Caillen was interested in strategic land-grabs, having observed it first-hand in the New World, “The solution is simple, faither, and staring ye in the face as I say these words: settle yer differences with a betrothal. Gawain here would make the ideal husband.”
His younger brother reddened at these words, saying, “I’ll thank ye to nae use me as a bargaining chip in yer negotiations!”
Caillen shrugged, “ ‘Twas said as a compliment, brither, nae in jest. Has nae Laird Sutherland got a daughter of marriageable age?”
Laird Maclachlan nodded, “Aye, but those knaves will have nae one inch of me lands, whether stolen or through betrothal, while they play such dirty tricks. And besides, nae one has been able to get near Donal Sutherland for years to make a proposal for his daughter’s hand. He never leaves his chambers.”
The old Laird sighed and regained his composure, “Someone is feeding me enemies information about clan business and telling them all me negotiations with me allies, and I need ye here, Caillen, to ferret out who it is. Gawain will fill ye in on all the details--now get yerselves upstairs and prepare for the banquet feast.”
Gawain rose up and bowed before his father, “Ye didnae say who would be acting as Laird in yer place, Faither?”
Laird Maclachlan smacked his forehead with his hand, “Of course! Caillen, ye are now Laird of Maclachlan Castle an’ Keep. Look after it well.”
Chapter Two
The two brothers walked out of the library after bowing themselves from their father’s presence. Now they were free to express their feelings without experiencing the old Laird’s wrath, they began to talk at the same time.
“I dinnae think I can stand being stuck here for months on end, even if it gives faither the chance to regain his health in peace!” thus said Caillen.
“Ye think he would ken I run the castle better than someone who’s never been here for more than one month straight in the last thirteen years!” Gawain announced simultaneously.
As they made their way to the west wing tower where Caillen had set up his chambers, it was Gawain who found it hardest to suppress his outrage at the sudden change in his fortune. He grumbled about how he should be the one to bring the Sutherlands to heel, and if he were appointed head of the clan, he could guarantee the spy would be found or stopped immediately.
Caillen heard out his brother’s complaints in silence. As reluctant as he was to take up the reins of Lairdship, there was a small part of him that relished the challenge leadership of the clan would bring him. It could be an adventure all of its own. Add a nefarious infiltrator to the equation, and he was sure things could even get a little interesting around the castle.
Gawain, noticing his brother’s careful observation of what he was saying, stopped talking mid-sentence, and turned to his brother with a rueful grin on his face, “Thank ye for hearing me out in patience, Caillen. I only protest because I have a good system going here, and dinnae wish to waste me days explaining it all to ye.”
Caillen nodded, “Have nae fear, Gawain, I’m a quick study. It comes from all those years of cheating off yer notes in the schoolroom! I am happy ye’re here to guide me through it. Do ye think the auld man has become obsessed an’ distrustful, or do ye think there’s something to this spying nonsense?”
Gawain thought hard before replying, “Nay, he’s right. There’s probably someone out to harm the clan. I think the problem is faither commits all his transactions to paper, and while ‘tis good for record-keeping, it plays right into a spy’s hands.”
“Well, that’s the first thing I’m going to change then,” Caillen replied with a smile.
“The clan fields and grazing hills are emptied of cattle overnight, and our allies prefer sending their soldiers to train with the Sutherlands.”
Caillen frowned when he heard this; allies and cattle were the lifeblood of any clan.
“Let us vow to find this person who is damaging our clan and causing faither such distress,” he said with a grimace, “but even when we do find the spy, I think me traveling days should be put on hold for a while. This lairdship game looks set on being very time-consuming!”
And on these words, Caillen gave his younger brother a friendly pat on the back and entered his chambers to ready himself for the feast.
His personal attendant was waiting for him inside. An old woolen plaid was laid out on the bed, and next to it, a clean white cambric shirt. Caillen eyed the old plaid askance,
“Losh, Gilby, why didnae ye remind me in Edinburgh to purchase a new plaid? I cannae make a good impression at the feast wearing that rag. Where did ye dig it up from?”
Gilbert Gilby had traveled with Caillen on all of his voyages and knew him to be more comfortable in leather trews and a sleeveless jerkin, especially when they were sailing in the tropics. Now, he knew his master would have to change the way he dressed drastically-unless he planned on being mistaken for a pirate by the local folk.
He chuckled, “I found this Maclachlan plaid in that auld trunk in the corner, master. It was bundled up under some dried lavender to keep the moths at bay. I held it over some steamin’ hot water, and most of the creases have fallen out, and I can pin it nicely, so the pleats look as precise as a yardstick. No one will suspect a thing. Besides, we wouldnae have been able to have a new plaid made for ye in Edinburgh--the Laird’s tartan must be handmade in the land of his forebears.”
Even after all these reassurances, Caillen could not but help look at the bedraggled length of plaid askance. He was tempted to go and borrow one from his brother but then realized their different heights would make the kilt sit too high on his knees, and the one thing worse than an old plaid in Caillen’s opinion was one that was too short.
Sighing in resignation, he went to the washstand and used the water and soap. After splashing his body and wiping himself down with a rough towel, he flung his wet hair back over his shoulders and casually checked his face in the looking glass on the wall. Gilby was standing by with a tortoiseshell comb and handed it to Caillen when he held out his hand. A few comb strokes through his wet wavy brown hair, and he was able to tie it back tightly with a leather thong. He looped the leather cord around his tied hair until it came together into a tight bundle at the back of his head. As a courtesy to the occasion, Caillen drew the comb through his short beard a few times before handing it back to Gilby.
Next, Caillen pulled the cambric shirt over his head and then said through gritted teeth, “Do yer best with the plaid, Gilby,” raising his arms out to the side, which enabled the man to attach the kilt in place.
Gilby had been busy, pleating and pinning the plaid where it lay on the bed. There were many yards of fabric, but it had been reduced to a manageable length by the time Caillen’s helper began to attach it around his slim waist with a leather belt. Even Caillen had to admit when Gilby had finished, the kilt was the perfect length and passably presentable-except for one thing.
“Gilby, can ye detect the smell of lavender on me, by any chance?” Caillen was tempted to lift the edge of the plaid up to his nose to inhale the material but trusted his assistant to tell him the truth instead.
