Leana did not so much as lie down in bed as collapse into it. She lay for a while staring into the darkness and worrying.
What if the “punishment” to which the Laird had referred meant that he would throw them off their land? They did not own a single square foot of it. It all belonged to the Dubhgnalls, and had for generations. They were at this mercy. If they committed the slightest transgression, indeed, if he did not like their faces, he could evict them, and be well within his rights to do so. This was a precarious position in which she found herself and her father.
Leana knew that she could survive somehow, but one freezing night in the open would kill her father, and helpless though he was, she still loved him dearly. Moreover, theirs was a good piece of land, suitable both for the grazing of livestock and the growing of crops.
Her argument with the Laird had deeply upset her, and it was only now that she realized that he had forgotten to ask for the rent and she had forgotten to offer it.
Damn! That was another black mark against her. Now he could say that she was a delinquent tenant, and that she could not be trusted.
She lay for a while trying to calm down, trying to persuade herself that none of her fears were justified. The Laird would want the land to be entrusted to a hardworking, fruitful tenant, preferably whose family had worked there for generations. Her family had farmed the land for the last hundred years or so and she did not think he would find a more reliable tenant, but when she thought of the look in his eyes, the way they seemed to smolder like burning coals, she shivered. She could not imagine kindness in them at all.
4
Abi loved seeing to the horses. She loved everything about them: their sweet smell, gentle natures, silky coats, and velvet noses. Most of all she loved the graceful way they moved, their bodies seeming to flow effortlessly over the ground. Her own horse was called Pansy, a sweet little chestnut horse who was her pride and joy, like her father’s mount Annie. She too had raised Pansy from the day she was born three years before, and they were absolutely devoted to each other. When she saw Abigail approaching her stall, Pansy would whinny and bang against the door with her feet, then toss her head and make as much noise as she could as if to sayHere I am!
The head of the stable hands there was Rory, who had been working for the Dubhgnalls since Fraser was a baby. Rory could neither read nor write, but he was the cleverest man Abi knew. He knew everything about everyone on or off the estate, and was an expert at anything to do with horses. He was a blacksmith, horse doctor, and midwife, and when they were enraged or upset, he could talk to them in such a way that they calmed down at once.
Strangely, he also had the same effect on Fraser. It was well known that Rory could pacify the Laird when he flew into one of his frequent rages. Fraser was always able to talk to Rory about whatever was worrying him, then he would take Fraser’s mind off the subject to a more pleasant place. It was a trick he had had since Fraser was a toddler, and Abigail knew that she was safe from her father’s wrath whenever Rory was around.
She had never been sure why her father was always so angry; perhaps it concerned her mother. Rory had mentioned once or twice to Abigail that with her light fair hair, pale brown eyes, and small stature, she looked very like Ishbel. There were many servants around the castle who had been there for a long time and remembered her well. They remembered, too, that her father’s anger had only really become a problem a few months after her death; until then, he had always been an intensely private man and kept his troubles locked up inside him, except when he spoke to Rory, who never divulged them to anyone else.
Abigail was combing out Pansy’s mane, which had become tangled and full of straw, when Fraser came in, his expression even more thunderous than usual.
“Where is that lazy swine Jamie?” he barked. “He was supposed to polish Annie’s tack yesterday and it is still filthy. I want to speak to him.”
Rory sighed, his round, patient old face falling into soft lines of sympathy. “M’Laird, Jamie has had a death in the faimly,” he replied in his soft voice. “His granny who brought him up fae a wee boy died yesterday an’ he is fair takin’ it hard. His mither an’ faither is lang gone an’ noo he has naebody. So forgive him his day aff, M’Laird. I am sure ye knaw how it feels tae lose somebody precious.”
Fraser knew that only too well, and his expression cleared, for he could put himself in Jamie’s place with no effort at all, and was just about to say so when he caught sight of Abigail.
As soon as she saw her father, Abigail had squatted down in the straw of Pansy’s stall and tried to hide behind her, for she was terrified of Fraser in one of his rages. He had never struck her, but she lived in fear of the day that she did, because he was a big strong man, and she was so tiny compared to him.
He had seen the edge of her bright blue dress, however, and now he was coming down the row of stalls towards her, his dark eyes smoldering. He stood over her as she slowly got to her feet, cringing to the back of the stall as if she could disappear through it. She wished she could. Her eyes were wide with fear as she stared up at him, terrified.
“How many times have I told you that tending the horses is the job of stable hands?” he cried. “Get out of here at once and if you want to ride ask Rory to see to Pansy.”
Abigail did not know how she plucked up the courage to do it, but she thrust her face into his and shouted, “You have no right to treat me like this! If I had a mother she would love me ten times more than you do and things would be different. I hate you! And if you come back one day and find that I am not here it will be your fault!”
“Do not threaten me, girl,” Fraser said menacingly. “I am your father, the Laird, and I lay down the law here, not you. Do you understand me?”
“Indeed I do...Father!” She spat the last word at him, and stood before him trembling with rage. They stood glaring at each other until Rory intervened.
“‘Tis no’ the lass’s fault, M’Laird,” Rory put in softly. “She came to see Pansy an’ I wis busy. I should hae stopped her. I am sorry, M’Laird.”
Fraser looked at him hard for a moment then nodded and walked away without saying a word. Rory seemed to calm Fraser down just by looking at him.
As soon as Fraser was out of sight, Abi burst into tears. Rory came and put a comforting arm around her shoulders then waited with her while she wept till she had no tears left.
“Are ye alright now hen?” he asked in his gentle voice.
Abigail nodded and looked up into his kind blue eyes. “Yes, thank you Rory,” she answered with a tearful smile. “You are very kind, but you should not take the blame for my mistakes.”
Rory went to fetch a tankard of ale for her and they sat down at the rough wooden table where the stable hands ate. Abigail looked at his weathered, work-worn hands, and wondered how many foals he had delivered, how many shoes he had changed, and how many coats he had brushed.It must be thousands of each, she thought.
When she looked up, there was a troubled expression on his face. “Mistress,” he began, “yer faither is a good man, in spite o’ whit ye see. He has no’ aye been as ye see him now. I have known him since he was the totiest, merriest wee lad ye could ever meet.”
“Even when he was growin’ up he was a cheery wee thing, then when he was fourteen I remember he changed...ye knaw whit I mean. His voice got deeper an’ he grew whiskers an’ overnight, it seemed he wis six feet tall wi’ muscles on his muscles!”
Abi laughed and sipped her ale. She had never thought of her father as being anything but a big, towering, powerful man.
