When a Warrior Woos a Lass Read online

  “That is nae all,” Marsaili said.

  Dear God! The words roared in Lena’s ears, but she simply nodded. “Continue,” she said, her voice sounding calm when she was anything but.

  “His intended goal was to make the Steward’s position stronger. I offered to come here because I believed, perchance I still do, that yer husband will be going to the Steward to join forces with him.”

  Lena had to clench her jaw so as not to rage at Marsaili. She curled her hands into fists, fear for her brothers pounding at her. And doubt came about Alex, which angered her even more. Yet, it was there, the smallest speck of it, but nevertheless, a spot on her heart. “What did ye hope to gain if Alex were going to pledge himself to the Steward?”

  “My son returned,” she said emphatically. “I believed if I accompanied yer husband to the Steward’s home and told Alex all I kenned about what castle the king plans to take next, and then together we give the information to the Steward, then my da will return my son to me.”

  Despair and anger ravaged Lena’s heart. She wanted to weep and yell at the same time. She had to squeeze her eyes shut and take three deep breaths to shove back at the tide of fury threatening to sweep over her and cause her to say things she would regret, things that would not help either of them. When she opened her eyes once more, Marsaili’s large, liquid ones burned with pain. “I told ye that ye would hate me.” Her voice was a ragged, broken plea to be forgiven.

  “I dunnae hate ye,” Lena responded with a sigh. “I can even ken why ye did what ye did, but I kinnae allow ye to do something that will hurt our brothers, even to gain yer son.” When Marsaili’s face drained of color, Lena grabbed her hand. “We will find another way to learn where yer son is.”

  “What way? My da is the only one who kens, and he will only tell me if I do this!”

  “I dunnae ken the way,” Lena answered honestly, “but I will tell Alex what ye have told me. He is very astute and clever when it comes to manipulating situations to gain what he wants.” As the words left her mouth, the doubt about Alex that Marsaili had introduced into her mind slammed into her, hard. Is that what he had done with her? Manipulate her to give her entire trust to him so that when he turned against her brothers and their king, she would stand loyal? She squeezed her hands into fists. She refused to believe this could be so, yet knots formed in her stomach when she thought of telling him what Marsaili had just told her. What if she told Alex and then he did agree to take Marsaili with him to see the Steward? Lena twisted her hands together in vexation. She did not think she could accept that, and such a betrayal by him would break her heart. And this time, she did not think she could muster the will to piece it back together.

  “Let’s return to the kitchens,” she said, standing. When Marsaili looked as if she would protest, Lena shook her head. There was nothing more to say. She needed to think about what to do. She had to tell Alex, yet she feared telling him and what might happen. And what of her brothers? What would they say when they learned of Marsaili’s betrayal? Would Iain let Marsaili return to Dunvegan? Iain was a fair and kind man, and she felt he would understand why Marsaili had done what she had, but did that mean Marsaili would have a home there? Certainly, she could not be trusted there until her son was returned to her.

  Lena turned away from her sister, who still sat looking toward the kitchen doors. “Are ye coming with me?” she asked without looking back.

  “I’ll be in momentarily,” Marsaili replied. Lena left her sister outside and entered the kitchen.

  The smells of hearty beef stew and baking bread hit her at once, reminding her that she had left her task of baking the bread undone. But someone had completed it for her. Lena looked around the kitchen at the ten women, and the ones who met her gaze eyed her with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. A few others had scornful expressions on their faces, as if they’d expected her to be pampered and lazy since she was the sister of a laird and now was married to a laird. She knew well that her scene last night and then leaving the task of the bread unfinished today likely had fed the fire of that perception.

  Taking a breath for courage, she glanced around the room again, holding each woman’s gaze who would hold hers. “I ken many of ye are curious about what happened last night with Fardley, and many of ye are vexed with me because ye believe Fardley is being unfairly punished because of me.”

  Beyond the crackling and popping of the kitchen fires, silence was absolute in the small, warm space. She noted with a sense of wryness, yet also a measure of gratitude, that none of the women tried to deny what was obviously occurring. This meant they were straightforward and not simpering, and she appreciated that. She much preferred a person who showed who they were as opposed to one who hid behind false niceties.

  “Ye dunnae need to explain to us,” Lara MacLean spoke up, serving the women around her with a fierce scowl but turning a kind, almost sympathetic smile upon Lena. It made Lena wonder what Alex had told Lara’s husband, Munroe, if anything, about her past. Or mayhap Alex had mentioned it to Donald, and Donald had said something in passing to Munroe. It mattered little who knew about her past, how, or if they knew at all. She was stronger than the memories, and she would no longer let them define her.

  “Aye,” drawled a fair-haired woman with dark-brown eyes. “Ye are wife to the laird,” she said, obvious disdain in her voice. “Ye are above having to tell us anything.”

  And that attitude was exactly why she had to try to explain last night if these women were ever going to accept her. She locked eyes with the blond woman. “What is yer name?”

  “Freya MacLean,” the woman replied with a smirk. “I’m Donald’s daughter. Alex and I are like family.”

  Lena suspected the woman had entertained hopes of becoming Alex’s wife someday, given her overtly hostile tone and how easy Alex was to care for. Lena would have to establish a firm boundary with this one immediately but she had to do so delicately. “Aye, ye are like family as ye are part of his clan, and as laird, he feels accountable for all members of his clan.” When the woman looked as if she was going to interrupt, Lena hastened to continue. “And as yer father is like a father to Alex, I’m sure he sees ye as a sister.” She paused a moment to let that verbal dagger sink into the woman’s mind. “And of course, as Alex’s wife, I will now think of ye as a sister, as well,” Lena finished with a wide smile that she hoped looked sweet and not irritated, as she felt rather annoyed at the moment. Having hopefully dispensed with that problem, she said, “Now, I would still like to explain about last night.”

  The women all gave her eager nods, except Freya, who looked as if she was struggling to decide whether to stomp off or remain in the kitchen. The woman’s curiosity must have overcome her indecision, though, because she stayed. “I must take full blame for last night upon myself,” Lena said, “and I beg each of ye to forgive me.”

  Quite a few astonished looks appeared among the group. “I have had a hard past, one in which my husband before Alex treated me verra poorly.” She swallowed past the large lump in her throat and squared her shoulders, determined to carry on.

  “What happened, my lady?” Lara asked with obvious concern.

  “The marriage was forced upon me, and my husband was an evil man. I dunnae wish to convey all the details.”

  “Of course nae, my lady! And ye dunnae have to.” Lara swept a murderous look around the group that seemed to dare anyone to disagree. The woman must have had quite a reputation because all the women immediately nodded and voiced their agreement, even Freya.

  “I escaped my husband, who was later killed,” Lena said, “but nae without scars. Jagged scars that ran deep in heart and mind, healed only after marrying Alex.”

  “Bless the laird!” several women said.

  “He’s a fine, fine man,” someone murmured from the back of the group.

  “And verra fine to look at,” Freya said with a wide smile that faded to contrite. “I’m sorry I was nae friendly moments before. I misjudged
ye.”

  “’Tis fine,” Lena replied, glad she had decided to share a bit of her past so that these women might know her. “As I was saying, after everything, sometimes, when another man touches me, even innocently to simply dance as Fardley did—” She fought to repress a shudder.

  A woman with dark, curly hair nodded, and the look of understanding that sparked in her eyes made Lena wonder if the woman had endured abuse, too. She skimmed the woman for signs and was dismayed to see an ugly bruise on her forearm and another on her wrist. Lena would make it a point to speak to the woman and try to discreetly learn if she was being hurt by a man. The bruises could have, of course, come from a hundred other things, but that look, that all-knowing look of torture, Lena believed could only be from personal experience.

  “Fardley asked me to dance, and I thought to try, wishing to be a part of yer clan and nae shame myself or Alex, but once Fardley touched me, I kenned I could nae. I tried to tell him.”

  “Och!” Lara said with a wave of her hand. “That one has a big heart but a thick head. Ye would have had to knock him over it with a branch to get him to hear ye.”

  “Aye,” came a chorus of agreements.

  “I doubt he’ll ever make the mistake of nae listening intently to something ye tell him again. The laird has him training on the rocks and is personally overseeing it. Fardley must train without food or water all day every day until Alex deems that he heeds and hears commands instinctually.”

  Lena gasped. “That’s cruel! The man could become ill in this heat! I’ll speak with my husband. Of course, I did try to convince him nae to punish Fardley at all, but Alex said the man had to learn or he was nae of use to him as a warrior.”

  “The laird is correct,” Lara said. “None should have doubted his fairness.” She looked apologetically at Lena.

  “Aye,” agreed the woman with the dark curls. “Especially as the laird has given himself the same conditions he gave to Fardley.”

  Lena frowned. “Do ye mean to say that my husband will nae take a drink nor eat any food during training until he deems Fardley trained well enough to continue to serve him?”

  “Aye,” the woman replied. “I was coming to the kitchens with the water buckets earlier, and I saw them training. I stopped to offer the laird water, but he refused, saying he’d nae partake until Fardley could.”

  Lena’s heart swelled with admiration for Alex. He’d had to punish his man, but he had somehow managed to do it in such a way that he put himself on the same level as Fardley and not above him. In doing so, Alex had ensured Fardley did not feel alienated from his clan but rather felt a sense of comradery with his laird. She hoped Fardley learned quickly so that no one would suffer too greatly.

  Lara clapped her hands together as silence had fallen in the kitchens once more. “Return to work, ladies. The men will nae be pleased if supper is late.”

  As the women scurried to their places, Lara turned to Lena. “Did ye wish to continue to help in the kitchens, my lady?”

  Lena nodded, searching out the brown-headed woman she suspected was being abused. “What’s that woman’s name?” she asked, motioning toward the woman.

  “That’s Greer. She makes the mince pies, though I did have her helping to stir the stew. We’re one lass down in the kitchens today.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll go aid her.”

  “I dunnae believe the laird would want ye consorting with her,” Lara blurted.

  Lena frowned. “My husband is nae the sort of man to think me or himself above others.”

  “Oh, nay, my lady,” Lara said, her face reddening. “I ken that well. It’s just, well—” She bit her lip, doubt flickering across her face. She waved a hand. “Dunnae mind me. Do as ye please, and if the laird dunnae care for it, he’ll tell ye to cease the acquaintance.”

  Lena was set to argue that Alex wouldn’t command her so, but she clamped her jaw shut, realizing she wasn’t entirely certain if he would or would not. They’d been married such a short time. She certainly hoped he wouldn’t ever try to act high-handed with her. Because of him, she now felt just bold enough to defy his command if she thought it unreasonable. The realization made her grin as she approached Greer, who was now so busy making the mince pies that she didn’t even seem to notice Lena drawing near. When Lena tapped the woman on the shoulder, Greer gave a yelp of fright that brought the gazes of several of the other women to them, but they looked away quickly, realizing there was nothing to see.

  “I’m sorry I frightened ye,” Lena said, just as the door to the kitchen opened and Marsaili entered, looking tired and glum. Lena’s heart tugged for her sister. She would have to speak with her later and assure her that Lena did understand, though she would have to get a letter to Iain telling him what had occurred. But now, she gave Marsaili a subtle shake of her head when she started to come toward Lena and Greer. Marsaili frowned. Likely she thought Lena did not wish to have her around, but it wasn’t that at all. She knew from her own experience that her best hope of getting Greer to confide in her was the two of them talking privately. It would be doubly hard to convince the woman she could trust both Lena and Marsaili as opposed to just one of them.

  Once Marsaili turned away, Lena focused on Greer. “Do ye mind if I help ye make the pies?”

  “If ye’re certain ye can withstand the withering looks from the other women,” the woman replied in a tart tone without looking up from her work.

  Lena scowled. Obviously, Greer had some sort of distastefulness attached to her. Did it have to do with the bruising? Lena’s chest ached for the woman. She knew well what it was like to be seen as less than others. She’d been seen that way at her husband’s castle. As Lena kneaded the dough beside the woman, she spoke. “Have ye always lived at Duart Castle, Greer?”

  “Aye, my lady,” the woman said, not bothering to look up.

  Lena set her hand on the woman’s forearm, feeling it tense underneath her fingers. Greer drew her gaze to Lena, and Lena could see she had dark shadows underneath both eyes. “Call me Lena, please.”

  “Ye are the laird’s wife,” Greer said, her mouth turning down before her lips pressed together in hard line.

  “Aye, I am,” Lena said, sensing the woman was judging her and deciding whether she was friend or foe. “But I am also a woman who wishes to make some friends.”

  Greer’s wary gaze snapped wide. “Friends?” Astonishment colored her voice.

  “Aye,” Lena said, nodding. “Friends.”

  “I’m nae certain the laird would care for such a grand lady as yerself to be friends with the likes of me.”

  Lena gritted her teeth. This was the second woman to imply she had no choice in the matter of who she befriended. She didn’t like that at all. “I’m certain my husband will allow me to decide with whom I wish to be friends.”

  “If ye say so,” Greer said with obvious doubt. “But I am the lowliest kitchen maid here. Most the women here dunnae even bother with me.”

  Lena wondered if it was because Greer had a guarded, unapproachable look about her and not anything to do with whatever was attached to the woman—nor the fact that she was the lowest kitchen maid, as the woman put it—but Lena would keep that to herself for now. She studied Greer for a moment. The woman had ratty hair and dirt smudged on her face, and her gown was torn and had speckles of caked mud on the skirts and bodice. She didn’t know whether Greer did not bother with her appearance or if she purposely kept herself this way to avoid attention from men or others. “I thank ye for yer praise of calling me grand.”

  When Greer gaped, Lena bit her cheek to keep from chuckling. She’d suspected the woman had called her grand as an affront, and the look of worried shock on the woman’s face proved it.

  Lena smiled sweetly as if she did not suspect it at all. “I can assure ye I have nae always been so grand, as ye so generously put it.”

  Greer quirked her mouth this way and that before speaking. “I imagine a woman as clever as ye has always been grand,” she
replied, looking contrite.

  Lena felt as if she’d won a small victory and that she and this woman were now talking as equals. “There was a time that I did nae brush my hair, change my gown, or clean my body for too many sennights for me to truly remember.”

  Greer’s gaze swept over Lena and then to her own gown. The woman raised a tentative hand to her hair and then brushed her fingers over the mud spattered on the front of her bodice. “Was it because of yer husband that ye did nae care for yerself?” she asked, her voice a hushed whisper.

  “Aye,” Lena said, her jaw clenching with the memory. Findlay had made her hate herself, therefore she had wanted to disappear, to be unseen. Her sisters-in-law and brothers had helped to lessen the self-disgust so that she at least kept herself tidy, but Alex had made her feel alive again and given her back the desire to be seen by others—most especially by him. She wanted to do that for this woman, if that’s what she needed.

  “He was nae a good man, and he made me want to disappear,” Lena said.

  Greer’s fingers strayed to the edge of her gown sleeve, and Lena saw that the woman tugged on it in an effort to cover the dark-purple bruise. “Yer husband now is a good man. Ye’re verra lucky,” she added. “I’ll likely nae ever have a husband like the laird.”

  Maybe Lena had misjudged the bruises. Or maybe someone else besides a husband had given them to Greer. Lena picked up the dough to knead it, so she’d have something to do besides gape at Greer, which might make the woman feel uncomfortable. “So ye are nae married?”

  Greer shook her head. “Nay. I wished to be at one time. I thought myself in love with the butcher, but my brother had grand ideas that I’d marry well to elevate his own status,” she said, bitterness edging her voice.

  “What happened with the butcher?” Lena asked, finding that she’d leaned closer, truly enthralled.

  Greer took a long, deep breath. “My brother denied his request for marriage, sure that I’d marry Archibald MacLean.”

  “Archibald!” Lena said, unable to help her gasp.