Finlay walked alongside the blacksmith, continuing the conversation once all the steward’s soldiers were out of earshot.
“Ye were unwise to bring to the man’s attention the fact that ye have been made wealthy from our feud with the McTavishes. I hope ye have made safe yer gold.”
Isla looked at her father with startled eyes; she had not even thought about such a thing.
Master McDonnell replied in a measured tone, which was not enough to hide his suspicion, “Me gold is safe. It is Isla’s dowry, an’ as ye ken, sir, I wish for me daughter to ally herself to a wealthy merchant or chieftain. That is the only reason the gold is precious to me. I am no’ a graspin’ man.”
Finlay Dougal seemed to take this information in his stride. “I dinnae want to ken where yer gold is hidden, Master blacksmith, but only that it is safe. Ye see, I have a feelin’ that if that auld bletherer on the dais is prepared to usurp a laird’s son for power, he might also be of a mind to think ye owe him a large percentage of yer earnings to increase his wealth. Would ye no’ say that is a fair assessment?”
“Why would he do such a thing?” Isla was astonished. “Me faither earned that money fair an’ square! An’ it was nae as if it were easy either, with us havin’ to dodge raidin’ parties all the time.”
The laird’s son looked down at her, an enigmatic look on his face. “That’s got naught to do with it, Isla McDonnell. I see fifty soldiers who seem to be happy to take their orders from Master McMichaels, and they were no’ here when I left. They must be paid somehow.”
Isla’s father spoke up. “Well, of course there’s fifty more soldiers than when ye left! The castle needed to be protected, an’ ye were nae here to do it!”
Isla tapped her father’s arm. “I think what Finlay Dougal is tryin’ to say, Faither, is that those new men are probably mercenaries, no’ part o’ the Dougal clan, an’ if the steward is payin’ them, it’s the steward whom those soldiers are loyal to because he pays them.”
They had reached the bailey forge by now, and the blacksmith invited Finlay inside.
“Forgive the sparseness of the lodgings, Finlay Dougal,” he said. “It’s more of an encampment than a wee house. We never ken whether we’ll be sleepin’ inside the castle walls or here, what with the raids an’ all.”
The laird’s son thanked him and took the mug of ale Isla’s father was holding out to him.
“I noticed the men that came back with ye are not in the best shape.”
Isla sat down at the table, ready to continue their conversation, but Finlay downed the drink and then stood up.
“Please, can I use yer water pump, Master?” He indicated his travel-stained clothes.
Master McDonnell replied, “I wish I could offer ye a tub full o’ hot water, Finlay Dougal, but the steward has us savin’ the servants for other work now, an’ the pails are too heavy for me daughter. Use the pump, by all means. The weather is still warm enough.”
For some strange reason, Isla left her father to slice the loaf of bread she had baked that morning and offered to show the man where he might find the pump.
“This close to the sea, our pump is fed by the little burn that flows down to the estuary,” she told him.
“I ken, lass. I was born here an’ lived at Dougal Keep long enough to have the lands around here imprinted on me memory forever.”
He answered her with one of his smiles, or maybe he wasn’t smiling? It was just the way the corners of his mouth turned up at the corners. She blushed rosily and whispered that she would go and fetch him a sheet to dry with. As she dug in the chest for a sheet, Isla tried to imagine what it must be like to be sent forth from one’s home at such a young age, told to search for enemy clan and kill them if the opportunity presented itself, never to see one’s home again except for brief periods of rest and recreation. What a horrible life to live for ten years.
And yet, for all that, she still preferred living with the auld laird in charge and not the steward. At least the auld laird had never given her a creepy feeling or made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck as the steward did.
Draping the folded sheet over her shoulder, she made her way to the water pump. A handsome, dark-haired man had replaced the dirty, tired stranger she had met earlier that day. Isla could not help but gaze in fascination as the laird’s son washed his body. The damp Dougal plaid was still belted around his waist, but the rest of the man was naked. His body, cut and bruised as it was, was the most beautiful example of perfect masculinity she had ever seen. He was so different from the lithe young men who paid her shy compliments and the boys she had attended school with, the portly tradesmen and the stooped castle clerks. He was a real man. Or at least, Finlay looked exactly like how Isla envisioned a real man should be: braw, with hard muscles, lusty, and handsome. She watched as he ran his hands over the stubble of beard on his jaw, contemplating whether he should shave it off or not. She felt her body shiver with anticipation as if it were her hands sliding over the rough scruff of his beard.
“There’s nay need for ye to bring me a sheet, lass.”
His gruff voice made Isla jump. How did he know she was there?
“I…I was, I mean…I was only checking to see that ye managed to find the good soap, sir,” she replied, not wanting him to think she had been spying on him.
“That soap ye’re usin’ is for washin’ the linen!” He laughed, splashed his face one more time, and then kicked over the soapy bucket of water so that it drained down the cobblestones. “It works the same. I feel like a new man. Thank ye for this. I ken me comrades will be fightin’ over the washin’ water back at the barracks.”
He came toward her, shakin’ the water out of his hair and shrugging into his shirt.
“If…if ye leave that off,” Isla suggested, “I can wash an’ mend that shirt for ye, sir.”
The thin lawn shirt fabric clung to his wet skin, which somehow managed to make his muscles look even bigger.
“Thank ye, lass, but I have another in me saddlebags. It was sweet of ye to offer.” He stepped closer to her, and Isla felt as if steam was coming off his skin because suddenly she was warmer. “Come, let’s go back to the kitchen together.”
And as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he took her small hand in his own large one and led her back into the house.
