kind of confidence a six-year-old child could say, as if everyone knew it to be true.

Lizabet patted her little head as she smiled. Meredith, not wishing to be left out of any affections her mother might share, climbed to the top of the bed and pushed herself between her sister and mother. “I am hungry,” she declared in the saddest tone.

Lizabet rolled her eyes heavenward. “Yer da will be back soon,” she told her. “He will take ye below stairs then.”

“I can do it,” Margaret said happily. “We will all go to the kitchens and see if Flossie might have a sweet cake for us.”

Alyce and Meredith were quite pleased with the idea. Mayhap, however, not as much as their mother. “Thank ye, Margaret. I feel guilty that I am nae of much use to anyone right now.”

Margaret scoffed as she shook her head dismissively. “Ye have two hungry babes to tend to,” she told her. “Alyce and Meredith understand.”

The little girls scurried to the floor and hurried to the door. Before leaving, Margaret said, “I will keep yer daughters busy. Ye try to rest, aye?”

Relieved for the respite, Lizabet nodded. “I thank ye, sister. I truly do.”

“Dinnae fash over it,” she told her. “Ye will repay me the favor someday.” Quietly, she prayed that it would be sooner rather than later.

Letters from Helen continued to arrive. Margaret refused to read any of them. Instead, she tucked them into the same wooden box she'd hidden the first one. It wasn’t easy, in the beginning, to not have some visceral reaction to seeing her mother’s handwriting.

She didn’t need to read the letters to know they contained threats and insults. Knowing her mother as she did, there would not be any attempts to apologize or ask for forgiveness.

Nay, those kinds of emotions weren’t in Helen Randall’s makeup. She was too evil a woman. Forgiveness? Helen didn’t believe she required any. She was, after all, never in the wrong. ’Twas the world who had wronged her, and the world must pay.

Still, she worried that her mother would find a way to make good on her previous threats to out Margaret’s secret. Somehow, Helen had found a way to get letters to her, and Lord only knew who else she was writing to.