Gilby, aware of the incongruity of bending down to sniff the kilt, decided to reassure his master from where he was standing, “Ye’re imagining it, sir. The smell must be coming from the trunk. I will close the lid, and ye will see the fragrance will disappear of its own accord.” He pinned the Maclachlan great kilt over Caillen’s shoulders and stuck a gold pin with the family crest on its head through both fabrics, which attached the plaid to the shirt.
“Come now, sir,” Gilby said encouragingly, hoping to get Caillen out of the door before the aroma of lavender became too obvious, “they must all be waiting for ye downstairs.”
Caillen, after giving one more suspicious sniff at the great kilt, realized the truth in what Gilby was saying and left. He did not want to keep his father waiting if the old man was standing up to greet the guests. He ran down the ancient stone stairs that wound around the west wing tower and entered the great hall. It was thronging with guests; some were being housed at the castle itself, having traveled many miles to attend the banquet, other guests were important burghers and tradesmen from the nearby towns and villages.
It was more than a banquet to greet the newly appointed acting Laird and welcome him home. The feast had been held to show everyone the Maclachlan clan was bigger and more influential than ever before. Caillen eyes swept over the brightly dressed crowd of merrymakers, noticing every face and making a mental note of every absentee. Whoever missed the feast would have their loyalties checked.
Gawain came to stand by him.
“Who’s the auld gent standing next to faither with his back to us?” Caillen asked.
“I was with him when the guests first started arriving because ye were so late. Take a guess who’s standing next to him now?” Gawain said with a grin.
Caillen stared across the hall with narrowed eyes, trying hard to get a better view of the bluff faced man standing next to his father. When the gentleman turned, presenting his profile, he was immediately recognizable as Chieftain MacIntosh, Mairi MacIntosh’s father. The two old men had their heads close together, and Caillen had a hunch they were discussing the Sutherlands. MacIntosh land was also dangerously close to the encroaching Sutherland clan.
It has been over two years since Caillen had visited the MacIntosh lodge, and he knew he must stop by and greet Mairi within the next few days. They no longer sent one another letters, and Caillen had long since given up looking for Mairi’s missives at every one of his ports of call, but he remembered his old childhood friend fondly and felt a looming a sense of obligation to finalize some sort of betrothal with her.
Why! - Mairi must be every day five and twenty years old now! I suppose I should set a date for our wedding. Yet one more boring duty I must attend to while I’m on land and bound to look after the castle.
Gawain was watching his brother closely from out of the corner of his eye, “Aye, brither, I see where yer gaze has settled, and wonder if auld Chieftain MacIntosh is still keen for ye and Mairi to make a match of it? The maiden is getting on in years and still has to find a husband.”
Determined not to be drawn into a speculative conversation with his brother about marriage, Caillen shrugged, saying,
“Mairi was always a bright and comely girl, and that would not change over the course of years. Any man who chose her as his wife would be content.”
Gawain stepped back, a little confused by his brother’s lukewarm praise,
“Never tell me ye’re nae longer interested in yer auld flame, Caillen? Has some dark-eyed heathen lady from across the seas caught yer fancy instead?”
Caillen held up one hand in a noncommittal gesture,
“In truth, brither, the dark beauty of women from foreign lands is, indeed, more to me taste. But here am I back in the Highlands, and perfectly content to settle for a Highland lassie. Sultry brown eyes and raven black hair will have to exist in me dreams from henceforth.”
“Och,” Gawain scoffed at his brother’s reluctance, “one kiss will bring all yer auld feelings for Mairi flooding back and make those exotic beauties in foreign lands fade from yer memory. Mairi’s bedchamber is over in the east wing turret – ye ken the one with the twisted bronze ring handle? Go and wait in the chamber, and I will tell Mairi to meet ye there anon. I’ll tell her ye brought her a length of brocade back from yer last trip and wish to make her a present of it. Then ye get to kiss a girl who’s gratefulanddesperate for a kiss after so long waiting for yer return. What say ye?”
Caillen liked the sound of his brother’s plan very much. He smiled, gave Gawain a conspiratorial look, and made his way to the east wing. His imagination ran wild as he climbed the stairs up to the bedchamber. He envisioned the door opening, Mairi stepping inside, and then sweeping the unsuspecting maiden into his arms. In his mind, Mairi would be pantingly eager for his touch and give no resistance to him pushing her onto the bed where they would spend many enjoyable hours exploring one another’s bodies and proving their attraction for each other again and again. By the time Caillen entered the bedchamber, he was eager for Mairi to come inside and melt into his embrace. He went to sit on a trunk pushed against the wall of the darkened room and passed the time thinking about how wonderful it would feel to hold a soft, scented maiden close to him after many months of traveling.
Hearing the heavy bronze door ring turn and the latch lift, Caillen stood to one side of the room, waiting to pounce on Mairi as she came in. The chamber was dark, the only light provided by moon rays pouring in through the narrow turret window slits. Caillen realized he would have struggled to find a more romantic setting for his first kiss with Mairi as the new Laird of Maclachlan Castle.
Chapter Three
Emer had arrived at Maclachlan Castle in a state of shock and extreme exhaustion. The two sentries on duty outside the portcullis had watched the young lady on a palfrey ride wearily up the dusty road leading to the keep, but it was only when she got close enough for them to see her features did they notice the pretty young woman was in a state of total collapse.
When she reached them, they saw the tired palfrey could barely lift its hooves, and the maiden was swaying in the saddle, hardly able to hold the reins or sit upright. One of them stepped forward, “Miss, are ye well? Did ye make yer way to the keep for some purpose?”
The guards were cautious in case the lady was bringing some new plague with her to the castle.
“I...I was told this is the way to Maclachlan keep, sire,” Emer whispered, her voice had eroded to a thin rasp after days of weeping and little to drink, “Me sister, Davinia Wylie, works here. I have grave news to tell her.”
Emer did not have to explain further. The guards were astute enough to see the truth of her statement behind her bedraggled appearance. One guard took the reins from her hands and led the pony inside while the other operated the grid gate. Only vaguely aware of her surroundings, Emer dismounted when the soldier stopped at the stable courtyard and asked him to point out the kitchen entrance to her.
“Tradesmen and workers use that side door, lass,” the man said kindly, “the great hall and grand entrance staircase being kept for the Laird’s noble and wealthy guests. They need the wider road for their coaches.”
Emer nodded her understanding and pushed open the side door. She could smell she was close to the kitchens; delicious aromas of roasting chickens, baking bread, and fruit pies assailed her nostrils. But even these toothsome odors did not have the power to make Emer hungry. She had left her appetite behind in Nethy.
A scullery maid, her hands full of bowls and mugs, saw Emer’s shadow on the stairs above her. She gave a small shriek and nearly dropped her crocks.
“Och! Girl, ye scared the life out of me, standing there on the landing so quiet!” Then as her eyes became more accustomed to the dark stairwell, she saw the young woman dressed in black was no one she knew, “are ye the maidservant our cook asked to come and work at the castle kitchens over a month ago?” She waited a few moments for Emer to reply, and when she did not receive an answer, the scullery maid continued, “if ye are, then ye’ll find cook waiting for ye in the servants’ parlor- but dinnae expect a warm welcome now! Ye’re over three weeks late, and cook has had to use footmen and page boys to do some of the food preparation for the feast!”
