1
Eighteen years later...
Those cries of anguish that had emanated from the deepest recesses of Malcolm’s wounded soul remained fresh in Seamus’s ears eighteen years later. They still haunted his worst nightmares, along with the agonized expression on his brother’s face; the way something in his eyes had seemed to shatter like a mirror, never to be repaired.
He woke from those stormy dreams uneasily, rolling over and sitting up sharply. Suddenly, the sight of the sheets tangled around him reminded him too much of the bed that poor Kenna had perished in, its surface like the angry waves of an ocean that had drowned her.
God, she had been too young for such a terrible fate. Still, Seamus reasoned, there was nothing to be done about it now. Things had unfolded as they had, and what had transpired could not be undone.
Seamus grabbed the small silver bell from his bedside table, ringing it. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, and he doubted that Margaret would be awake to hear it, but…
Sure enough, the door to his chamber opened and Margaret entered, looking as fresh-faced and cheerful as if she’d been awake for hours. Her blue eyes were bright and alert, and her long brown hair was brushed and braided.
“Yes, sir?” she chirped.
“Bring me water, please, girl. And when the stable hands have roused themselves, tell them to ready my horse so that I may ride before breakfast. My dreams disquieted me…mayhap I will be able to leave them somewhere out on the hills.”
Margaret’s pretty brow knitted with concern. “I’m dreadfully sorry your sleep was disturbed, sir. I believe Archie and his brother are indeed awake. I shall tell them to prepare your saddle and steed at once.”
Seamus smiled gratefully. “Much obliged. How old are ye now, lass?”
“Eighteen, sir.”
He nodded, marveling at her. “Aye, I suppose ye are. Still, it seems only last week ye were a wee one, just starting out here as a serving girl. And look at ye now. Yer parents would be proud indeed to see how far ye’ve come.”
Margaret curtsied demurely. “Kind of you to say so, sir. I shall fetch your water.”
She left Seamus’s chamber, bursting with happiness and pride at his words. When she had first entered service in the MacLeod keep at age eleven, she had scrubbed the floors, cleaned pots and pans, done the washing. She had carried out her tasks so well that she had become a serving girl to Seamus, and in the five years since, he had become almost like a father to her.
No doubt he’s good as gold to his three actual daughters,Margaret thought, not for the first time.Perhaps I shall finally be allowed to properly meet them soon if all goes according to plan.
As if she’d read Margaret’s mind, Mirren, one of the older serving girls, appeared by Margaret’s side, sneering at her. “Well, look who’s up before the cock crows, an’ lookin’ like dew on a daisy to boot!”
“Seamus has been rising earlier these recent weeks,” Margaret answered primly. “I feel it’s best to make myself available accordingly, the better to address his needs.”
“Aye, and what are his ‘needs’ this fine morning?” Mirren smirked. “Have ye cleaned his boots, then? Fluffed his pillows, like? Anything to ease yer path to becoming a proper maid in due course, eh?”
Margaret knew that Mirren was making sport of her, but she refused to take it personally or allow it to tamper her sunny disposition. She was well aware, as were all the servants in the castle, that Mirren had been passed over for the position of “proper maid” due to her penchant for spitefulness and gossip. If mocking Margaret made Mirren feel better about her own station in life, well, Margaret supposed she could tolerate it just fine without firing back.
“They’ll see through ye right enough, girl,” Mirren hissed nastily. “Ye an’ the bloody great airs ye put on. Ye fool no one, lass! Ye come from nowhere, an’ that is yer destination in life, so help me!”
Before Margaret could respond by politely asking Mirren not to be quite so dreadful to people so early in the day, she heard a commotion in the direction of the kitchen. Since she’d been tasked with filling a pitcher of water anyway, she decided to investigate the din.
Elspeth—the castle’s harried, stringy-looking cook—was angrily brandishing a ladle at Ainsley, the new scullery girl.
“Where did ye put it, ye wee thief?! Out with it now before I box yer ears an’ tell the laird ye have stolen from his kitchen! Mayhap he’ll only order yer hand cut off instead of yer head!”
Ainsley couldn’t have been older than twelve, and tears were streaming down her cheeks. She had fear in her eyes as if she were being menaced by a banshee, and given how loud Elspeth could make her voice, that was a decidedly accurate comparison.
“Ye must believe me, Mum!” Ainsley wailed. “I’ve never stolen a thing in me life! Honest, I haven’t!”
“Ye were the last one seen carryin’ the blasted serving tray!” Elspeth insisted. “Solid silver…as if ye didnae know that already, ye bleedin’ little magpie! Saw it an’ thought ye might get a pretty penny for it, no doubt!”
Ainsley was blubbering openly now like a prisoner facing the gallows. “I would never consider such a thing, Mum! I’ve no idea where the tray is! Swear to God I don’t!”
Margaret stepped between them, clapping her hands briskly. “Now, now, Elspeth! Why don’t we all take a moment to think this through between us and try to find a solution, rather than scaring the poor girl further?”
“‘Scaring her further?’” the cook balked. “Sheshouldbe scared, right enough, and ashamed as well!” But even so, her demeanor was already beginning to soften, her tone lowering in the face of Margaret’s reasonable demeanor. Margaret had proved herself many times over when she’d worked under Elspeth, and the older woman was inclined to heed her former protege’s words and give them due consideration.
