“It is not up to me, Angus, what to do with her. I just thought you should know that she has caused a stir.”
“So be it. The people who live and work here should remember their place.”
John raised his hands. “You will get no argument from me on that point. I just shooed the new lass away from the doorway before I entered. You are laird here in your father’s absence, no one questions that. But people do wonder about her, that is all.”
The truth of the matter was that life on Eilean Mor was a close-knit community. Angus had not considered that anyone would question his bringing an outsider here, but he should have known better. His father, and his father before him, had worked long and hard to build this place; he did not want anything to jeopardize it, especially in the form of someone who did not belong here.
“If you wish, you may address the servants. End the rumours. Tell them the lady is a prisoner, and will be traded for my father. You may tell them who she is, and give strict instructions that no one is to enter her chamber unless you or Osla requests it to see to her basic needs. Will that be sufficient?”
John nodded. “Aye, Angus. Although this may seem petty to you, it will mean a great deal to those who work here to know that you confided in them.”
“I act for the betterment of all who live here. I care about every person here, but I am laird and I expect my orders to be followed. Is that clear?”
“Very, my lord.”
The last address meant a lot. John was a hard one to win over, and it was clear his loyalties still lay strongly with Angus’s father. And rightly so. The man meant to guide Angus where the people of Eilean Mor were concerned, and for that Angus was grateful.
“Thank you, John. Is there aught else we need to address?”
“Only the matter of the lass who was listening to your conversation. She should be punished, my lord. ‘Tis only right.”
“Do as you see fit, John.”
Angus turned to leave. He needed to check in with Graham and see if any messages had arrived.
“My lord, surely you will not see Rhona punished for listening to our conversation,” Osla said. Her pleading struck a chord with Angus. The woman had only just finished saying the lass was troublesome, and now she was standing up for her.
“I will show no special treatment for anyone here over another. The punishment for such is loss of wages, is it not?”
“Aye, that it is,” John said.
“Her father is ill and cannot work,” Osla said. “She may require a stern word, but she learns quickly, Angus.”
Rhona’s father had been smith to the MacDonalds for years. His service had been loyal, and it had been a particular hardship on his family since he’d come down with the black cough. Even Angus’s surgeon could not rid him of it. In the meantime, thankfully, the sons—Ian and Joe—had taken on his duties at the forge.
“Since it is her first crime, dock her for only half the day,” Angus said. He then turned to Osla. “Will that do?”
“Aye, Angus. That will do,” she said, and smiled.
Angus left the kitchen feeling heavier than when he had entered. He had been involved with the council and judgement for these people for the last few years in attendance with his father, and more recently as judge himself—in order to learn how, as his father put it. To his credit, his father never interfered, so Angus had had to learn the full spectrum of laws that were used to govern Eilean Mor. None were unfair, in his view. He and his father did not condone cruelty as punishment, and tried to be fair while at the same time ensuring that crimes were dealt with swiftly and justly.
Rhona had made her intentions clear and had the gall to listen in on Angus’s conversation with Osla. That meant she had heard him say quite clearly that he was not interested in her. He hoped that would be the end of it, and that she would now move on to some other man and leave him alone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Try as she might, Annabella could not clear her mind enough to frame up a secret message to send to her cousin. Not that she was sure MacDonald would let her, but if she was to ask, she needed to have something ready.
Annabella thought back over the countless summers she and Joan had shared as children. They had shared a tutor, and would take pleasure in creating ways to outwit the elderly man. Thinking back now, she smiled at the carefree life she once enjoyed.
She shook her head and paced. There must be something from those days that would give the message that the king could come and get her without fear of a trap or a battle waiting.
And then it came to her. Her tutor had once taught them how to make invisible ink. Annabella recalled the main ingredient—salt of ammonium. All she would need to do was to mix it with water, then she could write a secret message on the same page as a more innocuous one. But how was she to acquire the ingredient? Surely a castle of this size would contain an apothecary. But how would she manage to explore it and gain what she needed without detection?
Unless she could request the powder and say it was for another use. It was sometimes used to clean jewellery. She rubbed her signet ring—a gift from her mother upon her sixteenth birthday. Would Angus allow her to do the cleaning herself? It was gamble, but it was certainly worth a try.
Her belly fluttered at the possibility of sending a secret message to her cousin and helping to diffuse this mess. Would Joan think to hold the letter up to a flame? She hoped so. Now all she needed to do was to persuade the MacDonald to let her write the letter.
She brushed her hair and looked through the rest of the gowns that had been left for her. They were surprisingly well made and of fine velvet. It was another surprise for her about life this far north. She had imagined all the women wearing woollen tunics, with little decoration on them at all.
