Highland Storms (17 page)

‘
Coinneach Kinross? You don’t remember the tales about him? Well, there’s someone here who’d be only too happy to refresh your memory. Mungo? Did you hear that? You’ve actually got an attentive audience for once.’

He laughed and most of the others present joined in. It seemed to ease the tension in the room considerably and Brice was grateful. He smiled at Sandy, then nodded at the elderly man who stood up at Sandy’s bidding. With skin dark and wrinkled by smoke and sparse hair which stood up in tufts from his domed skull, Old Mungo reminded Brice of a goblin. But there was nothing wrong with either his memory or his lungs, as they all soon found out. He obviously wasn’t accounted the clan bard for nothing.

Mungo banged his hand on the table and called for silence. ‘Listen all, fer I have a tale tae tell ye. A tale o’ times gone by when the heid o’ the Kinross clan was the first Coinneach and our ancestors fought by his side fer wha’ was right. This is wha’ happened and it’s the truth, as weal ye ken …’

Everyone listened to his story of hair-raising exploits, adventures, acts of vengeance on other traitorous clans and the bravery of Kinross clansmen through the ages. To Brice they sounded like a quarrelsome lot who liked to bear a grudge and who never hesitated to take revenge for the slightest provocation. This seemed to involve an awful lot of blood-letting, but not one of Old Mungo’s listeners minded. They were all as spell-bound as if they’d never heard his stories before in their lives and Brice had to admit he enjoyed them too.

He felt the kinship he shared with all these people more strongly with every word. He was MacCoinneach, the direct descendant of the man in the tales, and he owed it to him to take care of the clan. Their honour now rested with him.

When Old Mungo finished his stories, a couple of the other tenants, who were not to be outdone, fetched their instruments and regaled their new chief with further endless dirges about the heroic deeds of his ancestors. Marsaili had to admit the man bore it with fortitude, managing to keep his face straight even when the singer proved to be sadly out of tune as he’d had very little practice of late.

She found herself wondering if, some time in the future, such tales would be told of the present master. He certainly looked the part of a hero, his golden good looks emphasised by the glow of the candles. But did he have what it took on the inside?

That remained to be seen.

Marsaili was just about to take a tray of food to the estate office the following day, when a gaggle of children burst into the kitchen, all talking at once and looking very agitated. Greine had to shout ‘Whisht!’ and point her finger at one of them in order to make sense of what they were saying. ‘You, Roy, take a deep breath and tell me what’s the matter,’ she said.

Young Roy did as he was told, then the words came tumbling out of him in Gaelic. ‘We were playing over by the woods, Mrs Murray, and we were climbing up onto some of the branches of that really big tree and then Archie said as how he could climb the highest and no one would dare go as high up as him and we said he was just a braggart and wouldn’t do it, but he did and now he’s stuck and can’t get down again and what are we going to do?’

Roy finally ran out of breath at the end of his long sentence and Greine got a word in edgewise. ‘Are you telling me Archie’s sitting up a tree?’

All the children nodded in unison and started babbling again. Greine turned to look at Marsaili. ‘Lord help us,’ she said. ‘I’d best go see.’

‘
Hold on, let me just deliver this to his lordship and I’ll come too.’ Marsaili hurried off and ran into the estate office, forgetting to knock. She more or less dumped the tray in front of a startled Brice and turned for the door, muttering, ‘Sorry, in a hurry.’

‘
Wait! Tell me what’s happening, please?’ His voice sounded imperious, so Marsaili quickly told him what was going on. To her surprise, he threw down his quill and jumped up.

‘
I’ll help,’ he said. ‘Lead the way.’

She just nodded, too anxious about Archie to argue.

Greine had already left the kitchen and they caught up with her at the edge of the woods. It was really only a small copse of trees, not a forest by any stretch of the imagination, but that’s what it had always been called for some reason. There was a particularly fine oak there, the only one for miles. It must have been hundreds of years old, Marsaili thought, and not far from the top of it sat Archie. From down below they could see he was clinging on for dear life, his face as white as death.

‘
Heavens, boy, have you no sense?’ Greine scolded. ‘What on earth possessed you?’

Archie didn’t reply. He seemed to be beyond speech and closed his eyes.

Quite a few people had come running, but no one seemed to know what to do. Marsaili bit her lip. The boy was so high up, if he fell, he might not survive even if the branches slowed his descent.

To her amazement, Brice started to take his shoes and stockings off, then shrugged out of his waistcoat. ‘I’ll get him down,’ he said and shouted up to Archie, ‘Just hold on, varmint, I’m coming. Don’t let go, all right?’

Marsaili thought she saw Archie nod, but couldn’t be certain. ‘Are you sure you should be doing this?’ she asked, but Brice only nodded and swung himself up onto the nearest branch.

Her heart leapt into her throat at the thought of him going up there, but after watching him for a few anxious moments, she had to admit it looked as though he knew what he was about. He made short work of the lower branches, which were stout and fairly evenly spaced. Higher up, he proceeded with slightly more caution which proved wise since once or twice a branch snapped off and made him lose his footing. A gasp went through the small crowd that was now gathered under the tree, but he seemed unconcerned and continued upwards.

‘
Nearly there,’ he called up to Archie, who had his eyes shut again. ‘Hang on.’ This last admonition was plainly unnecessary, but Marsaili realised that by talking to the boy, Brice kept him from panicking. Her admiration for him rose a notch.

In what seemed like a relatively short space of time, even though it felt like for ever, Brice reached Archie and wrapped one arm around the boy’s waist. ‘I’ve got you, you can let go now,’ he was heard to say. He had to repeat himself a few times until he penetrated the fog of terror the boy was obviously stuck inside. Finally, he made Archie comprehend that he had to put his arms round Brice’s neck instead and hold on tight. ‘I’ll need both my hands to get us down safely, do you understand?’ he explained.

Marsaili saw the pair begin the descent and felt a cold sweat break out on the back of her neck. Her stomach muscles were clenched so tight she could barely breathe and she hardly registered the low murmuring of the crowd all around her. She had eyes only for Brice.

He seemed to do everything with an easy grace, including tree climbing, and she watched, spellbound, as he used his powerful arms and shoulders to keep his balance. He lowered himself and his burden carefully from branch to branch until he was on the lowest one and could drop the boy down into outstretched arms. Finally, he jumped to the ground with the fluid movement of a cat out hunting. Marsaili couldn’t take her eyes off him.

He looked up and met her gaze, then he smiled in that dazzling way. It seemed to her his smile was directed only at her, but then he turned to accept the congratulations from the bystanders and the thanks of Greine.

‘
I’m right sorry to have put you to so much trouble, laird,’ the cook said. ‘I’ll skelp his backside for this, so I will.’

Brice ruffled Archie’s hair. ‘No, please don’t punish him. I’m sure he’s learned his lesson well enough already. I’d say he was very brave to make the attempt.’ He winked at Archie. ‘But next time, let me give you some lessons in climbing first, eh?’

Archie nodded and managed a weak smile. ‘Th-thank ye fer g-getting me doun, sir,’ he said in a small voice.

‘
Not at all. Now how would you like a ride on my shoulders back to the house?’ Brice didn’t wait for the boy’s answer, but swung him up and sat him on his shoulders, then started walking. Archie squealed, but not with fear this time. He looked proud, like a hero returning triumphant from a battle and some of the colour returned to his cheeks.

Marsaili exchanged a look with Greine, who shook her head. ‘The laird’s too soft,’ the cook muttered. ‘But maybe he’s right, Archie’s had a fright, but he’s haill. And after everything else that’s happened to him … Well, the least said the better. We’d best get back to our work.’

As they followed the cavalcade of excited children, running and jumping around Brice and Archie, Marsaili felt something inside her melt at the sight. It was a rare man who would treat a child so gently, especially one who’d done something so stupid.

She looked at Liath, who followed silently behind her as usual. ‘I guess you’re wiser than the humans here at Rosyth. You had his measure from the outset, didn’t you? Wonder if he’ll forgive the rest of us in time?’

Liath gave a short bark and looked as if he was grinning. Marsaili smiled back.

Chapter Fourteen

A week later, the morning dawned bright and sunny, and Brice was up early to make sure the harvest got under way. They’d had a run of warm, dry days, and the crops were ripe and ready – oats, barley and bere, the inferior kind of barley which grew on some of the less fertile fields. He knew they’d have to hurry if they wanted it all harvested safely. Any day now, it could turn rainy again, which would not be good.

He’d been perfectly serious about taking part and knew he’d already proved this by working with the men making hay. Helping with the harvest was something every able-bodied man, woman and child had to do at Askeberga and he didn’t see why it should be different here. The strongest men would cut the grain with their scythes, the women walked behind, two assigned to each man. One laid the bundles ready, while the other tied them into sheaves. Children gathered up any left-over bits of straw and stooked the sheaves. It was teamwork, pure and simple.

‘
Anyone who doesn’t take part won’t get a share of the grain,’ he’d told Seton the night before. ‘Unless they have a very good excuse, of course.’ He’d given the factor a pointed look, which had no effect since the man had skin as thick as shoe leather.

He was pleased to see that what looked like the entire population of the township had turned up and were being organised into teams by Seton. He allowed the factor to assign him to one such group and someone handed him a well sharpened scythe and a whetstone. The villagers were still a bit wary of him, but once the work got started, he noticed they relaxed a little. One or two of the men even dared a joke or two, comparing his technique to theirs.

‘
Is that how they Swedes dae it? Must tak’em till Yuletide.’

Since Brice could see well enough there was no difference, he answered in a like manner. ‘On the contrary, you’re the ones who’d be lagging behind,’ he retorted with a smile.

Harvesting was hard work which needed strength and endurance. He knew he had both and actually enjoyed the physical exercise it entailed. It would also be satisfying to have the grain safely indoors in case the weather decided to turn, which was all too likely here in the Highlands. He’d had the men repair one of the barns so they had somewhere dry to store the harvest. Now all they had to do was bring it in.

All in all, he thought it was shaping up to being a good day.

Marsaili was in a different team to the one Brice had joined. Since Seton was in charge of organising these, she rather suspected he’d engineered this on purpose. He’d continued to dart suspicious glances between her and Brice at every meal, even though she made a point of not looking towards the head of the table unless she had to. She didn’t want to cause trouble for the new laird unnecessarily and he hadn’t singled her out again either.

She wasn’t so far away along the field that she couldn’t observe Brice, however, and she was pleased he was holding his own among the harvesters. He was right in the middle of the line of reapers, all swishing their scythes in wide arcs, working in tandem. Marsaili knew it was something that required quite a lot of skill, but she needn’t have worried about Brice. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

It made her cross with herself that she cared, but since their meeting by the loch and his rescue of Archie, she had subconsciously begun to root for him. She knew he was going to have to prove himself here and she wanted him to become accepted. It may be silly, but if Liath liked him, he had to be a good man, she reasoned.

At lunchtime, everyone took a well-earned break and Greine and some of her helpers came up from the house carrying hampers of food. Pitchers of ale were also brought and everyone received their share. Marsaili sank down in the welcome shade under a small tree and rested her back against the trunk. To her surprise, Brice hunkered down beside her.

‘
May I sit with you?’ he asked politely. She nodded assent and he lowered his tall frame to the ground and leaned against the same trunk. He was so close she felt his shoulder brush hers, but although she knew she should have protested, she didn’t say anything. She discovered she liked having him near.

‘
I hope your, er … swain won’t mind,’ he whispered, ‘but I saw him go off to his own house just now so hopefully he won’t notice. I’ve had enough of talking to the others for now.’