“Do you plan to remain long at court?” she asked.
“Nay.” Ronan looked down when he realized how abrupt his answer sounded. He smiled sheepishly at Abigail. “I intend to be home before Christmas, my lady.”
“I miss Christmas at Stornoway. It’s festive here, but it’s not the same as being with family,” Abigail admitted. She glanced up at Ronan, but he only nodded, his eyes staring ahead of him as the doors to the Privy Council chamber came into view. Abigail stopped, and Ronan nearly walked past her. “The Privy Council is just ahead. You must make your presence known to the guard who will summon the chamberlain. He will admit you or turn you away. I wish you luck that you didn’t miss your audience.”
“Thank you, Lady Abigail.”
Ronan and Abigail stood looking at one another, neither sure who should take the first step. They both stepped in the same direction, but when each of them tried to alter course again, they stepped in the same direction once more. Abigail pointed to her left, and Ronan nodded before pointing to his left. They stepped around one another, and Ronan carried on toward his meeting. Abigail glanced back and caught Ronan doing the same thing. They exchanged another smile before going their separate ways.
Four
Abigail found herself in no hurry to join the other women in the queen’s solar. She wasn’t looking forward to the dull hum of voices while the ladies gossiped, or the monotonous tone of someone reading one of Thomas Aquinas’s treatises the queen preferred. Abigail would have been content with just harp music, but she knew that would likely only be in the background. She considered her latest exchange with Ronan MacKinnon.
He was so outgoing one minute, and then he wasna. It was as though he realized he was being congenial, and it was too much. He wasna rude, but it was odd. Mayhap worrying aboot meeting King Robert distracted him. Or mayhap he really is shy. But how can a shy mon govern a clan as large as the MacKinnons in a place like Skye? Is he weak? Is that why they have so much trouble with the other MacLeods? A weak mon has nay place as a laird. I wonder if that’s why the king wishes to see him. To determine if he’s fit to be laird.
Whatever the reason for his meeting, I wouldnae want to be him right now. King Robert willna have any sympathy for him getting lost. Though he said he’s been here a fortnight, and I was still getting turned around that soon after I arrived. It was closer to a fortnight and a half before I figured things out. I still wonder if he’s a good laird. He strikes me as a powerful warrior, but I dinna get if he has the backbone for being laird. Och, it’s none of ma business. Let St. Peter pass judgment on him. Or at least the Bruce.
Abigail entered the queen’s solar to exactly what she predicted. Harp music, chattering, and the droning voice of someone reading. She wanted to turn around and run away, but she couldn’t. Blythe and Emelie waved her over, and she took a seat near them. She listened to them discussing women Abigail only knew by name, women who had been ladies-in-waiting before her arrival. As Blythe and Emelie reminisced, then speculated on their friends’ marriages, Abigail was reminded that she might remain a spinster.
Mayhap a convent would be good for me. I could take ma vows just as the nuns prepared Madeline to. Though I’d rather be at a Franciscan abbey as they’re nae as austere and dogmatic in their lifestyle. But I dinna think I’m really called to that. For all Lathan’s faults, and mine, he did teach me to enjoy the sins of the flesh. Do I really want to resign maself to a life of chastity? Nae if I dinna have to. Nae yet at least.
But what if nay one ever offers for me again? I’ll live a life of chastity anyway. Nae necessarily. If I stay here long enough, I’ll be seen more like a matron or a widow. It’s nae secret I was handfasted. I could take a lover someday. Bah! Kieran would kill me. He’d do more than send me to a convent. He’d string me up by ma toes. And I dinna just want to couple. I want something real. I want someone who cares aboot me for more than a roll in the sheets. I need to stop fashing and let life happen.
Abigail continued listening to Emelie and Blythe talk, and their conversation turned to the upcoming Christmas feast.
“We have the entirety of Advent, and then the festivities can begin. I can’t wait to have meat again.” Emelie practically licked her lips. “I will miss it, and the season hasn’t even begun yet.”
“Cheese,” Abigail chimed in. “I will miss cheese. I’d even like a mug of milk if it meant I could have dairy again.”
“I will miss the music after the evening meal,” Blythe sighed.
“You miss dancing with Michail MacLeod,” Emelie teased. Abigail couldn’t help but smile as she listened to the Dunbar sisters. Michail, a MacLeod of Assynt, was a distant cousin to Abigail. He would become chieftain after his father’s death. But Blythe’s face went blank, and she notched up her chin. Emelie heeded Blythe’s silent warning and shifted the conversation. “I wonder what I will wear for the Christmas feast. I shall miss wearing bright colors. All I can say, though, is at least it isn’t Lent. We may do without our favorite foods, dancing, and music, but we don’t have to spend hours upon hours in prayer. My knees are grateful. I’m too young for my knees to ache as much as they do when I kneel on the stone floor.”
“That is true. They creak like an auld woman’s,” Blythe giggled. “And you sigh as you lumber to your feet.”
“Lumber?” Emelie pretended to be indignant. “You should help an auld woman since you are so young and spry. I must be too feeble to carry my sewing back to our chamber. Would you be a dearie and do it for me?”
Blythe snickered as she shook her head. Abigail enjoyed the banter between the two women, and it helped pass the time until the ladies left the solar to prepare for the evening meal. Abigail wondered if she would catch sight of Ronan once again. She had to admit he was handsome, and she enjoyed his appearance, but she wasn’t sure what else drew her. She wondered if it was more morbid curiosity to see if he was the hesitant laird she suspected. Or was she trying to be optimistic that he wasn’t?Mayhap he’s just reserved around strangers. He doesnae ken me, and he learned I’m a MacLeod today. Mayhap he’s being cautious and doesnae trust me. That’s reasonable.Abigail hurried to change her attire before entering the Great Hall with the other ladies.
* * *
Ronan stood in the passageway outside the Privy Council chamber, watching the posted guards who stared at nothing and everything. The chamberlain had been even smugger than Ronan feared when he introduced himself. The man looked down his nose at Ronan despite being nearly two heads shorter than Ronan. He’d sniffed, then ducked back into the chamber. Now Ronan tried not to fidget as he waited to learn whether they would turn him away. As he surreptitiously glanced at the other people who tarried, he wondered what brought them to court. He looked at each person and tried to guess how long they’d been waiting.
It was the middle of the afternoon, the air oppressive in the passageway, by the time the chamberlain bid Ronan to enter the king’s meeting room.Dinna bungle this, mon. Ye represent every MacKinnon. Think before ye speak. Think twice at least. If ye muck this up, it’ll nae only be yer head on a platter, but it may be the MacLeods and MacDonalds gaining yer land. Then what?
“Laird MacKinnon, King Robert has found time for you,” the chamberlain smirked. Ronan stood to his full height and pushed his shoulders back. The chamberlain scurried to take a step away from Ronan as the Hebridean laird glowered at him.
Ronan approached King Robert’s throne and bowed deeply to his sovereign. He knew enough not to speak until spoken to, and only if it was a question that necessitated an answer. He was uncertain how long he should bow, so it relieved him to notice the Bruce flicked his fingers for Ronan to rise. The King of Scots ran an assessing gaze over Ronan, and the only time the laird felt more scrutinized was earlier that morning when Abigail discovered who he was. He forced his mouth not to twitch as he recalled her surprise. Her expression told him more than she realized. He knew she would doubt his strength as a laird because he tended toward being quiet and was generally very reserved. He’d predicted her response because it was the same one he received when he made any new acquaintances. Most people underestimated him, and he used his introverted nature as a weapon. In politics, it served him well since few expected his dogged tenacity, but he found he didn’t care for the idea that Abigail might think less of him for it.
“Laird MacKinnon, I take it you are still getting turned around in the castle,” King Robert mused. Ronan canted his head and nodded. “And who was your tour guide this time? Lady Abigail again?”
The king’s observation took Ronan aback. He never suspected that word would reach the king that Abigail helped him twice. He swallowed and trod carefully, unwilling to endanger the young lady’s reputation. “I was most fortunate that Lady Abigail took pity upon me twice and steered me in the right direction.”
“Even though she’s a MacLeod?” King Robert pressed.
“It was only upon meeting her for the second time that I learned she is a MacLeod. Of Lewis,” Ronan explained.
“And there is a difference?” King Robert persisted.
