Before she could say a word or ask anything, a crunching sound on the ground behind her spoke of someone’s approach. Cat prepared herself to face Aidan MacLerie and was surprised when it was, instead, Duncan MacLerie, Ciara’s stepfather and the earl’s peacemaker. She and Muireall sank in curtsies to him.
‘Father!’ she said, as she rose up on her toes and accepted a kiss on the cheek from the tall MacLerie warrior turned peacemaker. ‘May I make known Catriona MacKenzie? I think that our kinswoman, Gair’s sister Muireall, is known to you?’
Duncan MacLerie wore the same grim expression that seemed to be bred into men of the clan...and the same handsomeness. Still, this man had faced down the enemies of the MacLeries and brought most all of them to heel. His reputation was known and respected across the kingdom and it was rumoured that his skills had been used by even the king when needed. And now he stood before her. Why?
Cat found it difficult to breathe. Why had she been sent here? What could these two expect of her? Was she to be exiled now—thrown out of the village? That’s when she felt Muireall slip her hand into hers and squeeze it, reminding and reassuring her in one slight gesture.
‘You must be wondering why you are here?’ the woman asked her.
Trying to gather her wits for whatever was coming her way, Cat nodded and tried to take in a breath, steeling herself for the challenge ahead. These last weeks had worn heavily on her good nature and her confidence that she could find a way of dealing with anything she faced. But now, she must.
‘Aye, my la— Ciara,’ she said, using the woman’s given name.
‘Father?’
‘I am here to confirm that whatever Ciara agrees to in the...matter between you and Aidan MacLerie has the full backing and promise of the laird and she acts on behalf of both of them.’ He stood behind his stepdaughter with his hands on her shoulders, conferring the power of which he spoke to her.
Now she trembled in earnest, her knees threatening to buckle. The laird, the earl, had taken an interest in the gossip, too? Muireall slid her arm under Cat’s to support her just then. Then, after those terribly foreboding words, the peacemaker nodded to her, patted his stepdaughter on the shoulder and walked off, moving in long, lumbering strides back towards the keep.
‘Come now,’ Ciara said, as she slipped her arm around Cat’s other one and tugged. ‘Walk with me and I can ease your mind about our discussion.’
With their support on each side, Cat followed down the road, away from Ciara’s large house, to a lane nearer the stream and away from the hustling noise and activity of the busy village that centred around the well. She’d not been down this way before, neither having errands that brought her here nor knowing anyone who lived in this section of cottages.
Soon, they stood in front of a cottage that was twice the size of Gowan’s. A small enclosed yard sat next to it, clearly a garden, and it had two chimneys, telling her of two hearths. Although Cat wanted to remain there, Ciara released her arm, walked up the path and opened the door. ‘I pray you, come inside.’
Then she realised what this was about. The laird had arranged a new place for her, mayhap to serve the lady of this house? She had no objection to honest, hard work and would prefer to keep busy at tasks and chores than sit and contemplate her recent woes. She walked ahead of Muireall, noting the well-kept look of the cottage and, once inside, the clean, comfortable furnishings, nicely arranged in what looked to be two private chambers and the one larger one that served as both kitchen and common room. No byre to hold cattle or other livestock inside—that must be out behind the house, next to the garden. This was the house of someone higher than the usual villager.
But, the one thing missing was anyone who lived here.
Ciara walked to the table and motioned for Cat and Muireall to join her there. A parchment, a small jar of ink and a quill lay in the centre there. As she sat down, Cat continued to look for any signs of an inhabitant and found none—no clothing, no personal items, nothing.
‘Aidan and the laird asked my father to handle this matter, but he thought it best handled by me. “A woman’s softer touch” or some such nonsense. Since he tends to be a bit more familiar with crop agreements and warriors sworn in service, I thought it would be kinder to you to do as he asked.’
‘Kinder? I do not understand,’ she said, glancing from Ciara’s kind smile to her friend’s worried one.
‘Because of the results of your involvement with the laird’s son, and now with your husband’s death, you are left homeless and destitute. The MacLerie and Aidan wish to give you some assurances that you will be cared for.’
She wanted to argue that there was no involvement, but she could not dispute that the attention of the earl’s son had dragged her good name in the dirt and caused her to become a pariah in the village.
‘This house, yours now, is granted in consideration of serv—your relationship with the earl’s son. A small stipend will be provided for your care and the house’s upkeep. If any bairns result, they will be taken care of accordingly.’
‘I cannot have bairns,’ she blurted out when she should have corrected this woman’s assumptions about what had or had not happened between them.
The smile on Ciara’s face turned even softer then and a sadness entered her eyes. Cat saw that same reaction from any woman who’d had her own children—a mix of understanding, sympathy and utter sadness at what a lack of bairns would mean in their lives. She blinked, knowing that tears gathered and would fall, exposing her true feelings to this stranger, no matter her confidence in discussing such personal issues in the manner of a transaction.
‘To protect you and to give you some assurance that this is a binding agreement, Aidan asked me to prepare this for you.’ Ciara held out the parchment, which lay covered in rows and rows of words Cat could not read. ‘Muireall, if you would?’
So, the earl’s son either knew or suspected she could not read and had suggested Muireall’s presence for just this situation. Gair’s family had all benefited from his first training and now serving as steward to the MacLerie. Reading and writing had been taught to his brothers and his sister as well.
‘Why not take a look around?’ Ciara suggested as they sat in the still and utter silence, waiting for Muireall to read the document that would determine her future.
She smiled, nodded and rose from the chair on shaking legs. Walking to the furthest place in the cottage, she entered one of the two private chambers.
A bedroom.
A large bed, too, off the ground on a wooden frame that must be rope-strung...and comfortable.
Several trunks and a small table with two stools sat in the corners of the chamber. A good-sized hearth that promised to keep out the cold and dampness shared a wall with the other chamber next to it.
