To Marry A Scottish Laird (13 page)

Cam raised his eyebrows at his father’s words, and then glanced around as servants rushed out of the kitchen with the requested drinks for everyone.

“Leave a pitcher o’ ale and four tankards here,” Laird Sinclair ordered. “The rest go up to Cam’s room and the solar.”

He waited for the servants to head up the stairs, and then turned and surveyed his three sons before settling his gaze on Cam. “The truth this time, lad. And all o’ it so we ken what we’re dealing with. Who is the girl?”

Cam sat back slightly and took a drink o’ ale, swallowed, then shrugged. “Most o’ what I said was the truth. Joan is Laird and Lady Annabel’s niece.”

“Impossible,” Douglas said at once. “Neither Laird MacKay nor his wife had siblings.”

“Lady Annabel did,” Cam’s father said quietly. “Kate, her name was as I recall, and she caused a passel o’ trouble fer those two back in the day.”

“What kind o’ trouble?” Aiden asked.

“The lass was the one originally contracted to marry the MacKay, but she ran off and married another. The parents presented him with Annabel in her place,” Artair Sinclair recounted.

“Sounds more like good fortune than trouble to me,” Douglas commented. “Laird and Lady MacKay are very happy together.”

“Aye, they were from the start,” their father murmured. “But then the sister, Kate, showed up at their door in tears, claiming she regretted her choice and such. It was all bullocks,” he added dryly. “She just wanted her pie and the cake too. She wanted the Scottish stable boy she’d married and the MacKay coin as well. She cried her way into MacKay castle and her sister’s good graces, then she and her man stole the coin and kidnapped Lady Annabel too.”

“What happened?” Aiden asked with fascination.

“The MacKay caught up to them. He got Annabel and the coin back, but the husband was killed in the skirmish, and Kate was sent to an English abbey for punishment.”

“It does no’ sound like much o’ a punishment to me,” Douglas muttered.

“Nay?” Artair Sinclair asked with amusement. “We’ve had a passel o’ women here at Sinclair this last week or more. How ha’e ye liked it?”

Douglas grimaced. “It’s been hell.”

“Aye, well imagine living with hundreds o’ them, and ye can no’ just get on yer horse and leave, no e’en for a minute’s respite.”

“Oh, aye, that’s punishment, all right,” Aiden breathed, obviously horrified at the thought. Cam couldn’t blame him. It had been hell the first time his mother had filled the keep with women. That was why he’d gone off to find work as a mercenary. Better war than a castle full of women.

“And this Kate is Joan’s mother?” Douglas asked, frowning.

Cam nodded. “Aye. She was carrying Joan when she went to the abbey. She died giving birth to her.”

“Who raised her?” his father asked at once.

Cam hesitated, but then decided there was nothing for it and admitted, “The abbess gave Joan to the midwife to be rid of her. The woman was a healer as well as a midwife and raised her as her own, teaching her all she knew.”

“And now that the lass is grown she went looking fer her rich relatives?” Douglas suggested cynically.

Cam shook his head. “The woman never told her who she really was. Joan had no idea she was related to the MacKays when I met her. She did no’ ken that until yesterday.”

“Then why was she on her way to MacKay when ye encountered her?” Aiden asked.

Cam sighed, and quickly explained about the deathbed request and the sealed scroll. He also explained the true version of how he’d encountered Joan and come to be traveling with her. Well, a slightly edited true version. It was none of their business that he’d been acting like a randy bull the last two weeks. When he finished, he stared into his tankard, waiting for his father’s pronouncement.

Cam half expected the man would rear up with outrage, upset that he’d married the daughter of a thief and would-be murderer and demand he annul the marriage. Which would mean a holy argument because he had no intention of doing that.

“So, she’s half Scot,” his father said finally, and Cam glanced up quickly with surprise.

“Aye, I suppose she is,” he said slowly.

“And she was raised by a healer in the village, not that Kate woman, so will no’ be spoiled and greedy like her mother,” Aiden pointed out.

“She is no’ spoiled,” Cam assured him. “In truth, she’s smart, and funny and a skilled healer. She’s no’ afraid o’ hard work.”

“She’s brave too, setting out alone to deliver her mother’s message,” Douglas decided reluctantly. “Foolish, but brave.”

“Aye,” Cam agreed. It had been foolish—brave, but foolish. She could have died. Would have died had he not happened upon her and her attackers when he had.

“It was clever of her to dress as a boy fer the journey,” Aiden commented, and then grinned and added, “I wish I’d seen her dressed as a boy.”

The comment made Douglas turn on Cam with disbelief. “How the devil could ye mistake the lass fer a lad? Even in braies I’d ken she was a woman on first sight. Her bosoms are—”

“She had her breasts bound,” Cam growled, not liking his brother mentioning Joan’s breasts, let alone knowing he’d taken note of her generous curves.

“Oh,” Douglas said, but then shrugged. “Still, there’s her face. She has a pretty face. Nothing like a boy’s.”

“Her face was swollen and bruised from the beating the bandit was giving her when I came upon them,” Cam said impatiently. “She still has a little bruising on her temple by her ear.”

“Aye, I noticed that,” Douglas murmured and then shook his head. “It’s been how long since the attack? Roderick and Bryson ha’e been home fer more than two weeks.”

“Two weeks four days,” Cam said, quickly adding the two week journey, the three days he’d been unconscious, and then today.

“Two weeks four days,” Douglas murmured and shook his head. “She must ha’e taken a hell o’ a beating to still ha’e bruising after this much time has passed.”

“Aye. It was bad,” Cam said. “Her face looked much like Bryson’s after Comyn got done with him that time he caught him with his wife.”

“Oh, that’s bad,” Aiden said with a grimace. “She must ha’e been in terrible pain.”

“Aye,” Cam agreed and then marveled, “She never once complained, though.”

“Well,” his father said suddenly and pushed himself to his feet. Raising his tankard, he held it out in front of him. “To Cam’s new wife, Lady Joan Sinclair.”

Cam breathed a sigh of relief when his brothers immediately stood. His father and brothers were accepting Joan and the wedding. All would be well then, he thought and stood as well to lift his tankard.

“To Joan,” they all said together.

They all drank, then his father slapped him on his back as they reclaimed their seats and said, “Congratulations son. It sounds like ye’ve found yerself a fine woman. I’m happy fer ye.”

Cam nodded and smiled to himself. He’d never expected to marry again, but now that he had, he didn’t mind. He had found a fine woman. One he really enjoyed bedding . . . and would enjoy bedding right then in celebration of his family’s acceptance, he decided, gulping down the last of his ale and slamming the tankard on the table.

Standing up, he stepped over the bench, saying, “Well, I think I’ll join me wife to rest. It was a long ride.”

“I doubt there’ll be room fer ye what with Lady Annabel and her girls in yer bed too,” his father said with amusement.

Cam had started away from the table, but stopped at that and turned back. “What?”

“Were ye no’ listening to yer mother ere she took the ladies upstairs?” Artair Sinclair asked with a frown.

Cam shook his head slowly. No, he hadn’t been listening to his mother, he’d been fretting over the coming talk with his father.

“All those bloody women she brought here to tempt ye with are filling up all the spare rooms,” his father explained. “So she put Lady Annabel and her daughters in yer room with Joan.”

“Nay,” Cam breathed with horror as his newly risen plans to indulge in some houghmagandie with his wife died a quick death.

“Aye,” his father said solemnly. “I fear they’ll be in yer room until we can get some o’ these girls on their way home.”

Cam stared after him with dismay, and then asked, “But where am I suppose to sleep?”

“Do no’ worry, brother. There’s plenty o’ room in the barracks,” Douglas said mildly.

“Aye,” Aiden agreed, and explained, “ ’Tis where we ha’e been sleeping since Mother gave our rooms to the women she brought here fer ye.”

“Bloody hell,” Cam muttered.

“Don’t fret, lad,” Artair Sinclair said. “I’m sure yer mother’ll have the women cleared out soon enough. A week at most.”

“A week?” Cam echoed with dismay.

“Well, with so many ladies, there was no’ enough room fer their families and soldiers to stay here too, so it was agreed the girls would be left here in yer mother’s care with just her and their maids to act as chaperone,” Laird Sinclair explained. “That being the case, fer them to leave, a messenger has to be sent to each family, and then their families’ll send soldiers to come collect the girls and take ’em home.”

“Damn,” Cam breathed.

“Here, boy, have another drink.” His father poured fresh ale into his empty tankard and added with amusement, “Ye look like ye could use one.”

Chapter 11

J
OAN TURN
ED SLEEPILY ONTO HER
BACK,
her eyes blinking open when she rolled off her pallet and onto the cold, hard wooden floor. For one moment, she wasn’t sure where she was. The ceiling overhead wasn’t the straw ceiling of the hut she’d grown up in, or even the branches of trees as it had been during her journey.

Sitting up, she peered about the room and then relaxed with a wry little smile. It was Cam’s room in Sinclair Castle. She’d slept on a pallet on the floor rather than in the crowded bed with her aunt and cousins.

All three of her relatives had protested when she’d asked a servant for a pallet, horrified that she would even consider it, but she’d assured them she would rather sleep on the floor on a pallet anyway. It was what she was used to after all, she’d pointed out. Besides, the bed, big as it was, was a bit crowded with the four of them in it. She suspected that was the only reason they’d relented in the end for they’d been pressed up against each other with no room to move. She was sure it had been more comfortable with just the three of them in it. Certainly, she’d been more comfortable on her pallet, though she did regret not getting to enjoy the comfort the bed offered.

Pushing off the furs that had kept her warm in the night, Joan quickly got up and glanced to the bed, eyebrows rising when she saw that it was empty. Her aunt and cousins had already risen to meet the day, it seemed. She wondered briefly why they hadn’t woken her, but then was grateful for it. It had been late when Cam had returned her to the room last night, she recalled, a smile curving her lips at the memory.

Her first day at Sinclair had gone well. Meeting his family had not been as bad as she’d feared. At least they had not screamed in horror and cast her out. That was good, especially considering what her mother had done, Joan thought, recalling the conversation she’d had with her aunt after Lady Sinclair had left them alone in the room. She’d waited until her cousins had laid down to rest, but then had joined Annabel where she’d sat by the cold hearth and had asked her to tell her about her mother. Her aunt had been kind, but the long and short of it was that her mother had been a jealous cow who had tried to rob her aunt and uncle and had kidnapped Aunt Annabel with the intent of killing her.

Oh, Annabel had assured her that she didn’t think her sister truly would have killed her, but Joan was equally sure she would have. Her true mother sounded a horrible woman, which just made her even more grateful that Maggie Chartres had been the one to raise her. She just wished she could tell her that. There were many things she wished she could talk to her mother about, but that wasn’t possible.

Sighing, Joan pushed her fingers through her hair in an effort to give it some order, and then brushed down her skirts to remove the worst of the wrinkles. It didn’t help much and she wished she had another gown to wear, but this was the only clothing she had available at the moment. Joan used to have two dresses that she’d switched between. She’d packed them in her bag when she’d set out on her quest dressed as a boy, but had cut the first one up for bandages for Cam when she’d mended him. She’d cut up the second one to replace the binding around her breasts after Cam had sliced it off that day by the waterfall. She now had no dresses but the one she presently wore, and that was Annella’s really. Although the girl had said she could keep it.

A good thing, Joan decided as she noted the grass stains on the skirt. It seemed Cam had caused the ruin of another gown, she thought, but wasn’t terribly upset. How could she be when she had been a party to its ruin? After their talk, Joan and Annabel had lain down to rest for a bit too, which was when Joan had discovered the bed simply was not big enough for them all to sleep comfortably. She’d actually been relieved when a servant had come to inform them that the evening meal was ready and everyone was gathering in the great hall. It was then that Joan had asked for a pallet to be brought up for her. The servant had assured her there would be one there by the time she retired that night. Her aunt and cousins had argued with her briefly, but only briefly. She guessed from that they hadn’t slept comfortably either.

Cam had greeted her with a smile when they’d gone below and ushered her to sit beside him. He’d then served both himself and her from the trays the servants had brought around. The meal had been a lively one, a celebration of sorts for the wedding the Sinclairs had missed. Joan had been quiet, shyness and uncertainty holding her tongue as the others had laughed and chatted. Still she’d enjoyed listening and laughing along with the others and it had seemed that in no time everyone was retiring.

Joan had blushed when Cam kissed her good night in front of everyone. He’d then hugged her as well, which caught her off guard. While she was used to his holding her in his arms as he kissed her, he did not usually just hug her. She understood why he had when he whispered by her ear to meet him below once everyone was asleep. Nodding, she’d slipped from his arms and dutifully followed her aunt and cousins to his room. But she’d worried the whole way, wondering why he wished to see her.

The pallet had been waiting as promised and Joan had lain down when the others had retired, but had not slept. She’d waited until she thought they were asleep and the noises from the great hall stopped, and then had silently left the room. Cam had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs for her. Catching her hand, he’d led her silently to the doors to the kitchens, through the still warm room and out into the courtyard behind it, where vegetables and fruit trees grew.

They’d made their way by moonlight to the back of the courtyard where the trees were, and then he’d turned to kiss her. It was only when he began to tug at the top of her gown, pulling it down to free her breasts that she realized why he’d brought her here. Relaxing into his embrace, she’d kissed him back more eagerly.

It had been nearly dawn when she’d crept back to the room and slid beneath the furs on her pallet, which was no doubt why she’d slept so late. But she still didn’t understand why her aunt and cousins hadn’t woken her.

Shrugging that concern aside, Joan made her way below stairs. There were servants in the great hall but she didn’t see anyone else, and no one was seated at the trestle tables. It was late enough that everyone had broken their fast and left, she guessed with a little sigh. She briefly debated going in search of Lady Annabel and her cousins, but the rumble of her stomach sent her to the kitchens instead.

Joan had expected to slip in, pinch a fruit and slip out, but that didn’t happen. Her arrival in the kitchen brought an abrupt end to the work going on in there as every servant peered around to see who had entered and then stopped what they were doing to stare at her.

“I just thought to fetch some fruit or something to break my fast,” Joan said uncertainly, letting the door close behind her.

“No need, m’lady. Jinny’ll fetch it for ye,” a man she presumed was the cook said. He then turned to glance at a small, pale woman who immediately rushed forward.

“Aye, m’lady. Please go sit yerself at the table. I’ll bring food and drink out to ye to break yer fast.”

“Oh, but I didn’t want to trouble anyone,” Joan protested. “I can fetch it myself. After all, I’m the one who slept late and—”

“ ’Tis no trouble, m’lady,” Jinny said, smiling as she urged her toward the door. “No trouble at all. Pray, go seat yerself and I’ll be right out.”

Joan gave in with a little sigh and allowed the woman to usher her out of the room. She wasn’t used to being waited on, and wasn’t at all comfortable with it. But everyone in the kitchens had looked at her as if she had two heads. Apparently, ladies didn’t serve themselves that way.

Aware that Jinny was watching, she moved to the trestle tables. She was halfway to them before she heard the kitchen door close. Apparently the woman had wanted to be sure she wouldn’t return before going about her task.

Joan settled at the table to wait, her gaze wandering over the great hall. It was a large room and well tended with colorful wall hangings, and clean fresh rushes on the floor. From what she’d seen, Sinclair Castle was huge, prosperous and well tended. Lady Sinclair ran her servants as efficiently as she imagined Laird Sinclair ran his warriors.

The sound of the kitchen door opening distracted her and Joan smiled at Jinny when the girl rushed out with a tray in hand. The maid headed first for the table at the end of the room, the one that sat a little higher than the others, but changed direction when she noticed Joan sitting at one of the lower side tables.

“Here ye are, m’lady,” the woman murmured, pausing beside her. “The pastries are fresh. Cook just pulled them out before ye came into the kitchens. And this cider is from the first batch of the season and I brought ye an apple too. I hope ’tis all right.”

“It’s lovely,” Joan murmured. “Thank you.”

“Me pleasure, m’lady,” the maid curtsied, then turned and rushed away, disappearing back into the kitchens.

Joan began to eat. She’d finished perhaps half her food when a mean laugh made her pause and glance around to see Lady Finola approaching from the stairs.

“I can hardly believe he had the nerve to bring ye home to his family,” the woman said with cruel amusement and when Joan stared at her blankly, said, “ ’Tis no’ bad enough yer the daughter of a thief and murderer, but look at ye, sitting at the low tables, yer gown and face filthy, yer hair a mess.”

Sneering, Finola braced her hand on the table to lean toward her as she hissed, “Mark me words, once he’s sated his lust fer ye, he’ll ha’e the marriage annulled and toss ye aside as he should.” Straightening, she looked down her nose at her and added coldly, “Ye do no’ belong here. Yer no’ lady. All ye’ll do is shame the name o’ Sinclair.”

Movement behind and to the side of Finola caught her eye and Joan noted her aunt approaching from the stairs just as the woman said, “And yet Lady Sinclair told me just yesterday that she is grateful Campbell married Joan and not you, Lady Finola. So, apparently, she does not share your opinion.”

Joan bit her lip and watched Finola warily. The woman had turned at the first word from Lady Annabel’s mouth so she couldn’t see her face, but the woman was terribly still, her hands balled into fists. For a minute, Joan thought she would attack Annabel, but in the end she merely hurried back up the stairs without uttering a word.

“Nasty bitch,” Annabel muttered, watching her go.

“Mayhap,” Joan murmured, and then added on a sigh, “But she’s right.”

“What?” Her aunt spun around to peer at her with concern. “Nay, Joan, she’s not.”

“I am the daughter of a thief and murderer.”

“Nay, not a murderer,” Annabel protested at once.

“She killed her husband, my father,” Joan reminded her. That bit of news had been rather shocking when she’d learned it. Her mother had pummeled the man with her fists, he’d lost his balance, fallen and broken his neck.

“Aye, but ’twas an accident. Your mother loved your father. Truly she did, Joan. She did not mean to kill him.”

Joan shrugged that away. “It matters little. As Finola said, I’m no lady. I don’t know the first thing about being a lady. She said I was at the low table as if it was a disgrace, but I don’t even know what a low table is. Or why I shouldn’t sit at it. I mean, I know this table is lower than that one, but why should I not sit—”

“Nobles sit at the high table,” Annabel murmured quietly. “The one on the end that is taller than the others. Servants and commoners sit at the lower tables.”

“I see,” Joan said wearily and stood up. “I think perhaps I should—”

“Joan,” Lady Annabel said gently, catching her arm as she started to move past her. “Do not let what Finola said upset you. There are just a few things you need to learn, and that is why Annella and Kenna and I came with you. We can and will teach you these things.”

“That won’t change the fact that I’m the daughter of a thief and murderer,” Joan pointed out unhappily.

“No, but then I am Kate’s sister. Should I walk in shame over that?” she asked solemnly.

“No, of course not,” Joan said at once. “You were her victim.

“As are you in a way,” Lady Annabel said quietly. “You did not pick her for mother, Joan. And no one holds you responsible for the things she did. At least, no one who matters.”

“You don’t know that,” Joan said at once. “It might matter to Cam’s mother and father. In fact, I suspect it probably would if they knew.”

“I am sure they do know,” Annabel said quickly.

“How could they know? Cam could not even tell them the truth about how we met. I had no traveling party.”

“Cam had to say that for the benefit of the women who are visiting here. It was to protect you, Joan, against their spreading gossip. But I am sure he told his parents the truth afterward. In fact, that is probably why his father wanted to talk to him and his brothers and sent us all away. He no doubt suspected Cam had altered the story somewhat because of their guests and wanted the true story.

“Joan,” she continued gently, taking her hands. “You are your mother’s daughter, not your mother. Your uncle and I do not hold you responsible for what she did, and no one else has the right to.” She squeezed her hands. “Cam’s parents are good people. I am sure they will not hold you responsible either. Besides,” she added, smiling crookedly, “Lady Sinclair is so grateful Cam has finally wed that I suspect she will champion you no matter what.”

Joan sighed and lowered her head unhappily, brushing at a spot on her skirts.

“We will sew you more gowns,” Annabel assured her. “In the meantime, you can borrow a couple of Annella’s. And we shall speak to Lady Sinclair about arranging for a lady’s maid for you. I would have done so myself ere we left MacKay, but with everything going on, there was no time. The rest is a simple matter of teaching you what you need to know.”

Joan hesitated. “How quickly can you teach me enough that I won’t embarrass Cam?”

“As quickly as we can,” Annabel assured her, and when Joan still hesitated, she caught her hands again and said, “Joan, please, do not let Finola eat away at your confidence and spoil the happiness you have a chance at here. It is what she meant to do. Do not let her. You and Cam could have a good life if you just trust in yourself and give this a chance. All right?”