She cast him a sidelong look, her expression anxious. “Do you want to be laird?”
He did. The need burned in him as fiercely as when he’d wanted to marry into the aristocracy. This would be his own kingdom to shape as he willed. As it ought to be done for the benefit of all.
But he shook his head. “They will never accept a Sassenach, even one as brilliant as me.”
“Do you think they will accept a woman?”
He shrugged. These were her people. “I think you can declare it so, if it’s what you want.”
She bit her lip. “I don’t think they’ll want me. I’m afraid to ask.”
He touched her face. How did she not see how wonderful she was? How did she not understand that every soul in her clan depended upon her? She was the one with medicines and magic. She was the one who organized and maintained order. She was the one who inspired. He was merely another soul who stood in awe at her feet.
“They’ll want you if you demand it. You cannot hesitate. You must act and declare. But most of all, you must believe.”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure.”
“Then be sure by the time the food is done.”
“Another pattern?”
He nodded. “Make your decision by then.”
She took a deep breath and started forward. He matched her steps, wondering what would happen next.
“I’ll start with the bread,” she declared.
“Good choice. Do you mind if I start with the books?”
“An excellent idea,” she said as she handed over the keys that had been lifted from her uncle’s body. “Whatever accounts he had will open with one of these.”
A great many keys, but he was a man who loved to open new doors.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Iseabail decided.
It began when she saw the dirt in the kitchen. A castle, indeed a clan, ran on its food. And the heart of that food was here, where the pots were dirty, the food burnt, and the bread hard. She was cleaning when Talia appeared with several women in tow. They more than anyone knew how much Iseabail had done for them.
They joined her in the work of cooking.
Seeing their faith in her bolstered her, but determination came when she stepped into her stillroom. Every bottle was smashed, every herb discarded. Orlaith had been very thorough in her spite. What idiocy to destroy healing ointments and calming herbs in a fit of temper.
“Why didn’t anyone stop her?” she wondered.
Talia shrugged. “Why? None of us have the knowledge to use it.”
And here she saw her mother’s wrong. She had taught Iseabail, but no one else. To have only one healer in a clan was foolish.
“I will change that. Any who wish to learn may come to me.”
The words came from a place of certainty and from fury. No clan could survive if they failed to take care of their own in so basic a manner. And as the women nodded their support, Iseabail gathered her will.
She would lead this clan as laird, and she would be certain that no woman under her protection was lost or abused. It was high time for a woman’s perspective in clan matters.
She followed Reuben’s suggestion to wait until the food was consumed but before the whisky began to flow. The fare was adequate and a far cry from what it would become, but for tonight, it served.
She sat at the high table between Reuben and Fergus. In clan matters, Fergus would need to appear preeminent because he was born and raised a Spalding. But as her husband, Reuben took an equal place beside her. And he was especially gallant as he drew out her chair for her.
