“I do,” Emilia replied calmly. “Can I do something for you?”
The man gave a sigh of relief. “Thank God! Is everyone ignorant in this damn place? What is this tongue you are speaking in?”
“No one is ignorant unless it is you,” Emilia snapped. “You are in Scotland now, and despite your king’s best efforts, we still speak our own language of Gaelic and sometimes Scots. You will not find too many English speakers here.”
There was no apology, but she had not really expected one.
“Where can I find the chief, or headman...or whatever you call the mayor in this place?” he asked, looking more exasperated by the moment.
“That is usually the Laird. Which one? McElwee, Robertson, McIver, or Farquarson?”
He looked baffled. “I am looking for Laird Mackintosh.”
“He died last week,” she informed him. “He had been ill for a very long time.”
“Dammit, woman!” he snapped. “I know that.”
“Then if you already knew why did you ask?” Her own anger was rising to meet his now.
“Because I am his nephew, and I am his only living relative,” he answered tersely. “So who is in charge till his place is filled?” He could have told her the reason he was there, but he had no intention of sharing his private business with a perfect stranger, and she would find out soon enough anyway. He had to admit, though, that he could have spent a long, long time looking at her. She was a very beautiful woman.
However, she was glaring at him now. “I would advise you to show a little more respect, Sassenach!” she advised angrily. “This is not your country, but a great deal of the poverty around here is due to your countrymen. I would imagine the man to speak to is the priest, Father Emmanuel Gordon, and you will find him in the church of St Joseph and St Anne. I would show you the way, but sadly I have other matters to attend to.” She said the word “sadly” with deep sarcasm. “Go straight on down this road and turn left. If you get lost, ask someone. Good luck.”You will need it,she thought gleefully, knowing the hostile reception he would get from the locals, who, like herself, had no love for the English.
She was about to mount her horse when he spoke again. Despite herself, Emilia loved the sound of his voice. It was deep and gravelly and it made her tingle inside. She looked up at him with a hostile glare.
“What is your name?” he asked, a little more gently.
“Emilia McKnight,” she replied, her voice curt to the point of rudeness. She deliberately did not ask for his.
“Thank you for your help,” he said as he rode away.
He had not even bothered to give her his own name.
Emilia was still fuming as she rode on. Then she came to the scene of the argument, where two burly farm workers were glaring at each other and being held back by a few others. She recognized one of Laird Mackintosh’s estate workers, Hamish, and Stuart, one of her own. She and Agnes were somehow managing to help out their workers, but the Laird’s men were suffering.
“What is the problem?” she asked, dismounting from her mare and looking at each man in turn.
“He stole my bread!” cried Hamish. He could not point at Stuart because two big men were holding his arms back.
“I didnae, mistress!” Stuart cried indignantly. “He was sitting eatin’ and I asked him if I could have a bit, that was a’.”
“Ye snatched it oot of my hands!” Hamish protested.
“So where is it now?” Emilia demanded. “Which one of you ate it?” She nodded to the men restraining the two fighters to let them go.
They pointed to a patch on the grass where the bread had been trampled into a doughy mess.What a waste!she thought, and was reminded of the story of King Solomon and the two mothers fighting over a baby. Still, these were desperate times.
She fetched the bannocks from her horse and gave one to each man, including the ones who had been holding the combatants, and then she broke the cheese into pieces and divided it, wishing she could do more.
They thanked her profusely, pathetically grateful for her help, and she went on her way, her heart laden with sadness. This year’s harvest was going to be pitiful compared to last year’s, and she dreaded the death toll. She remembered seeing people starving before when their crops had been devastated by the English, and it had given her nightmares for months. She thought—or hoped—that her workers would survive more or less unscathed, since she and Agnes had planned ahead, but she could not feed all the Laird’s workers too.
She guessed that many of the women would resort to what women often did in these circumstances and sell the only thing they had—their bodies. She hoped that the new Laird, whoever he was, would act fast to help them, but knowing the character of the nearby nobles, she was prepared for the worst.
3
Adam felt like a hunted deer. Everywhere he went he met malevolent stares, and he could see people shrinking from him and whispering behind their hands. He did not know why they bothered. They must have known by his appearance that he was not one of them. He dared not open his mouth to ask for directions; the air was thick with hostility, and he felt that a hail of stones would hit him if he did.
At last, after wandering for a long while, he found the church. A wave of relief swept over him. A church meant sanctuary; no one could harm him here unless they wanted to spend all eternity in fiery damnation. The interior was cool and peaceful; it had no glass in the windows, just sheets of thick linen. Glass was too expensive a commodity for a poor place like Inverinch. Adam knelt down to pray for a while, feeling as if he was in great need of spiritual sustenance before he saw the priest.
