And why did everyone she’d seen so far at Sutherland seem the opposite— content, even happy. Even the lasses vying for the twins’ attention and failing to receive it didn’t seem to mind. Was it a game? They knew they’d never wed with either of them, but the fun was in the flirting and the attempts? She’d seen a few couples behave that way at home, but nothing like the scale the twins inspired.
She straightened. To accomplish all of that, she would need more time than her da would likely allow, but she could make a start right now.
Brìghde proved to be pleasant company. They went first to the cobbler to retrieve her boots and she made a point of introducing Mariota and praising the cobbler’s work, making the older man redden above his bushy beard, but he smiled at the compliments she heaped on him. From there, they ventured around the bailey to the various crafters and tradesmen.
The latest tapestry on the weaver’s loom drew Mariota’s admiration, and she studied it with delight, a hint of a smile on her lips. Rather than the usual battle scene, it depicted Dunrobin’s large, square tower and outer walls surrounded on each side by one of the four seasons. Spring and the shore of the Dornoch firth to the east, summer to the south, autumn to the west and winter to the north. It was far from finished, lacking about a third of the finished size and the handwork that would make it truly unique and beautiful, but the weaver’s artisticdesign was clearly well underway. “I hope I may come back to see this work when ye finish it,” she told the smiling weaver. “’Twill be lovely wherever ’tis hung.”
“’Tis meant for the new Lady’s bedchamber,” she said proudly. ”Twill be finished long before ’tis needed, of course,” she added with a glance at Brìghde. “But I’ve already received other requests for similar, smaller works for the healer and others in the clan.”
“I’d love for ye to one day make something similar for me at MacKay,” Mariota told her, truly impressed with the design and artistry the weaver had already demonstrated. “Perhaps one day, ye would visit so ye can see the keep and the area around it.”
The weaver dropped her gaze. “I’d be honored, milady.”
After they left her, Mariota couldn’t resist asking, “How long ago did Stellan and Anders lose their mother?”
Brìghde shook her head. “’Tis a sad tale. She died birthing a lass who also didna survive. Their da was so heartbroken at the loss of his love and wee daughter that he has never remarried, nor intends to. By the clan’s new lady, the weaver of course, means Stellan’s wife, once he becomes laird.”
Nay! Mariota’s belly hollowed. Stellan was the heir, not Anders. The twin she’d hoped to attract was forever out of her reach, as tied to his clan as she was to hers.
She took a breath, forcing herself to set aside her dismay. If there was a way, she would find it. “Why would the laird nay make an alliance through his own marriage?”
“I believe he sees himself as the clan’s past and Stellan as its future.” She shrugged. “But I dinna ken, and though Anders is my friend, he doesna speak of it to me— or anyone.”
Later,the twins found Brìghde and Mariota in the mews, admiring Valkyrie. Stellan overheard enough to impress him yet again as Mariota told Brìghde about climbing trees as a lass and raising her hawk from the egg she found high in a nest, and about learning to shoot a bow.
“Could ye teach me to shoot?” Brìghde asked. “If I could handle a bow and arrow, I could help defend the keep.”
“I’d be happy to,” Mariota told her. “Nan, too, if she wishes it.”
Anders snickered at that. “Can ye imagine those two on the walls?”
“Brìghde, aye,” Stellan told him.
“I’d fear for our men if Nan were armed,” Anders continued. “She’d as likely shoot herself or the man next to her as over the wall.”
Stellan’s mental image of the scenario Anders painted, though it was highly exaggerated, made him laugh.
“Who’s there?” Brìghde’s voice preceded her out the door of the mews. “Ye two. What do ye think so amusing?”
“Naught,” Anders replied, still chuckling.
“We were having a serious conversation, and heard yer laughter. Ye were listening.”
“’Twas naught,” Stellan told her, having recovered his composure.
“What brings ye both?”
Brìghde’s query made Anders grin and Stellan frown.
“We heard voices and stopped to find out who was in there,” Stellan answered, pointing at the open door.
“Stellan wanted to escape our da and the planting schedule,” Anders declared, earning a glare from his twin. “I had a purer motive,” he continued, “to make certain ye hadna shared all of Sutherland’s secrets while ye have been about.”
“Only those concerning the two of ye,” Brìghde jested.
Stellan couldn’t miss how Mariota paled. Something had upset her, but what? He fought to wipe his frown from his brow. Anders calm demeanor told him Brìghde knew nothing of any secrets he and his twin kept. Certainly not the most important one. He was certain Anders would not have mentioned their childhood vow to any lass. Or anyone else. Nor had he. Had their grandda done so before he passed on? Stellan had no reason to believe so, since even their father seemed unaware of their and their grandda’s wishes. Or perhaps their da just rejected them in favor of his own expectations for his sons. Though they had survived— even thrived —when he fostered them separately, they never lost their determination to honor their vow to rule together.
Mariota seemed to have regained some color. Stellan thought she might need more air. “Anders, perhaps we should take Mariota riding. Valkyrie must need some time in the open sky.”
