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“Fetch the laird?” Duncan sputtered and choked on the words. “You speak of him like some animal to do your bidding. You must have had a coddled upbringing if such behavior was permitted of you. ’Tis no wonder that your clan lies in ruins if your father allowed his clan to speak to him or even think of him in that manner.”
His sharp words brought her to a stop. Although she thought he was putting too much meaning into her words, Jocelyn knew that this man had the laird’s ear and confidence. If he wished, he could make the difficult situation even worse between her and her new husband. She’d sensed honor within him, but he was, after all, the laird’s man.
“You mistake my words, Duncan. I will happily seek out the laird to ask him about Athdar, if you would but reveal his whereabouts to me. I mean no disrespect to him.”
He seemed to think on her words and then he nodded at her. “’Twould appear that you have not yet recovered from the journey here or the…events of the last few days. Your concern over your brother is understandable, even admirable, not unnecessary. Connor has said he is safe, and so he is.”
Only the Blessed Mother knew how she stayed her hand in that moment. Everything within her wanted nothing so much as to make a fist as Ewan had taught her and to swing it at the side of this fool’s head. But then she realized something—he’d never answered her question. He’d evaded and deflected, but never answered.
He knew something he was not supposed to reveal to her.
“Duncan, where is my brother?” Jocelyn stared at his face and watched the momentary search for words as he tried to piece together some explanation or excuse.
“Ah, look, lady. Here comes Ailsa now.” Duncan spun on his heels and called out across the hall. “Ailsa, your lady is here. You have arrived not a moment too soon for she needs to rest.”
Now that he had made certain that everyone in the hall or passing through it heard his words, she knew she could not allow this to become a confrontation. Fear struck her deep and hard as she worried that something ill had indeed befallen her brother. She would play his game and allow him to win this encounter, but she must know of her brother’s fate. As she nodded her acquiescence to him, she leaned in close so that no one else would hear.
“At least tell me he is alive,” she whispered. “At least that.” She clasped her hands together so she would not grab the plaid he wore over his shoulder. His mouth tightened into a grimace and she could see his jaws clenching and releasing. The bottom of her stomach dropped and bile rose hot in her throat.
“He is alive and well, lady,” he answered. “You must speak to the laird about the rest.”
Ailsa arrived at her side and glanced from one to the other. Someone as astute as this woman could not miss the tension between them. Instead of agreeing that she should rest, Ailsa took her by the arm and guided her toward the doors of the keep.
“Come, lady. I think a short walk would aid you more than keeping to your chambers.” The maid began walking, but Jocelyn paused. This was not done yet.
“Duncan, when can I speak to the laird? Where will I find him?”
“He’s ridden to one of the outlying villages. He will return late this night or in the morn.”
So, she must wait hours and possibly a day to find out Athdar’s fate. There was nothing she could do now, nothing but insult or provoke Duncan, which would give her much enjoyment but no favorable results. She did not doubt his words about the MacLerie’s return or that her brother was well.
“I will speak to him on his return then,” she agreed and followed Ailsa’s guiding steps away.
She looked back at Duncan once as she walked away, trying to read his thoughts. His face was filled with as much frustration as she thought hers must be, but for exactly the opposite reasons. However, she knew that Connor MacLerie was at the center of both of their situations.
Speak to the laird?
Oh, aye. She would speak to him.
Jocelyn discovered that Ailsa was in truth a tyrant disguised as a small, old woman. The rest of the day and even after dark fell, the woman nearly forcibly escorted Jocelyn from place to place within the keep and without, until Jocelyn was ready to drop. When the laird had not returned in time for the evening meal, she was tempted to curl into a ball and fall asleep in some secluded corner where Ailsa could not find her.
Her plan was not a success. Ailsa did relent and allow her to retreat to her room and eat her meal there. The lack of appropriate women and men for that matter would make it awkward for her to take her place alone at that table. So, she found herself in her room, with a well-blazing fire in the hearth, a tray of foods giving off the most wonderful of aromas, and, even more wondrous than the appetizing food, a book she’d discovered during her tour of the keep.
Although she tried to slow her pace, Jocelyn gulped down her food and finished one full goblet of ale before stopping. Not aware of how hungry she’d become, she shook her head in surprise over it. Now stretching and leaning back against the tall, cushioned chair that had appeared in her chambers just today, she spied the bed.
She would fall asleep the moment she laid her head down—she could feel the physical exhaustion dragging her down now. But, she wanted to be awake and ready when Connor arrived for she had many questions for him.
Questions that had begun simply about her brother and now included many about herself and her place here in Lairig Dubh and the clan MacLerie. Questions that had increased both in quantity and intensity as the day passed and her lack of position in the eyes of these people was made clear over and over again.
They didn’t need her guidance on matters of food nor the preparations for winter. The steward, in his position for decades, was quite competent, even creative, in handling those duties. They did not need her assistance in the duties of overseeing the keep or the woman who lived there, for other than the laundry maids, some of whom now assisted Ailsa, there were no women living in the keep.
So, she found herself in a nearly empty keep, with no sign of her brother or her husband, and exhausted from the miles walked this day. The bed, which she’d purposefully ignored, now beckoned to her. It looked so inviting—piled high with pillows and many layers of linen and blankets—Jocelyn soon found herself standing next to it.
“I just put some hot stones under the blankets, lady. Let me help you in.” Ailsa lifted the robe from her shoulders and helped her climb up. Then she adjusted the location of the flannel-wrapped stones until they were close enough to warm Jocelyn’s feet.
Sinking into the comfort and warmth undermined her plans to be awake to speak to the laird on his return. Her body allowed the cushiony softness of the thick mattress to pull it toward sleep.
“Ailsa,” she whispered, struggling to say the words before she drifted into the oblivion of sleep. “Tell the laird I wish to speak to him when he returns—whenever that is.”
“Aye, lady. I will tell the laird.”
She wanted to ask about the tone in the woman’s voice, but her body was settling into sleep. Although she could still hear the woman moving around the room, Jocelyn had not the strength to form and speak more words. And once more, her dreams were filled with images of Ewan.
And sometime in the dark of the night when the fires had burned down, he came to her in her dreams and warmed her body and soul.
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