Forgiving Hearts: Duncurra 1-3 (34 page)

Mairead smiled. “Ide, my mother always said the best way to get a man to do what ye want him to do is let him think it was his idea in the first place. I plan to discuss this with the laird, but as long as he sees the merit in the plan, I will just have to find a way to make Oren think of it himself.”

Ide chuckled. “And my mother always said men were simple. A woman only needs to know two things to keep a man happy. The first is how to fill his belly with a good meal. Clearly ye’ve learned this one yerself because ye make sure the laird’s favorites are served regularly. Perhaps if we fill Oren’s scrawny frame with his favorite dinner before ye speak with him, he’ll find it easier to think of this plan himself.” Mairead gave her a sly grin. “Ye are probably right in that. We will plan Oren’s favorites for dinner tomorrow to soften him up a bit.” Before entering the keep, Mairead asked coyly, “Ide, what was the other thing yer mother said a woman needs to know to keep a man happy?”

“My lady, ye are far too bold a lass to have ever been called a mouse, and by the satisfied look the laird wears now, I would say ye have already learned the other one, too.”

~ * ~

As they lay in each other’s arms that evening, savoring the afterglow of their
lovemaking
, Mairead rose on one elbow to look at her husband. The sated expression on his face caused her to chuckle. “What do ye find so amusing, love?”

“I was just thinking of something Ide told me she learned from her mother.”

“And what was that?”

“The two skills required to keep a man happy.”

Tadhg laughed and rolled her onto her back, capturing her lips in a kiss before saying, “Ye manage quite well to keep me happy, sweetling.”

“I only plan the meals. Ide cooks them.”

“That’s not the skill I meant, and ye know it.”

Mairead laughed. “Well, Ide did say cooking was only one of them, but she was a bit vague when it came to the other one.”

“I should hope so.” He laughed. “I’m not sure I want to know the answer to this, but how did the subject of pleasing men come up with Ide?”

“Well, it is a bit of a long story.”

“I always like a good bedtime story.”

“Hmm. Well, once upon a time there was a wee lass whose mother was a talented weaver. The lass loved to watch her mother at the loom, making beautiful cloth. She thought there was something magical about it, and she longed to learn how herself someday.”

“That sounds like Oren’s Caitlin.”

“Ah, ye would think so, but alas, it isn’t.”

“Who is it, then?”

“Don’t interrupt, or ye will never find out.” She laughed at his mock pout and continued her story. “So the lass is grown now and wants to learn how to weave.”

“I can’t see how learning to weave would be a problem for her. Ye said her mother is a weaver.”

“Are ye going to let me tell this story or not?”

“My apologies. Please continue.”

“As it happens, in the same village we have a lass who wants to learn how to make delicious food, the kind which keeps a man happy.” She flashed him a saucy grin.

“A very noble aim.”

“I’m glad ye think so, because here is the problem. Sadly, the lass who wants to learn how to weave lost her mother when she was very young so she has no one to teach her, and she must work in the kitchens. As fate would have it, the lass who wants to learn to cook has no one to teach her, either.”

“She is motherless as well?”

“Nay, her mother is a terrible cook, but an excellent weaver who thinks cooking is beneath her daughter.”

“Ah, that sounds like Oren’s wife, Shea.”

“It is. Caitlin is dreadfully unhappy. She has no skill at weaving and wants to learn to cook from Ide, who is more than willing to teach her, but Shea insists Caitlin learn to weave. I was hoping Oren might be persuaded to intervene, and Ide suggested the idea might go down better with him after a good meal.”

“I doubt he can change Shea’s mind, but aye, ye will have yer best chance after Oren’s belly is full of his favorite foods. Who is the other lass, the one who wants to be a weaver?”

“Meriel.”

“Meriel?” Tadhg sounded aghast. “I sent Meriel to the kitchens as punishment.”

“I know ye did, but Tadhg, she knows what she did was wrong. She admitted it to me and apologized. She won’t do anything like it again. She hates working in the kitchens and frankly, I think it is an even greater punishment for Ide than it is for Meriel.”

“My love, even if ye can convince Oren to let Caitlin work in the kitchens, there is no way ye will convince Shea to teach Meriel anything.”

Mairead laughed. “I wasn’t even going to try. Ide says Meriel’s mother and Mae were good friends. Mae and Pol only have Gallia, and I understand she isn’t thrilled about learning to weave either so Mae has no one to teach her skills to. I thought perhaps she might be willing to train Meriel.”

“I suppose she might.”

“Then ye approve?”

“Aye, Caitlin can learn to cook and Meriel to weave, as long as ye can convince Oren and Mae. When do ye plan to do this?”

“Tomorrow. I see no reason to wait.”

“My love, I’m leaving in the morning. I have some business to attend to, and I won’t return until the next day. If ye think ye might need me, ye should wait until I return.”

“As long as ye approve, I’m sure I can do this myself.”

~ * ~

As planned, the next day all of Oren’s favorites were served at the noon meal, including an apple and dried current tart to finish. He was in an exceptionally good mood, and Mairead began her campaign.

“Oh, my, Ide certainly does make a delicious apple tart.”

“Aye, she does at that.”

“I think the secret to a good tart is the crust. I understand it is very hard to make a good crust.”

“Well, some people do seem to have the knack of it better than others. My mother could make excellent tarts, too.”

“And does yer wife have the knack?”

“No, not really. Shea has never been much for cooking. Mind ye, she is an excellent spinner and weaver. Most of the laird’s clothes are made from her cloth.”

“She certainly is skilled, then. I have never seen any finer cloth. Still, it is a good thing we have Ide around too. Fine cloth doesn’t make for much of a feast.”

“Aye, Ide is a treasure.”

“Ye know, I don’t think I have met yer wife yet.”

“I’d say ye might not have. She was here for the wedding feasts but rarely comes up to the keep otherwise. She prefers to work the loom when the daylight is at its best. She says there is precious little enough light in the winter for her to waste it eating.”

“I suppose she is right in that. But I guess it means she doesn’t do much cooking or baking then, especially not in the winter.”

Oren laughed. “No, her mind is always on her wool. In case ye hadn’t observed it yerself, my lady, I take most of my meals here.”

“Ye have a daughter, I believe. Does she not help with the cooking and such?”

“Admittedly, my wife is not terribly skilled in the kitchen herself, but our Caitlin does try her hand at cooking some. Still, most of her time is spent learning how to weave.”

“Oh, well, with someone as skilled as yer wife to teach her, I’m sure she will be a fine weaver someday, too.”

Oren’s brow furrowed at her comment. Mairead had clearly struck a nerve but she feigned innocence. “Is something wrong?”

“Nay, my lady. It’s just that Caitlin—that is, her mother—well, Caitlin doesn’t seem to be able to quite get the knack of working the loom, and she doesn’t spin very well either. Shea thinks she doesn’t try hard enough.”

“I’m sure a mother knows if her daughter is putting in the required effort.”

“Nay, Caitlin is a sweet, hardworking lass.” Oren sounded slightly indignant. “I think she tries her best, but perhaps it is like making crust for tarts? Some people have the knack and others don’t, and it is hard to enjoy doing something when ye find it so frustrating.”

“That is true. I suppose she has no other skill?”

“What gave ye such an idea? Didn’t I just say Caitlin tries to cook?”

“Now a good cook, such as Ide, is like a rare jewel, but ye said yer wife doesn’t cook much. Caitlin couldn’t really be expected to be very skilled in the kitchen with no one to teach her. It’s a shame, really. She might have a knack for cooking.”

“Aye, it is a shame.” Oren rubbed his chin and seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. “Her mother wants her to learn to weave, but ye are right about a good cook being indispensable.”

“But I don’t suppose Ide has time to teach her.”

“Of course Ide would teach her if I asked her to. Ide knows what a good lass Caitlin is, and she would be lucky to have her.”

“Well, it seems to me ye have found the solution yerself.”

“Nay, I don’t think Shea would like the idea.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I certainly wouldn’t try to force my will on a man, but I suppose ye know what’s best in yer own home.” Mairead smiled sweetly.

“That I do, and I think it would be best for Caitlin to learn cooking skills from Ide,” he said with firm resolve. “Excuse me, my lady, I am going to discuss this with Ide now.”

“I think ye might have a very good idea there.” Mairead had to escape the great hall before she exploded with laughter.

Flush with her victory, Mairead smiled to herself as she wrapped her plaid around her head and made her way to the village to discuss the possibility of Meriel learning to weave from Pol’s wife, Mae. As she walked she took stock of “the rest of her life,” which began a little over a month ago. The first few days had been a challenge but so much had changed since then. She believed the clan was finally beginning to accept her. Now Christmas was just over a week away, and the preparations were well started. She was pleased with what she had accomplished. When she arrived at the cottage where Pol’s family lived, Mae welcomed her warmly.

“My lady, please come in and sit by the fire. It is a bitter cold day.”

“Aye, it is. The air smells like snow. I hope I am not interrupting ye. If I am, I would be happy to come back another time.”

“Ye are always welcome here. I love to have an excuse for a wee break in the afternoon.”

“Well, I don’t want to take up too much of yer time but I have a question for ye. Would ye consider training Meriel as a weaver?”

Mae couldn’t have looked more shocked if she had been asked to teach the sheep to weave their own wool. “Meriel? David’s daughter, Meriel? Are ye sure?”

Mairead went on undaunted, “I understand her mother was a weaver and ye were friends?”

“Aye, my lady, we were good friends. I still miss her.”

“Meriel remembers being fascinated watching her mother work. She would like to learn.”

“Aye, her mother was an excellent weaver. But, my lady, ye know full well the laird sent Meriel to work in the kitchens.”

“She hates it there.”

“She brought it on herself.”

“I know, but she made a mistake, and she is sorry for it. I’ve discussed this with the laird and he will allow her to work with ye if ye are willing.” Mae looked unconvinced, and Mairead continued to present her case. “Sometimes young women do stupid things. I know I have made my share of mistakes.”

“Oh, I can tell ye were quite the trouble maker,” Mae teased.

Mairead laughed. “None of us is perfect, but some of us have been blessed with loving women to teach us.”

“Ye may be right, but honestly, Meriel has always managed to create problems. Ye only witnessed the most recent one.”

“Maybe she just needs a strong woman to help guide her a bit. Ye said her mother was yer dear friend. Would ye consider doing it for her?”

Mae sighed and shook her head in resignation. “It might be a mistake, but aye, I’ll take her on. Her mother would have wanted it. Mind ye, if she doesn’t put her full effort into it, I won’t keep her.”

“I wouldn’t expect ye to, but I think she may surprise ye.”

~ * ~

The afternoon light was fading as Mairead made her way back to the keep. Clouds were gathering, and it was growing colder. She already missed Tadhg, and she didn’t look forward to spending the evening alone. Chilled by the time she returned to the keep, she retreated to the warmth of her solar for the first time in weeks, hoping to take some solace from her music.

Her harp stood like an old friend waiting for her by the hearth. She lit several candles and sat by the harp, pulling it toward her to rest it on her shoulder. She hoped to lose herself in its delicate melodies. As she began to tune the strings, the candlelight illuminated the soundboard into which the strings were anchored. There was a dark mark, or indentation of some kind, on the sounding board. Standing the harp upright again, she knelt beside it with a candle to inspect it more closely. It looked as if the edge had been struck by something hard, creating a dent and a small crack along the grain of the wood. The flaw wasn’t terrible—the instrument could still be played. Perhaps one of the craftsmen at Cnocreidh could repair the surface damage. Still, Mairead couldn’t understand what would have caused this damage to the harp. It was as if someone had struck it with something deliberately.

As she was checking the harp over to make sure there was no other damage, the sounds of muffled crying came from the hall, followed immediately by a nearby door slamming. Someone was clearly upset. She went through the antechamber and stepped into the hall trying to determine the source of the sounds. To her surprise, the sound came from Flan’s room. She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She entered anyway to find her brother sobbing face down on his bed.

She rushed to him and knelt next the bed. “Oh Flan, what is wrong? Why are ye crying?”

“I’m sorry, Mairead, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed.

“Flan, what has happened?”

“Mairead, we don’t belong here. I’m so sorry. Can we just go home? Please, Mairead?”

“I have never seen ye like this. Calm down now and tell me what has ye so upset.”

“Mairead, the Mathesons are hateful. I can take it if I have to, but they say ugly things about ye behind yer back and ye shouldn’t have to stay here among them.”

“Flan, don’t say that. Maybe a few of them—”

“No, Mairead, ye don’t understand.”

“Then tell me what happened.”

When he was able to stop crying, he sat up. Mairead moved to sit beside him on the bed. His lip was swollen, and his face bruised. “Flan, what’s this? Were ye fighting?”

“Aye.” He wiped the tears from his face with the heels of his hands.

“Flan, why?”

“I was helping Heck in the stable because the laird is away. Some of the older lads came in and were saying mean things. They said there were more deserving Matheson lads who should have been the laird’s squire and then they said there were better Matheson lasses who should have been the laird’s wife. I tried to ignore them and just do my work. But then Tully said terrible things about ye just because of the story about ye.”

“What story, Flan?”

“Ye know. The night when—well, when—ye know, when Meriel said ye had no clothes on. Well, I got mad. I knocked Tully to the ground and hit him, but the others pulled me off and held me while Tully hit me.”

“Oh, Flan, ye were fighting because of me? Are ye hurt?”

“Not too much. Heck stopped them before Tully got more than a punch or two in. They said they were just teaching me a lesson but Heck asked them why it took three braw young warriors to teach a sapling squire a lesson. And he told them to get out. Mairead, I’m sorry I ever asked Laird Matheson to marry ye. This is all my fault.”

“Don’t say such a thing, Flan. I’m sorry ye are hurting, pet, but I am not sorry I married Laird Matheson. He is a good husband, and it will just take time to get to know the rest of the Mathesons better. I won’t lie to ye, it hasn’t been easy for me, either. But all of the Mathesons are not unkind.”

“A lot of them are.” Flan wore a sullen expression.

“Flan, tell me, do ye want to be a great warrior?”

“Aye, I do.”

“Do ye think Laird Matheson can help ye become one?”

“Aye,” he agreed grudgingly.

“Then ye will do what it takes to stay here and become a great warrior. Ye are Flan MacKenzie and ye won’t let some ugliness spouted by a few of the Mathesons stop ye.”

“But what about ye, Mairead? Someday I can go home. Ye have to stay here with this nasty lot.”

Home. Mairead’s heart caught at the thought of it, but she said, “I am home, Flan. I have been learning to make it work. Ye don’t need to fight my battles.”

“But Mairead—”

“No more, Flan. We can do this. I am not a mouse and neither are ye.”

He put his arms around her. “Aye, Mairead.”

She returned his hug. “Good. We will go down to supper together in a bit.”

He sniffed loudly, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I don’t want to go down for supper tonight. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

“Flan, ye can’t hide here. Wear yer battle scars with pride. After all, ye won them defending yer lady. Ye might want to wash yer face and clean yerself up a bit, though.” He nodded. Before she left the chamber she said, “after supper come to my solar. I will play my harp and ye can tell me some of Da’s old stories like we used to do at Carraigile.”

After supper, Mairead spent the evening with Flan as planned. She played her harp and her recorder, allowing the music to work its magic on them, raising their spirits. Well after midnight, Mairead finally overrode Flan’s pleas for more, chivvying him to bed. As she was putting the instruments away, Flan pointed to the damage on the base of the harp.

“Mairead, how did that happen?”

“I’m not sure. It must been damaged during the move,” she answered, although she didn’t quite believe it herself.

Flan knelt beside it, looking at the damage more closely. “I don’t see how this could have happened in the move.”

“Well, it did, and I’m sure it can be fixed. I think yer concern over my harp is another ruse to stay up. Go on, now.” She ushered him out of the solar. “The sun will rise too quickly for both of us as it is.”

~ * ~

The following afternoon, the rushes were being changed in the great hall in preparation for Christmas. Mairead and Oren sat in the steward’s study discussing the final preparations that needed to be made for the upcoming feasts when Finola tapped at the door. “My lady, our priest, Father Keenan, has returned.”

“Splendid. Thank ye, Finola. Please ask him to wait in the great hall, and I will be right down.”

“Certainly, my lady.” Finola started to leave, and Mairead stopped her. “Finola, after ye have done that, would ye see that someone stokes the fire in my solar? ’Tis a bitter cold day and I have some work to do.”

“Aye, my lady, I’ll see to it.” Finola turned and left. When Mairead turned her attention back to Oren, his brow was furrowed. “Is something amiss?”

“Nay, my lady. We can finish these plans later. Ye go meet Father Keenan. It is good that we will have our priest back for Christmas.”

When she reached the great hall, she was surprised to see two priests waiting by one of the hearths. She approached them. “Good afternoon, Fathers. I am Lady Matheson.”

The plump and bookish priest gave a small bow. “My lady, it is a pleasure to meet ye. I am Father Keenan.” He gestured to the other priest. “I would like ye to meet Father Mungo, another priest in my order.” They exchanged pleasantries before Father Keenan said, “I am so sorry I couldn’t be here for the wedding.”

“Ye need not apologize, yer family needed ye and I’m glad ye were able to go. How fares yer father?”

“Alas, my lady, he passed away but I am grateful I was there. My mother is old and very frail as well. This has been quite a strain on her.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“In fact, I have asked my superiors for an assignment closer to home, so I can be nearer to her. This is why Father Mungo has joined me. He will take my place here. I returned to gather my possessions and say farewells.”

“I’m sorry we’ll be losing ye, but I’m sure it is a blessing for yer mother to have ye near. Father Mungo, ye are most welcome. At least I won’t be the only new addition to Cnocreidh anymore.”

“Aye, we’ll forge our way together, my lady.” He smiled warmly.

“If ye will excuse us, my lady, I would like to show Father Mungo the chapel and the chapel garden, while there is still daylight.”

“Would ye mind if I joined ye? I would like to see the garden, too.”

Father Keenan flushed a little. “I suppose ye could join us. Certainly, I’d love to show ye my garden.”

“That is a splendid idea, and it would give us a chance to get to know one another a bit, as well,” said Father Mungo.

They chatted as they walked. Mairead immediately liked both priests but while Father Keenan seemed introverted and scholarly, Father Mungo was outgoing and affable. She was secretly glad he would be the one staying. Although most of the tender vegetation in the chapel garden had succumbed to the cold December weather, Father Keenan showed both of them where he dried and stored his harvest. They talked for quite a long time, longer than Mairead had intended. “Pardon me, Fathers, the time has gotten away from me and the afternoon grows late. I must get back to the keep now, but please join us at the laird’s table tonight.” They agreed, and she hurried to the keep through the deepening afternoon gloom.

Elspet approached her as soon as she entered the hall. “My lady, the watch has spotted the laird’s party approaching.”

The day had been damp and cold with ever thickening clouds and snow flurries suggesting a storm was on the way. “Thank ye, Elspet. It has been a raw day to be traveling. Would ye make sure some mulled wine and a hot bath are sent up before the laird arrives?”

“Of course, my lady.”

The last servant was leaving their chamber when Tadhg entered. He grinned and pulled Mairead into his arms. “I didn’t think there could be a more welcome sight after a long day of travel than a warm drink and a hot bath, but my sweet little wife, ye are.”

“Well, husband, I will still be here after that bath grows cold, so I suggest ye take advantage of it first.” Mairead laughed as she unfastened his plaid and began undressing him.

He captured her lips in a kiss, but allowed her to remove his clothes while he kissed her. Finally she broke the kiss when she pulled his tunic over his head. Reluctantly he climbed into the bath but groaned as the warmth penetrated his cold limbs.