“May I think of some things, too, and speak?”
“Aye, ye may. Now, we shall meet in the hall in an hour.” He held out his hand to her. “Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Marion shook his hand.
Annie suddenly smiled at him, revealing that she had been a very pretty young woman at some time. “Ye will do, laddie. Ye will do.”
“I suppose that was a compliment,” said Kenneth as they all gathered in the laird’s bedchamber while several serving girls ran back and forth with water to help the men bathe.
“I think so,” Simon murmured, and found himself wondering what Ilsabeth would think of his child.
“Do we wish to ken how it is ye had a child with Mary?” asked Malcolm, and there was a thread of anger in his voice.
“In a moment.” Seeing that the tub was full as was the washbasin, he ordered the serving girls away and shut the door behind them. “ ‘Tis a long and sordid tale. I was eighteen and a wee bit naïve when it came to women,” he began, undressing as he spoke.
He had reached the part where he had heard Henry and Mary discussing him as if he were a stud bull and then took off his shirt. The looks of horrified shock on their faces made him wince a little. He had become accustomed to the feel of the scars and Ilsabeth’s acceptance of them had made him forget how they looked.
“Why are ye nay dead?” asked Ruari.
“My foster father said he decided I was too stubborn to succumb to it or the fevers that wracked me for days afterward. This is what I was still all too painfully aware of, despite the fact that it was healed, when I arrived to rescue a bitch who didnae need rescuing.”
“Has Ilsabeth seen those?”
“Aye,” Simon replied with a hint of wariness behind his reply.
“And she stayed. Weel, until ye threw her away.”
Simon gave his youngest brother a scowl and then climbed into the tub. “I believed, and still do, that she deserved better than the brother of a mad-mon and a traitor, or the laird of a keep that will need years of work and a lot of money to see life improve here. Now, let us speak of any ideas ye might have for making this land one that can be lived off, and lived off weel.”
By the time Simon went down to the hall to start the meeting, his mind was swimming with ideas. He took little Marion by the hand and seated her in the chair at his right hand. A grin from Malcolm told him his brother was not insulted, willingly giving up his rightful seat to the little girl. To his amusement he noticed that Marion held a small chalkboard with several things listed on it.
The meeting began cautiously, all those who had gathered to say their piece doing so with some trepidation. Simon could only imagine how Henry would have taken some farmer or cottager trying to give him a suggestion. As he listened and responded with quiet, thoughtful answers, people began to relax and he knew he was now hearing the true concerns of Lochancorrie’s people. And then Marion raised her hand.
“What is it, loving?” he asked her.
“I think we need to mend the stables and keep them nice and clean so that, if I get a new pony, it will have a nice home.”
Simon noticed that he was not the only one who had to bite back a laugh over that very clever way of asking for a pony. “Ye need a pony, do ye?” He frowned when her bottom lip wobbled in a way he recognized from Elen.
“I had a pony but the laird saw me playing with it and he hit it because it wouldnae let him near and that made him mad and he decided he needed meat for the table and he killed my pony and had Cook make a stew and he made me eat some.”
Simon pulled her into his arms and sat her on his lap, rubbing her back as she sniffled into his shirt. “Then we shall fix the stables and get a pony. Now, dinnae we need a fine place for our horses, too?” He felt her nod against his chest. “It was a fine suggestion. I can see that Malcolm has already added it to his list of what must be done.”
She leaned back and looked at him as she wiped her tears away on her sleeve. “I have another one.”
Simon was terrified to ask what it was, but he forced himself to smile. “Tell us then.” He was a little startled when she gave him what he could only describe as a mean look. “Marion?”
“I want a rule saying that men cannae hit ladies and make them cry.”
“Done,” said Malcolm before Simon could find the words to answer what was yet another horrifying insight to the life this child had led.
It was late before everyone left and Malcolm had several sheets of suggestions before him. Simon sipped at his ale and stared around the great hall. There was little left of the grandeur that had once existed. Between his father and Henry, it had been stripped of all its fine tapestries and carpets as well as many of the old weapons.
“When Marion said that about her pony,” began Ruari, and then he just shook his head. “I think we will be hearing of our brother’s cruelty for a long time.”
“ ‘Tis astonishing that she is still such a sweet lass.” Malcolm suddenly grinned. “Weel, maybe nay so sweet for that was one mean look she gave ye when she wanted that rule about hitting ladies.”
“Aye, it was. Reminded me of the one wee Elen gets on her angelic wee face when she is ready to bellow in temper.”
