Ronan and the courtier exchanged a look, both knowing that while men might not be allowed in the chambers, that didn’t stop them from visiting. Ronan cleared his throat as he attempted to come up with an excuse. He decided that honesty would make him less foolish than devising a lie.
“I’m not familiar with the keep, and I find myself lost while trying to make my way to the bailey. I intend to go to the lists, not pay a call to anyone,” Ronan explained, proud that he’d said more than one sentence without tripping over his words. She’d appeared attractive in the chapel, but now her robin’s-egg blue eyes mesmerized him.
The lady-in-waiting huffed as she glanced back over her shoulder as though she expected someone to appear. When she looked back at Ronan, she nodded. “I can take you most of the way, then point where you’re to go. Follow me.”
Ronan noticed that her last words were imperious, but her soft voice made them less commanding. She hadn’t spoken loudly, but Ronan was certain he detected an accent from the isles. Her wariness and silence made Ronan think she didn’t want to draw attention to them as they moved into more crowded sections of the castle. When they reached a part of the castle Ronan recognized, he was sure he could find the lists.
“Thank you, my lady. I’m certain I can make my way from here,” Ronan offered softly, unsure if there was more that he should say. Part of him wanted to bolt before he made a fool of himself; another part wished he could think of a reason to linger.
“Very well,” the courtier smiled. “Stirling is an exceptionally large and confusing place at first. You aren’t the first or last person to become turned around. It took me a fortnight before I was certain I wouldn’t get lost. Good day.” She dipped a curtsy and turned away before Ronan could ask her name.
Ronan was certain she had a Hebridean accent and wished to know from which isle she hailed. Even if they didn’t see one another again, he found it reassuring that there was someone else at court who was an islander and not a Scot. He’d given up trying to explain the difference to people not from the Hebrides. The islands shared a heritage that was both Scottish and Irish, and they’d been content to be a world unto their own for generations. They identified more with Highlanders than Lowlanders, but even the Highlanders were more Scots than the Hebrideans. Not that he would ever say that aloud to a Highlander. There was no love lost between the two parts of Scotland.
Ronan stepped into the brisk November air and inhaled. It made his nose curl. Rather than the fresh, invigorating air from Loch Slapin, the body of water Dun Ringill overlooked, he breathed in the fettered stench of the market town of Stirling. He sighed as he walked toward the entrance to the lists. Once he began swinging his sword and concentrated on sparring, he felt much of the tension slip away. Fighting and training were things he understood, and they didn’t require him to converse. Despite the noise of swords clanging, Ronan found the relative lack of voices rather peaceful. He didn’t know anyone else who shared that sentiment, but he felt confident in the lists, unlike when he had to speak before people he didn’t know. He might be Laird MacKinnon, but to the men who surrounded him, he was just another warrior.
* * *
After leaving the stranger by the doors to the bailey, Abigail slipped to a window embrasure and watched as he walked with more confidence once he spied the lists. Although he’d been soft spoken, she immediately recognized his Hebridean accent. He was clearly not a guardsman, both by how he dressed and by his presence within the private wings of the castle. She knew he was a MacKinnon from his plaid, but she was certain they weren’t acquainted. He moved with the graceful ease of a warrior, his frame tall and broad. There was self-assuredness in his stride, and while Abigail had to strain, she could see his ease with the blunted sword he drew from the armorer’s collection. She abandoned watching the still-nameless man and hurried to the queen’s solar. She couldn’t deny he was a handsome man, but the two times she’d seen him there was a shyness in his eyes. She wasn’t interested in someone who appeared meek and retiring. She already learned her lesson about such men, and she didn’t feel compelled to gain a refresher.
Abigail entered the queen’s solar and slipped to an empty seat near several other new ladies-in-waiting. Mostly Lowlanders, they’d snubbed Abigail as a Highlander when she arrived at court. When they discovered she was from the Hebrides, they’d gawked as if they’d never met anyone from the isles. It had taken Abigail several days to realize that most of the ladies had never met someone from the isles, and they believed everyone who wasn’t a Lowlander was a heathen. They claimed Highlanders were barbarians, and people from the isles were barely civilized. Abigail learned the invaluable lesson of biting her tongue and keeping to herself.
Two more experienced ladies, Emelie and Blythe Dunbar, took pity on her and befriended her. They had known her older sister, Madeline. The sisters had arrived at court several years before Abigail, replacing their older sister Isabella when she married. They were quiet and tended to prefer one another’s company. But they’d been kind to Abigail and welcomed her.
“Good day, Lady Abigail,” one lady greeted her, but there was no warmth in the greeting.
“Good day to you, Lady Sarah Anne,” Abigail smiled. Sarah Anne Hay was the self-appointed leader of the younger members of the queen’s entourage. When Abigail arrived at Stirling, it was assumed that she would join Sarah Anne’s ring and fall in line with the vindictive woman’s expectations. In fact, there had been whispers that Abigail might be enough like her sister that she would oust Sarah Anne. But Abigail never had an interest in cattiness for its own sake, and she’d arrived at court resolved to be a better person than she had been in the past. But when Sarah Anne and her older sister Margaret made Abigail their target, the courtiers soon learned that Abigail had no problems defending herself when necessary. A scathing assessment of Sarah Anne and Margaret’s characters made both sisters avoid Abigail most of the time. Abigail tried to sound sincere, but when Sarah Anne turned her nose up, Abigail found she didn’t care.
“Lady Abigail,” Emelie greeted her as she moved closer to the light from the window embrasure near which Abigail sat. “Have you had any more news aboot Maude’s weans? Blythe and I are eager to hear aboot the lass.”
“I’m afraid not. If I hear aught, I will surely pass it along promptly,” Abigail reassured. Emelie nodded, returning to her own sewing now that she had more light. Abigail knew neither Emelie nor Blythe had been close to Maude, but they’d both been happy when the former lady-in-waiting found a love match much like their sister Isabella had.
Abigail picked up the embroidery she’d left behind the previous day and continued stitching the tunic she was making for her nephew. A toddler now, he had a cherubic face with perpetually rosy cheeks. Abigail finished her older niece’s tunic a few weeks prior, so she was confident she would finish the matching set she was making for the twins before Christmas. She’d embroidered the edges of a sheet to embellish what Maude could use to carry the babe strapped to her front and eventually on her back. While Maude’s younger daughter now toddled, Maude often carried her, so they could both keep up with the twins. They were all practical gifts, but she hoped her family liked them. She’d forgone the lavishness she’d once expected, even demanded, before her brother married. When Abigail looked back at her life before Maude arrived at Stornoway, she felt as though she watched someone else’s. It was only within the past year that she felt she’d grown up.
She’d handfasted with Lathan Chisolm and become Lady Chisolm, albeit temporarily. She’d thought him so handsome and charming when they met. She was eager to become a clan’s lady, and she believed she was ready for the responsibility. But she was woefully unprepared, despite the intensive training Maude offered and the duties that fell upon her shoulders while Maude was injured. Abigail had still expected servants, particularly the cook and the housekeeper, to shoulder much of the work while she floated around the castle supposedly keeping an eye on everyone.
In truth, she’d been useless at keeping the ledgers and living within a budget. The clan was fortunate that the housekeeper, the cook, and Lathan were knowledgeable, or she would have failed completely. By the end of the year and a day, she admitted she was still more like her mother than she was her sister-by-marriage. She was still immature.
“His name is Ronan,” Sarah Anne whispered—though none-too-quietly—to her sister Margaret. “He’s braw and handsome. His clan is prosperous too. Just what a bride wants.” Abigail dipped her head to hide her smile. She’d sounded so much like Sarah Anne not long ago.
“We just need him to notice us,” Margaret replied. Abigail sighed as she tuned out the women’s conversation, uninterested in the man they discussed.
The Chisholms welcomed her, but she soon realized it was for the dowry and the lands in Assynt that she brought to the handfast. Despite her failings, the clan was kind and patient with her. But when she thought back over her time there, she suspected their kindness was more from pity than anything else. She hadn’t understood Lathan’s determination to secure her dowry until their wedding night. They consummated the handfast, but before he spilled his seed, Lathan withdrew. That became the norm for when they coupled. He wasn’t a selfish lover, and he taught her how to enjoy intimacy, but he never climaxed within her. He’d refused to answer beyond the vaguest of explanations at first. But by the time three months had passed, Abigail understood Lathan didn’t want to sire a child with her so he could more easily repudiate their handfast. It wasn’t until she overheard a conversation between Lathan and his brother that she understood how unwanted and manipulated she had been.
Lathan intended to continue the handfast until the end, all the while searching for a more advantageous match on the mainland. He had a leman in the village, and he had already sired three illegitimate children with her. Abigail encountered them the first week she was there. She’d wished that Lathan would come to care for her and decide to remain faithful to her. She’d hoped that he wouldn’t want to end their trial marriage, but as she looked back, she knew in her heart that he never intended to keep her as Lady Chisolm. It wasn’t until she overheard the conversation that she understood he’d never been faithful to her. She learned that he frequently left her bed and the keep, spending the night with the other woman.
Margaret’s voice intruded upon Abigail’s thoughts again. “If he notices us, then we’d be forced to live among the savages. Mayhap he’s better to just look at.”
“There’s still a fortnight before Advent. I intend to dance with him every night. He’s bound to kiss me,” Sarah Anne preened.
Abigail tried not to roll her eyes and resumed her introspection. Once she’d put all the pieces together, Abigail was heartbroken that her life with Lathan was more a figment of her imagination than reality. She’d attempted to slip missives to Kieran to warn him of Lathan’s plan, but after five failed attempts, Lathan grew so angry that Abigail feared for her life. She’d wondered if she could escape and make her way back to Lewis, but she was unfamiliar with all the clans that surrounded her. She knew no one among the Mackenzies, the Frasers of Lovat, or the MacDonnells. Abigail knew Cairstine Grant was once a lady-in-waiting, but that was before Abigail arrived at court. Abigail had even wondered more than once if she could escape all the way to Dunrobin and seek shelter with the Sutherlands. In the end, Lathan had unceremoniously dumped Abigail on the steps of Stornoway while Kieran, Maude, and their children were visiting Maude’s family. With only her mother to greet her, there had been no way to stop Lathan.
“I’ll run a stake up his arse and leave him dangling from his curtain wall!” were Kieran’s first words when he returned from Dunrobin to find Abigail pale and underweight.
It enraged Kieran to learn of Lathan’s actions. For all Abigail’s faults, Kieran was livid that she’d been disgraced and mistreated. He’d been beside himself with guilt when he learned about the fear that became part of Abigail’s daily existence. He petitioned King Robert, whose mandate compelled Lathan to return Abigail’s dowry and lands, less the amount he felt his clan was owed for housing and feeding Abigail for a year. Maude rarely made it known—or took advantage of the fact—that she and her siblings, along with her Sinclair cousins, were all King Robert and Queen Elizabeth’s godchildren. But after Abigail’s return home, Maude requested a place for Abigail among the ladies-in-waiting.
Five months later, and Abigail still gave thanks every day that she no longer suffered through her handfast. She didn’t miss Lathan, but her heart ached for the missed opportunity for happiness. Her mother, along with Kieran and Maude, agreed that she returned to Stornoway as a more introspective and mature young woman, but Abigail wasn’t wholly convinced. However, she knew she was a better person than when she’d left the Isle of Lewis for her handfast. After three months at court, Abigail wondered if she might ever meet someone who would wish to marry her. No longer a maiden, with a failed handfast to her name, she was a less-than-desirable candidate.
“Who was that mon you were walking with?” Blythe asked as she sat between Emelie and Abigail. “I haven’t seen him before.”
