Kilgannon (25 page)

"Aye," he laughed. 'They will at that."

BREAKFAST WAS FRENZIED BUT
AMUSING
AND THE GAMES began shortly afterward. I was entertained all day watching the competitions. Alex participated in several and won two. He refused to accept a prize, strutting over to me and saying thunderously, "I already have my prize," which drew laughter and many retorts. He kissed me lustily and the people cheered. I watched Morag watch us with a polite smile. The day was short, the evening long; the meal was full of laughter. And no political toasts. When I could keep my eyes open no longer, I rose to go to bed and Alex joined me. Our guests' teasing followed us up the stairs, but Alex was not abashed. At the top of the stairs he lifted me into his arms and kissed me loudly. "Dinna expect me at breakfast," he said, and their laughter sounded behind us.

The second day of the games was just as clear, but a stiff breeze had risen and many stayed within. Ian and Jamie were with me most of the day, and by nightfall Jamie was in my lap. I became better acquainted with most of our neighbors, all of whom, even Morag, treated me with the utmost courtesy. To my face. But I was well aware of the whispers and glances that followed me. I knew they were wondering why Alex had married me, why he had gone all the way to England to find a very ordinary woman. I raised my chin and used the skills I'd learned in London. This would not be the first time I'd been discussed and appraised.

of the guests left that afternoon, including the MacLeods, to my relief, and our evening meal was quieter than any before. Outside, the weather had grown stormy, but no one paid it any attention. Tonight the remaining guests were talking Scottish politics loudly, debating the Union and damning the Campbells. Murdoch Maclean and his brother Duncan were among the most vocal, but sprinkled their views with laughter and wit, and I watched Alex laugh with them, the big men easy with each other as they imaginatively decided the best way to deal with those who had made the agreement with England. When I could not stand another minute I left Alex still talking and went to bed alone. And listened to the wind howl. It was too much to have expected three days of good weather in the spring. I was exhausted but could not sleep and looked at the shadows cast by the firelight.

I'd had three days at Kilgannon now. I was a wife and a stepmother, and I wondered for the first time that evening how the boys were. I had not said good night to them, nor had I seen them after the evening meal. Deirdre had told me one of the younger girls was looking after them tonight, but she herself was downstairs with the others. As the minutes dragged on I decided I would rest better knowing that they were snugly asleep in their little room upstairs.

Throwing on a nightdress for the first time in my marriage, I wrapped a cloak around me and stole from the room. There was no one to see me slip down the hall or up the stairs. I paused outside their room, wondering if I should knock. A loud clap of thunder made me jump, and at a cry from within I opened the door. The boys sat huddled on Jamie's bed, their eyes huge. Anger—directed at myself for my thoughtlessness, and at the girl who was to be caring for these little ones—-drove me as I moved to them. I would deal with her in the morning. "What a horrible noise," I said in a cheery tone. "I came to say good night to you."

"Jamie doesna like thunder," Ian said, his arm around his brother.

"Who does?" I asked, taking the blanket from lan's bed and wrapping it around him. "It's all right on a summer afternoon when you can look out the window and see the rain, but on a night like this
it’s
horrible." I pulled Ian to his feet and tucked the blanket up so that he could walk without falling. Then I picked Jamie up, blanket and all. He wrapped his arms around my neck with a sigh and I lost my heart again. That's three times to a MacGannon, I thought, and held him to me.

"When there's a storm Jamie thinks the monster man will come and set us on fire," Ian said, looking around him.

I met his worried eyes. "What monster man?"

"There's a monster man who comes at night," Jamie said excitedly. "He comes into your house and sets people on fire."

"Well, he can't get in here," I said lightly. 'The castle is very well guarded, and no one could get past your father. Come on."

"Where are we going?" asked Ian, looking very little.

"To my room. Can you walk like that or should I help you?" "I can walk," he said, and demonstrated.

"Good. Now blow out that candle and come with me." Moments later the three of us were in Alex's and my room, and both boys stood with me as I stirred the fire. I pulled them to me and wrapped their blankets around all three of us, hugging them. They snuggled close to me and I looked down at their blond heads. If ever two boys needed a mother, these were they. And I needed them as well. "When I was a little girl I used to love thunderstorms," I said.

"When I was little I liked them too," Ian said, and I smiled above his head. All of five and very old.

"I don't like them," Jamie grumbled.

"Well, I don't like them much now either," I said. "Especially at night. So I thought we'd all keep each other company. Are you sleepy?"

"No," said Ian, stifling a yawn. "Where's Da?"

"He's still downstairs. Talking." Jamie nodded and yawned. "He talks a lot." "Yes, he does." I laughed. "Would you like to hear a story?"

"Aye," they said, so I told a long, rambling story that I made up as I went along. My audience was not critical, and before very long they were asleep. I tucked them into our bed and climbed in with them. When Alex came to bed in the early hours, he moved Ian so he could climb in next to me. I murmured a greeting.

"I see they found ye," he said, fingering the nightgown. "I found them. They were afraid of the storm." "Oh, aye," he said, his tone chagrined. "I shoulda realized that. Jamie hates thunder. I'm sorry I was not with ye." "I'm sure you were having a grand time talking politics." I yawned. "I hope you settled everything." I pulled him close.

"I'd rather have been here with ye," he said, and kissed me.

Finally the last of the wedding guests were gone and we were alone, or as alone as we'd be here. All of Kilgannon breathed a sigh of relief. I was very busy learning about my new home. I was now confident of my way within its walls, although I occasionally still retraced my steps. Alex was my guide as we toured the rest of the castle, the boys and Matthew trailing along, enlarging on Alex's explanations. The kitchens were large, clean, and well stocked, managed by a woman whose name I never learned to pronounce correctly. I called her Mrs. M. The young girls on her staff curtsied and giggled as we entered, watching Matthew covertly. He, like Alex, never seemed to notice the attention he drew from women. Alex joked with the girls, making them laugh as he helped himself to food. They called out their goodbyes when we accompanied Mrs. M. to the kitchen gardens. It was too cold and windy to stay there long, but we had a brief tour and she beamed at us as we complimented her on her abilities. She was a very good cook, serving delicious if unimaginative meals, and I was glad that this was another area I'd not have to worry about. Next we toured the cellars and the storerooms, all well kept and orderly.

What surprised me the most about Kilgannon was the armory. A huge room, sunk into the rock of the hill, it extended well below ground, like the cellars, but had a gallery two stories above for watching the exercises. Windows rimmed the top of the walls and it smelled of stale sweat. This will not be a room where I will spend much time, I thought, wrinkling my nose. I had always assumed an armory to be a place only where arms were stored, but this one was a gymnasium as well. As we stood on the gallery watching men practice their swordsmanship, Alex explained that the men of Kilgannon kept well-trained. I asked him why, surprised that he should think such a thing necessary in these times. He shrugged.

"We are at peace with most of our neighbors now and I expect to keep it that way, but it's best to be prepared. Besides, men who are fit warriors are better workers, and tired men dinna argue with their neighbors or their wives as much as bored ones."

"And James Stewart tried to land in Scotland just five years ago. If you have no intention of fighting, why are you preparing?"

He fought a smile as he looked at the men below. Angus was in the thick of it, and I realized for the first time that Angus was the war chieftain, the trainer and teacher of the arts of war. Alex answered my question in a mild tone. "Think on it, Mary. If yer a man intent on taking something from another, who do ye attack? The strongest, most prepared, and smartest, or the weakest and least wary? It doesna take a verra bright man to figure that one out. We have always been few here at Kilgannon, but we have a reputation for being very fierce, and I willna let it be said that Alex MacGannon let the MacGannons grow slack on his watch. So we train." nodded and watched the men. Next to us Ian and Jamie held on to the railing and bent to look through the slats at the scene below. Angus and Malcolm were showing two younger men how to parry and thrust, and I watched idly, noting how Angus oversaw every movement, every pause. How very different this was than watching Will and his fencing teacher. These men were not using dress swords and they were not practicing their form for its appearance. They were learning how to kill and not be killed.

Below us the men had paired differently now, Malcolm and a partner fending off Angus and a much younger man. Angus pushed his opponent back to the wall and stepped back, lowering his sword and talking earnestly. He stepped back again, then fell heavily over the leg that Malcolm had thrust in his path. Malcolm laughed as he watched Angus land on his back with a thud and a curse. With a curse of his own, Alex leaned over the railing and shouted. Angus picked himself up and reached for Malcolm, grabbing Malcolm's shirt and throwing him against the wall, then leaning into his face and speaking quietly. Malcolm was not laughing when Angus shoved him again and strode away. The younger men turned away, some following Angus out of sight. Alex spoke angrily to Malcolm, who spat a reply. Whatever he said enraged Alex, who shouted at his brother. I could not understand a word, but Alex's anger and disgust was obvious and Malcolm's disdain withered under his brother's attack. When Alex barked an order to the remaining men, Malcolm looked up at his brother and saw the boys and I standing at the rail. He met my eyes, paused, then bowed with contempt. I turned away. No, I was not wrong, he was as disagreeable a man as I had first believed. Alex reached for me then and I grasped his hand. As we left I turned to look below one last time and saw Malcolm standing alone in the big room, caught by a ray of light, dust motes swirling in the beam around him, staring at us malignantly. I never forgot the moment. We never discussed it.

But I didn't dwell on Malcolm, for I was too busy. And too happy. Alex showed me the grounds, including the gardens and walled orchard that his grandparents had built. And Alex used the time to start my Gaelic instruction. I would say something and he would translate it into Gaelic. Angus watched us benignly, shaking his head at our efforts, but Matthew and the boys joined the game readily and soon I had four teachers, all correcting me constantly. I will learn the fool language, I told myself, if only to stop them from teaching me.

I learned my way around the valley as well. The glen, as I'd been told to call it, was unusually fertile for the Highlands and had led to much of the MacGannon wealth. I now understood what Robert had meant. When Alex was at home he was a wealthy man, but one cannot readily spend a stone castle or fertile fields that can feed only its owners well. Life at Kilgannon was comfortable, that was obvious, but there was little surplus. When the weather was clear we rode every day, until I had visited every tacksman and
croft house
and every member of Clan MacGannon. Kilgannon's lands were flung over glens and mountains and along the shore, and we had many miles to cover. Alex explained that there were two levels of tenants on his lands: the tacksmen, who often owned their lands and rented them to others, and the crofters, who were at the bottom of the social scale. The tacksmen might be minor lairds as well, depending on their family connections and situation. I believe we visited each one.

Alex showed me everything about his land, even grimly pointing out the two bodies that still swung in the wind from a tree not far from the castle. "Murderers," he spat, and gave me sharp look. "Killed a good man for cattle." His voice quieted. "And did more. So we hanged them. And that, lass, is also part of this land." I stared at the bodies and nodded, trying to absorb all of it.

I was beginning to remember many of the names and remarked to Alex that it was amazing that all of these people were related to him. He shook his head and turned in his saddle to look at me. "They may have the MacGannon name, but not all have the blood."

"They are not all MacGannons?"

"Aye, they are that. But families move and many change their names when they change their allegiance. They become MacGannons and forsake whatever name they used before they came here. They can take the name but not the bloodline. Like the scum that murdered the crofter. They werena MacGannons two generations ago. Many, of course, keep their own names." He gestured to Thomas riding behind us. "Thomas is Thomas MacNeill, and the pipers are led by Seamus MacCrimmon, both names too proud to change. Like MacGannon. Do ye think if I moved to yer lands in England I'd become Alex Lowell?"

"I see. But it's acceptable for me to become Mary MacGannon?"

"Oh, aye." He grinned. "Mary MacGannon. It's a fine name. Ye've improved yerself, lass." I laughed at him. He waved to a woman approaching us as we entered her yard. "Ah, look," he said. "Here's the latest of Duncan of the Glen's bairns. Don't they all look alike? This one is Alexander." He grinned. "Named after me. Aren't ye impressed?" He leaned down and took the small boy from his smiling mother. We were in the remotest northern part of Kilgannon property, near a village called Glendevin. The yard was mud, the
croft house
a long two-story stone building, tidy and well kept. Both the yard and the house seemed full of blond children who all looked the same as the youngest, only taller. Duncan MacGannon, known as Duncan of the Glen, was the proud father who stood in front of his huge family, grinning. He took his son from Alex as we stopped before him.