Selene got to her feet. “Come.” She reached a hand to help Maureen up from her chair and together they left the training yard.
As they walked, Maureen continued their conversation in a low voice.
“’Twas sad fer all of us, but even more fer Aidan MacLeay.”
“Because he’d loved and lost and, even worse, his great love had died?”
“Aye. Then it grew worse. Aidan, in his misery and grief put about the story that she had come here in good health and that Kenneth had murdered her because he didnae fancy her and had nay wish tae marry.”
“Oh, Lord.” Selene said, shocked.
“Aidan is the laird now, and he has sworn vengeance on Kenneth fer what he claims is murder. Even though this happened years ago, his hatred has only grown more bitter. Where he was once a good man, his rage has turned him into something akin tae a madman.”
“And he poses a danger to Kenneth?”
“Aye. I have heard whispers that it was Aidan MacLeay’s men who attacked yer ship. But that is only one of many such attacks he’s perpetrated over the years.”
Selene shuddered, recalling the slaughter. “So, he attacked my ship because we were bound for Duntulm?”
“I think that may be so. But the ship that attacked yer men carried nae colors so it’s nae possible tae ken fer sure.
“Because of the story MacLeay has spread about Kenneth, and because me braither is a great warrior, he is known and feared as the ‘Brute of Sleat.” Maureen gave a sharp little laugh. “Only by those who dinnae ken the true Kenneth MacDonald.”
Selene nodded slowly. She had wondered about the name and how it seemed at odds with the man who had rescued her from the raiders and from the sea.
Maureen dried her tears and they continued on their way. Her sunny nature reasserted itself as she guided Selene around several of the castle apartments, including the library.
Selene tucked away the story she’d heard from Maureen, to consider some other time.
CHAPTER SIX
They ascended to the battlements where, on a clear day, Maureen assured her it was possible to see across the Sea of the Hebrides. But today was misty, with what Maureen informed her wassmirr,a rain so light it was hardly more than mist. After descending the stairs, they walked in the walled garden where herbs and turnips grew beside one late blooming rose bush, while the remainder of the garden slept in preparation for the harsh Highland winter to come.
Afterwards, they retired to the solar, where refreshments were served and, later on, a light luncheon. What remained of the afternoon was spent playing piquet with Maureen, who turned out to be an excellent and wily card player. She won trick after trick, scoring many more points than Selene in every game but one.
“I give up. You’re much better at this than I am.” Selene said, laughing.
Maureen gathered the cards. “What is yer favorite game?”
Selene gave this some thought. “I enjoy chess,” she said tentatively.
Maureen tossed her head. “I’ve ne’er learned. It always seemed much too slow a game fer me.” She glanced at Selene, her lips quirking in a tiny smile. “But me braither loves chess. Mayhap ye could favor him wi’ a game one of these days.”
“Mayhap, I could. I would enjoy that.” Selene chuckled, relishing the prospect of a battle of wits with Laird Kenneth. She prided herself on her skill at chess and would do her level best to beat him.
Then she took a turn playing the harpsichord, accompanying Maureen who had a sweet singing voice until they were both tired.
Returning to her chamber, she kicked off her boots, turned down her stockings, loosened her stays and, with her new book in hand, took to the comfortable chair in front of the fireplace. She was quickly absorbed inThe Adventures of Robinson Crusoe.
As the evening closed in. Selene endured bathing in yet another lukewarm splash, after which she begged off supper in the great hall with a non-existent headache as an excuse. A maid brought her a bowl of hot chicken broth and bannocks and she continued her pleasant respite by the fire with her book, relishing the seclusion and the time to take stock of her situation and all that had happened that day.
It was late when she at last felt her eyelids drooping, donned her shift and took to her bed. To her despair, sleep was denied her as a loud thunderstorm rolled in. The entire castle groaned and creaked as if it had a life of its own, every shift of the ancient timbers seemed to rattle through her bones. Footsteps echoed somewhere in distant corridors. The storm outside clawed at the windows, thunder furiously hurling itself across the sky. She shivered, closing her eyes tightly as the lightning flashed. And on top of it all, her stomach was grumbling with hunger.
She was regretting her refusal to join Laird Kenneth and others for supper in the great hall and, instead, partaking only of broth and oatcakes served in her chamber. Her sparse meal had seemed sufficient hours ago, but now she was forced to admit shewasfeeling somewhat peckish.
Indeed, she was absolutely ravenous.
She pulled the covers up under her chin and counted backwards from twenty. But still she wasn’t at all sleepy and the grumbling in her stomach was worsening by the minute.
