Page 22 of Tender is the Heart (The MacCallens and Randalls #2)

Chapter Twenty-Two

T hey were at war.

And not with the MacKinnons, Duffies, or McLeans.

’Twas Andrew MacKenzie who had made the declaration of war. The man had been itching for war for years now, and soon, he would have it. The man was waiting, along with three hundred or so of his finest warriors, at their western border.

And, from what Aiden’s border guard, Charles, was telling him, the man was mad enough to bite nails. For the life of him, Aiden hadn’t any earthly idea as to why the man was here or why he was so bloody furious.

George, Emery, and Thomas were just as baffled as he. They stood in his study, which was now acting as their war room. Charles was waiting patiently for his laird’s orders.

“The MacKinnon must be behind this,” George said as he worked his jaw back and forth angrily.

“Ye always blame the MacKinnons,” Emery pointed out, clearly frustrated.

“Because it is always the MacKinnons,” George retorted. “Ye cannae trust a one of them.”

Thomas, wishing to be the voice of reason, interjected with a question. “Aiden, what would ye like us to do? Should we send word to the MacCallen?”

Aiden didn’t need much time to think. “Aye, send word to Connor at once,” he instructed. “Charles, ye take ten men with ye. Tell Connor what has happened.” Charles gave a curt nod before quitting the room in a hurry.

“Emery, ye come with me,” Aiden said gruffly.

George was perplexed as he watched Aiden head for the door. “Where are ye goin’? And what am I to do?”

“I want ye to fetch Brodie. The two of ye will be in charge of defending the keep,” Aiden said as he pulled the door open.

“And what will ye be doin’?” George asked as he followed him and Emery out of the war room.

“Emery and I will be heading for our border. We are goin’ to find out why the Mackenzie has declared war.”

Charles hadn’t exaggerated in the least.

Andrew Mackenzie was mad enough to bite nails.

Aiden had only met the man once, years ago, long before his father had passed. The Mackenzie was a tall, hulking, impressive sight when he was in a fair mood.

Today, however, he was a massive, menacing sight, what with his war braids, a furious expression, and his thick fur cloak that made him look as large as a bear. His countenance, the manner in which he sat atop his steed, said more than words could: He was infuriated.

Aiden and Emery paused a hundred yards a way just long enough to do a quick headcount of the men the MacKenzie had brought with him.

“I hope ye can delay him long enough for Connor’s reinforcements to arrive,” Emery whispered.

“And my hope is to stop the war now, before it begins.”

Emery looked rather disappointed in his brother-by-law’s declaration.

“With me,” Aiden said as he tapped the flanks of his horse. “And, for the love of Christ, keep yer mouth shut.”

Andrew MacKinnon and one of his warriors left their group to meet Aiden and Emery halfway.

They stood now, in the middle of a small, snow-covered glen. Tall blades of brown grass left over from the year before stood fast against the cold, biting breeze.

Horses chortled, jangling bridles and bits, and clawed at the ground. They appeared to be as eager for this war as Andrew himself.

“Why are ye here?” Aiden asked in a firm tone.

A flicker of confusion flashed in Andrew MacKenzie’s eyes. “Did yer man nae tell ye?”

“Aye,” Aiden replied. “He says ye have declared war against us. I would like to know why.”

Andrew’s brow knotted with a blend of confusion. Frustrated, he asked, “Did yer men nae give ye the entire message?”

“All he said was that ye had declared war. Now I am here to find out why.”

The Mackenzie grunted derisively. “Ye should ask that wife of yers why.”

Aiden should have been surprised, but he wasn’t.

Aye, he was furious. But somehow, he wasn’t at all surprised. He didn’t bother to ask the Mackenzie for more information. “Margaret.”

“Aye, yer wife, Margaret,” the MacKenzie replied. “The one with the bitter tongue.”

He wasn’t about to let the MacKenzie insult his wife, for any reason. “I will warn ye only once, MacKenzie. Dinnae insult my wife again.”

Aiden didn’t bother waiting for the MacKenzie’s response. “I dinnae ken what my wife has done, but I plan to get to the bottom of it,” he told him. “And I plan to do that immediately.”

The MacKenzie’s brow knotted once again. Aye, he was perplexed by how the situation was changing.

“I invite ye to my keep,” Aiden said.

“I would rather be gutted and had my entrails fed to rabid wolves,” he replied. He shifted his weight in his saddle to appear even taller and more menacing.

Aiden realized diplomacy wasn’t going to work with this man, so he decided to take a different approach. “Verra well, Mackenzie. I suppose wars have been started for far less serious reasons.”

Insulted, he leaned forward in his saddle. “Ye dinnae think yer wife insultin’ me is serious?”

Aiden shrugged his shoulders as if to say he didn’t really care. “If the insults from a slip of a woman have injured yer pride, then I suppose ’tis serious,” he said as he tapped the flanks of his mount. “I am goin’ to go speak to my wife now, to find out exactly what she said.” He turned his horse around, with Emery following suit.

“If ye would like to meet my wife, come along, Mackenzie. Ye should meet the reason behind yer declaration of war.”

Margaret couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone quite as angry as her husband was. He looked as though he wanted to strangle her with his bare hands. She knew why, of course.

She stood at the gates of their keep, looking up at her husband, who was still on his horse. Behind him was an even angrier-looking man, whom she could only assume to be Andrew Mackenzie.

Her sweet, warm smile did nothing to melt the boiling anger she saw in her husband’s eyes. Fear tickled at her stomach before spreading outward to the tips of her fingers and toes.

“I kept my word, Aiden.” She started speaking before he could even begin his interrogation. “I did nae write to the Mackenzie.”

“But ye wrote to my wife,” the man called out from his own mount.

“Is this true, Margaret?”

“Are ye callin’ me a liar?” The Mackenzie asked, angry with such an insult.

“Nay,” Aiden replied, not taking his eyes away from his wife. “I am merely on a fact-findin’ mission, MacKenzie.”

Satisfied with his reply, Andrew nodded at Aiden before turning an angry glare towards Margaret.

“Aye, Aiden, I wrote to his wife. But only to offer her my condolences.”

Aiden cocked his head to one side. “Yer condolences?”

“Aye,” she said, as she tried to affect an air of innocence.

“Ye see?” Andrew said, inching his horse closer to Aiden’s. “She admits it.”

A dull ache began to form in Aiden’s temple. He was getting nowhere with either his wife or the MacKenzie. “And why, pray tell, were ye offerin’ her yer condolences?”

Margaret shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She didn’t necessarily want to lie to her husband, but neither did she wish to tell him the truth. Hedging her way around the facts seemed appropriate, if only to keep her head firmly attached to her neck. “I wrote to tell her that I was sorry she could nae make it to our clan gatherin’.”

Aiden was waiting patiently for her to elaborate. Margaret could see the vein in his forehead start to pulsate with the beating of his heart.

“Bah!” Andrew exclaimed. “Ye said a hell of a lot more than that!”

Aiden finally turned away from her, only to glower at the Mackenzie. “Ye raise yer voice to my wife again, and I shall have yer head on a pike. I will nae warn ye again.”

There are times in a woman’s life when she must be strong. When she must look fear or death in the eye with fortitude and courage. To stand tall and proud and unrelentingly brave.

This, however, was not one of those times.

Standing her ground was not going to get Margaret anywhere. Her husband was far too upset. And the Mackenzie had declared war because of the things she had written in her letter to the poor man’s wife. Had she known the unkind man would have been upset enough to declare war, she would never have sent the letter.

Begging for mercy, she decided, was her only option.

“I am so sorry, Aiden!” she exclaimed. “But he hurt my feelins first.”

“I did no such thing,” the Mackenzie exclaimed, clearly insulted by her accusation.

“Ye did!” she replied tearfully. “When ye wrote to me and said ye wished we would all die from a Black Death!”

No time was given for either man to reason with her. She was going to have to explain herself.

“I wanted only to be a good wife to my husband,” she said, wringing her hands together. “I was told that yer wife was a fine cook and made the best berry jam in all of Scotia!”

“My wife?” The Mackenzie was more than just a little surprised. “My wife burns water, lass.”

’Twas now Margaret’s turn to be surprised. “But I was told she made the best berry jam.”

He shook his head as the tiniest hint of a smile began to appear. “Nay, lass. She could nae cook an egg to save herself from the devil.”

“Mayhap I am confusin’ her with one of the other ladies I wrote to,” Margaret said with a pitiful frown. “Mayhap she is the one who makes fine pottery?”

Andrew shook his head again. “Nay, lass, she cannae make pottery.”

“Sings? Is she the one who sings?”

His smile grew wider. “Like a badger with the ague.”

Aiden was intrigued with how the MacKenzie was softening towards Margaret. The man was clearly no longer angry. Nay, it appeared to him as though he was becoming rather fascinated with Margaret.

“And before ye ask, lass, nae, my wife cannae write beautiful poetry or sew or anythin’ of the like. She is as homely as the day is long. But God love her, she is mine.”

Through flowing tears, she tried her best to explain why she had written to the man’s wife to begin with. “I wanted to make friends, Laird Mackenzie. I wanted to show my husband that I could be a good wife to him. I wanted to bring just a bit of peace to our poor clan!”

The MacKenzie shifted his weight in his saddle, his smile now gone, his unease with the crying woman intensifying.

“And then ye had to wish a plague upon us! ’Twas only an invitation to come here, to let me make a friend, and to prove myself worthy of my husband. But nae! Ye were too hard-headed and stubborn.”

Clearly, the MacKenzie didn’t like being called hard-headed and stubborn. His anger quickly returned. But before he could put to voice anything he might be thinking, Margaret said, “I realize now that ye must nae be hardheaded or stubborn.”

He was, once again, confused. As was Aiden.

“Aye, ye must be a good and patient man,” she said, choking on a sob. “And ye must love yer wife verra much. She cannae cook, sew, sing, or anything of the like. But ye love her nonetheless. I am sorry, laird. I was wrong about ye.”

By the time she finished speaking, she was in full wail. Her shoulders racked, her tears ran down her neck, and her face was blotchy. She looked a most pitiful sight.

Elayne and Annabella came to her rescue, each of them wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Wheest, Margaret,” Elayne said soothingly. Annabella had tears of her own, sincerely sorry for Margaret’s upset.

Ignoring the comfort they were trying to offer her, she said, “I am truly sorry, Laird Mackenzie. I have a temper at times. One that sees me in more trouble than I care to admit to.”

Laird Mackenzie didn’t quite know what to say, so he chose to remain silent. Aiden was studying his wife closely, his curiosity rapidly increasing.

Shrugging her sisters-by-law away, Margaret stepped forward. With her head held high she said, “I shall return momentarily.”

“And where are ye goin’?” Aiden asked with a furrowed brow.

“To get a rope,” she politely informed him.

“For what?” ’Twas the Mackenzie asking that question.

“I have shamed my husband,” she replied pitifully. “And I have angered ye to the point of war. I shall get a rope so that ye can hang me.”

“Hang ye?” The Mackenzie shouted with much disbelief.

“Aye,” she said as she turned away. “I would rather be hanged than to see my clan at war with yers.”

Aiden shook his head with annoyance. “I am nae going to hang ye, Margaret.”

She turned her attention away from the MacKenzie and back to her husband. “Drawn and quartered?”

His jaw was set. “Nay.”

“Flayed alive and hung on the wall?”

He shook his head. “Nay.”

“Gutted and my entrails fed to the wolves?”

“Of course nae!” His frustration with her continued to grow.

Walking towards her husband, she placed a hand on his calf. “Please, Aiden. I beg of ye. Can ye make it a quick death? An arrow to my heart, per chance?”

Aiden slid down from his mount, and after tossing the reins over its back, he faced his wife. “Margaret, no one is goin’ to kill ye. Ye will nae be hanged or gutted or anythin’ else.”

Uncertainty filled her eyes. “I am so verra sorry, Aiden. I truly am.”

He pulled her in, embracing her warmly. “I ken, lass, I ken.”

A long moment passed before he called out to Elayne and Annabella. “Please, take my wife into the keep.”

The women hurried forward, placed gentle hands on her arms, and led her away. They offered Margaret soothing words of encouragement in an attempt to quiet her tears and distress.

After he saw that Margaret was in good hands, he turned his attention back to the MacKenzie. “Well?”

Aiden had hoped that, by meeting Margaret, the MacKenzie would see the truth of the matter. And it worked.

“There will be no war this day,” the man told Aiden. “Any woman who would shame herself in front of her entire clan, as well as me, deserves a wee bit of mercy.”

Affronted, Aiden approached the man. “My wife dinnae shame herself,” he informed him with a most firm tone. “That is twice this day ye have insulted her.”

Andrew MacKenzie was not a fool. He was on Randall lands. Any man worth his salt would defend his wife’s honor. Hell, he would have done the same. He would undeniably, however, be far less patient than Aiden Randall. “My most humble apologies, Randall.”

Aiden accepted the man’s apology with a simple nod of his head. “Are we at war, then?” he asked.

The MacKenzie appeared to think about it for a moment. “Nae,” he finally answered. “At least, nae at this moment.”

Aiden took the reins of his mount to head back into the keep. But a question he had gave him pause. “MacKenzie,” he called out. “Might I ask ye a question?”

Andrew turned his horse back. “Aye, but I cannae promise I will answer it.”

Elayne and Annabella had helped Margaret to her room. They were positively despondent on her behalf and angry that the Mackenzie had made their sweet Margaret cry to the point of hysteria.

They helped her out of her gown and into a night rail. Annabella placed the water pitcher by the fire to warm it so that Margaret could wash her face. All the while, they did their best to comfort her.

“All will be well,” Annabella told her. “Aiden is a good man. He would never hurt ye.”

Elayne agreed wholeheartedly. “And really, Margaret! Did ye truly think Aiden would hang ye?”

Margaret hiccuped and replied, “I dinnae ken what I was thinkin’,” she told them honestly.

They stayed with her for a long while, setting her on a stool by the fire. With great care, Elayne combed out Margaret’s braids while Annabella kept herself busy with fluffing pillows and tidying up.

“Do ye think Aiden will ever forgive me?” Margaret had blurted the question without thinking.

Elayne smiled as she giggled. “He would forgive ye anythin, lass.”

Oh, how she hoped that was true. She was genuinely regretful for starting a war. And aye, she regretted sendin’ the letter to Kathryn MacKenzie.

But deep down, she hadn’t regretted a word of what she had said in that letter. Andrew MacKenzie’s declaration of war, over what she considered to be a very small insult, was proof enough that the man was stubborn.

Yet, when he spoke about his wife, even though she lacked the skills most people thought a lady wife should possess, he spoke with a tenderness that genuinely surprised her.

The stillness of the room was broken when Aiden entered without bothering to knock. He glanced at each of the women. None of them could tell what he was thinking. His face was devoid of any emotion.

“Thank ye for yer kind care of my wife,” he told his sisters-by-law. “Ye may leave us now.”

“Nay,” Elayne said. “We will nae leave her to ye to yell at.”

Aiden rolled his eyes as he shook his head. “I am nae goin’ to yell at her.”

Margaret chose then to speak. “He promised me he would nae yell at me,” she informed them. “He is a man of his word.”

It took a few moments to convince the women that she would be fine before they would leave her alone. Once the door was shut behind them, Aiden took a few long strides and stood before his wife.

“Ye will be glad to ken there will be no war betwixt us and the MacKenzies.”

She allowed her shoulders to relax with relief. “Oh, thank God!”

“Nae, thank ye,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Me?” she replied dubiously.

“Aye,” he said, nodding his head. “That little display of yers saved many lives. It saved us from war.”

“Display?” She asked with a creased brow.

“Ye ken as well as I do that men cannae stand a woman’s tears.”

“I ken no such thing,” she replied indignantly. It stung, it truly did. He thought she had been faking her tears and distress.

Aiden smiled at her. “Oh, I think ye do, lass.”

She couldn’t look at him right now. She had already fallen apart once this day and wasn’t about to do it again. “Be that as it may, I did nae mean to cause a war or even a threat of a war.”

“Did ye really tell the MacKenzie’s wife that ye thought he could nae read nor write and that was why he was such a bitter man?”

She shrugged her shoulders and stepped away to warm herself by the fire. “I dinnae remember.”

Aiden didn’t believe her for a moment. “Did ye also, mayhap, tell her that one of the reasons he might be so angry was that he was lackin’ in a certain area?”

“Certain area?” She continued to pretend innocence. Oh, she knew exactly what she had said in her letter to Kathryn MacKenzie.

“Aye,” Aiden said with a nod. “Pertainin’ to his manhood?”

Oh, she did truly regret writing that, but said decided silence was safer than speaking.

He was on her in an instant, grabbing her by her shoulders and turning her to face him. “Margaret, if ye ever do anythin’ as foolish as that again…” He was searching for the appropriate words.

“I promise ye, I will never write to a wife?—”

He stopped her dead in her tracks. “Ye will never write nor speak nor do anythin’ even remotely similar. Do ye understand?”

She was crying again. Oh, she did not like it at all when he was upset with her. “I am so sorry, Aiden. I did nae think he would be angry enough to declare war.”

He let out a quick breath of frustration before the tension began to fade. “Do I have yer word?”

“Aye, ye do,” she whispered as she swiped at an errant tear.

Pleased with her response, he smiled. “Good,” he said as he let his grip on her shoulders go.

“I truly am sorry, Aiden,” she said. And she meant it.

“I ken, lass,” he said before stepping away towards the door. “I have a message for ye from the MacKenzie,” he added.

“What is that?”

“He and his wife will be glad to attend yer clan gatherin’ in the spring.”