“And now I’m grown, and he isna. And my da is older and needs an heir who can be the MacKay in truth. I’ve done everything I could to be the son he wanted, but naught I do is ever good enough. I’ll never be good enough as laird, either. He’s made certain of that.”
“Age doesna always bring wisdom, lass, or forgiveness. But there’s still time.” Stellan frowned at her sleeping father.
“Nay enough, I think. And I often think this isna the life I want. Nay the life I should have. There are men in the clan who would make much better lairds, men who can fight if the trouble between Domnhall and Mar continues. They will see me as weak and MacKay as ripe for the taking, along with Ross. If only Da would make that decision and free me from MacKay to marry elsewhere. But he’s stubborn, and he’s got it in his head my only value is to marry for an alliance with another clan. To bring a strong husband here to be the laird in deed if no’ in name.”
“Would ye be happy with that? To be a figurehead?”
“It would depend on the man, would it no’?”
Stellan shook his head. “No matter the man, I dinna believe ye would.”
The healer returned, and since her da had remained deeply asleep and silent, Mariota opted to leave him in her care and go to his solar. Stellan asked Mariota to stay with her long enough for him to check in with his men and assign two to escort her and to stay with her while she worked. She was grateful for his care, but worried how he’d think of her now that he knew she’d killedher twin. Nay, he wouldn’t think that way. It had been a tragic accident. Despite how her father continued to punish her for it, she hoped Stellan would not.
Every time Stellanlearned more about Mariota’s history, his heart broke for her a little more. He knew better than to fall for the fallacy that she needed rescuing. She was doing her best to rescue herself, while still hopeful that she could bring her father around to treating her as a father ought. As a laird ought.
But if she wanted him to, Stellan would be proud to help her in any way he could. He would, though that fact surprised him. He wanted to help her succeed, even though he didn’t want her to remain at MacKay. The irony was not lost on him.
Given the lack of training she’d gotten from her father, he suspected that helping her make sense of whatever was on his desk in the solar would be of the greatest immediate use of his skills.
He rounded up Camus and Gregor and sent them to escort her to the solar and to stand guard outside the door. Then he headed up to his chamber to get the one thing he suspected he would need while pouring over someone else’s cramped handwriting and columns of numbers— his spectacles. It annoyed him that he sometimes needed them, when Anders never did. Thankfully, both of them had excellent distance vision. But Anders had not spent as many hours as he had with their father going over Sutherland’s ledgers. And Mariota had never seen either one of them reading anything, so she would not have suspected Anders for using them. Not that it mattered any more.
He carried the folded-up spectacles concealed in one hand. He didn’t want anyone to know the Sutherland heir used them. It was a weakness that vexed him, but at the same time, it was one he shared with his father who was one of the most powerful lairds in Scotland, and in his day, one of the most feared on the battlefield. Stellan was glad the wee bits of glass helped keep things clear for both of them.
He nodded to his men in passing and entered the MacKay’s solar. Mariota wore a frown of concentration— or was that confusion? She didn’t notice him come in.
“Mariota,” he said softly, hoping not to startle her.
She looked up and her expression smoothed into one of relief. “Ach, ye’re here,” she said and leaned back. “Ye said ye worked with yer da on Sutherland’s ledgers. Do ye think ye could help me make sense of Da’s?”
“If it will help ye, I’d be pleased to try.”
She stood and carried the one she’d been bent over to the table in the middle of the chamber. “I ken a wee about planting schedules and such, but this doesna make sense to me.”
She gestured for him to take a seat.
One glance at the page told Stellan his spectacles would be needed. He unfolded them, wiped them clean on his sleeve and put them on the bridge of his nose.
“What on earth…?”
“They’re called spectacles. They help me read small handwriting and numbers.”
“How?”
“They make things look larger and sharper.”
“Does Anders use them, too?”
“Nay. I need them because I’ve spent more years reading and helping Da with his ledgers.”
“Of course,” she commented and studied his face. “Will they fall off?”
“Aye. Sometimes. When I look down, I hold them in place.”
“That must get tiring.”
“’Tis tolerable.”
She grinned. “Somehow, they make ye seem— I canna believe I’m going to say this —but they make ye seem even more attractive. Wiser. As if ye keep secrets ye willna share.”
