Alone in the bedchamber, she shared with her sister, Emer was able to dissect the scene around the dining table in more detail while she undressed and washed. The look of shock on the staff’s faces as they saw the brothers appear behind her; the feeling of mead rushing back up her throat; Gawain’s silent observation while he allowed his brother, the new Laird, to do all the talking.
There had been something else too. Emer was sure she saw Davinia blush and smile when she looked up and saw Gawain standing on the stairs. It definitely was not surprise or the glance of a serving maid looking at her master. It was a rosy tint in the cheeks, which could only signify a deeper feeling than simply one of a young girl looking at the Laird’s brother.
Emer was grateful this line of thinking came into her mind. It was enough to block out the simmering resentment at Laird Caillen Maclachlan’s diatribe about his injured feelings.
Poor Davi. I wonder how long she’s held a candle for Gawain Maclachlan? He is just her type-she’s kept a fancy for slender, blue-eyed youths since she was a wee lass. It’s true the men we admire couldnae be more dissimilar. It must be all those handsome, swashbuckling buccaneers who used to ride through Nethy on their way to the harbor that makes me favor more rugged men.
And on this more positive note, Emer fell into a restless sleep. Her dreams fragmented by images of a tall, dark, lavender-scented man who rubbed his prickly beard growth against her skin while pulling her toward him with a strong, firm grasp.
Chapter Six
“Ye’re back early to yer bedchamber, sire,” Gilby said when Caillen entered, “I can hear the bagpipes squeezing out a merry tune for dancing in the banquet hall. Are ye tired, or do ye consider yerself well past the age of dancing at the ripe auld age of eight and twenty?”
Caillen gave his valet a small smile, “A bit o’ both, Gilby, truth be told. It’s been quite a night. A stolen kiss, an abrupt rebuff, and I overheard a maid beratin’ me for leaving the clan when me faither was sick. That’s quite enough for me for one night!”
Gilby chortled as he helped Caillen unpin his kilt, “Well, ye do sound like it was a busy night, and that’s the truth, but ye’ll be pleased to ken yer plaid nae longer smells so strongly o’ lavender. The scent of food and smoke must have driven most of it out. Would ye like to wear it again tomorrow?”
Caillen shrugged, “I dinnae ken, Gilby. A page boy spilled white wine over it, so it might need a wash,” he sighed, “this Laird stuff is still new to me. Perhaps I should ask me faither what are the best clothes to wear for different days of the week. When we were on board ship, Sundays were just like any other day-we still had to steer and trim the sails, but it might be different at the keep. The problem is, I’ve forgotten all the rules and regulations for how a Laird should dress.”
Gilby looked at his master’s frowning face, “This stolen kiss or rebuff or telling off must have upset ye more than ye think, me Laird!”
That made Caillen laugh, “I’m nae clowning when I say that, Gilby! I accidentally kissed the wrong maiden, thinking her Mairi. But it turns out that Mairi wants nothing to do with me and is quite happy to release us from our pledge to each other. And then this kitchen maid scolds me for being a flippant Laird, and Gawain better suited for the job, and..., the thing is, none of this seems important to me ‘cause all I can think about is the maiden I kissed! I wish I ken who she was. She...it was delightful.”
Gilby had never seen Caillen so obsessed with a woman before, so he kept his mouth shut and hoped his master’s infatuation would disappear when he realized the mystery woman was probably just some visiting guest who enjoyed a stolen kiss in the dark.
“I’ll give this plaid to the washerwoman, shall I? Try to get the last of this lavender scent out of it, and then ye can wear around the estate or something,” and on those words, Gilby bowed himself out of the room.
Caillen, aware his first day of duties as Laird Maclachlan began the next day, tried to sleep and forget what had happened before, during, and after the banquet feast.
* * *
It felt strange to be the one seated behind the desk and not standing in front of it, asking his father’s opinion, or bending over the hard wooden surface to read some urgent missive on which his father wanted advice.
Now, it was Caillen sitting at the old Laird’s desk, reading reports and sorting through communications from nearby boroughs and clans. He remembered what Gawain had said the previous evening, and when he entered the library the next day at dawn, the first thing he began to do was read all of his father’s notes and translate the important ones into his own private code. When he had copied the writing into his logbook, he would go to the fireplace and burn the old parchment. He waited for the paper to burst into flame and then watch to check every last scrap of his father’s handwriting had turned to ash.
This was where his brother found him hours later.
“Ye will nae make many friends amongst the clergy if ye intend on skipping chapel service,” Gawain said as he came inside after giving a brief knock, “I swear the chaplain looked as though he were going to burst into tears when he stared at the family pew and saw ye were nae there.”
Caillen had glanced up briefly when he heard the knock but scoffed quietly after his brother’s teasing remark, “I’ll try to make prayers this evening,” was all he said after Gawain stopped speaking and continued writing.
Gawain approached the desk, “It’s strange to see ye here where faither ought to be,”
“Faither is where he should be, Gawain. In bed, cossetting himself with physicians and apothecaries.”
Gawain moved around from the front of the desk to the back and stood next to Caillen, reading over his shoulder, “What are those strange symbols and scribbles ye’re writing in yer logbook, Cai? It looks for all the world as though ye have learned some foreign language and decided to write it instead of our beloved Gaelic tongue.”
Caillen, aware that he would get no peace until he had satisfied his brother’s curiosity, placed his quill back on the inkstand and replied, “It’s a code we use onboard ship, and each cargo and captain has their own. I learned mine from a bunch of dastardly English pirates who needed to communicate with each other about where they had buried their Spanish gold. They didnae want to give all the treasure to his majesty, ye realize. ‘Tis a mix of Arabic, creole from the islands, and some of me own symbols.”
Gawain scratched his head and looked bemused, “But what if something happens to ye, Caillen, there’ll be nae one left who can unscramble it.”
“If any natural accident happens to me, Gilby will pass the key to the code on to me successor. If I die an unnatural death, well then-the secret to these notes dies with me.”
Gawain watched as Caillen went to the fireplace and dropped in another of their father’s record books,
“That’s the last of them,” Caillen said, as he stirred the burning coals with the toe of his boot, “let’s see if spying and conniving still happens when there’s nothing to read.”
“I dinnae ken ye were going to take all of this so seriously, Cai,” Gawain commented to his brother’s back.
