Maybe This Time, page 19
“Aye, my lady.” Tam chuckled. “‘Tis truth they still rattle.”
“A reminder to use both ends of your club.”
Alyssa turned and saw James. She flagged him down. Her heart ached at the pain etching his face. “Try not to worry, James. Rumors of death are often not true. Until you settle your doubt, have hope. Elsewise you could grow careless.” She took his hand and pressed it to her face, tears slipped to her cheeks. “I can’t lose you, too. I’ve buried too many of mine already.”
James blinked hard. “I’ll take extra care, my lady, to spare you distress.”
“When you see your father, give him my wishes for his good health. I don’t believe him dead, James. I don’t know how I know this, but I do. Your father is safe.”
“If you believe it, then so will I. I’ll give him your message.”
Alyssa nodded and watched young James ride away. Seeing the smith cross her path, she brushed at her wet cheeks and yelled out. “Angus, have a care with your wrist! Bind it before battle!”
He grinned at her and waved the strip of cloth she’d given him the night before. “I will, my lady.”
“David!” she shouted as he passed. “David! For pity’s sake, guard your laird’s back—and your front! You’re a demon like your laird, but I’ve grown used to you. If I lose what’s mine, you’ll suffer my wrath!”
“You’re a true Buchannan, my lady. As selfish as the laird himself.”
“I’ll have your word.” she shouted. “And if you fail—your hide.”
“You have my vow,” David yelled back over his shoulder and gave her a silly grin. “I know, we’re precious to our people—and to our lady!”
Tears clogged her throat. “Aye,” she whispered. “Aye.”
A horse whinnied and Alyssa turned. Kevan looked down at her from astride Beautiful’s strong back. “And what are your instructions to me?”
“Come home, Kevan.” She looked up into the most tender face she’d ever seen. Her heart shattered. The danger he faced was for her. “Just . . . come home.”
“You have my vow—and my love.” He brushed a tear from her cheek. “Protect my people and my home, wife. And, if you’ve time to spare, pray, use my absence to practice your cooking.”
Alyssa laughed through her tears, silently vowing to put her heart to the task. “Aye, you wicked man. I will. Hurry home to me.”
Ten
“ALL RIGHT, ALYSSA. Enough is enough.” Margar thrust a wooden bucket filled with soapy water into her lady’s hands. “You’ve been bawling like a sick sheep for two days. ‘Tis time to get to work.”
“I have not,” Alyssa protested, then flushed with guilt and took the bucket. Water sloshed onto the hem of her skirt and splattered on the floor. “Just two nights.”
“Finding your bed empty ain’t pleasant, I know. But you’re the laird’s lady, and you ain’t setting what I call no fine example.”
“I’ve done my work.”
“Aye, you have. With not a wink of a smile for no one, nor a kind word neither.” Margar muttered and swiped at the air between them with her hand. “I thought you had courage. But you ain’t got spit.”
“My husband’s off fighting a war—my clansmen—and you want I should laugh and be happy? Kevan could be dead as we speak.”
“So you miss your man. You think the rest of the women ain’t missin’ their men, too? What about Cellina? Her Tam’s with Kevan. So’s Celwyn’s Angus. But they ain’t borrowin’ trouble, child. And you shouldn’t either. Enough’ll find you without your lookin’ for it.”
Alyssa worried her lower lip with her teeth. Kevan had left his people in her care, but she’d been so lost in her own worries, she hadn’t considered the worries of his clan. She’d insulted his people. Her people. Would she never learn? Looking down at the bucket near her feet, she said, “What should I clean?”
Margar sent her a shrewd look. “Your heart still ain’t in women’s work, is it?”
“Nay, I confess, it’s not. But I have learned it’s not easy work.”
“Still, you think it ain’t important.”
Alyssa shrugged and looked down at the floor.
“I be talkin’ to you, my lady. The least you can do is look at my face.”
Alyssa snapped her head up. “Don’t scream at me. I feel what I feel.”
“Aye, there is your feelin’s to consider. You can’t help it if they make you stupid.”
“Stupid?” Alyssa glared down at the old woman. “I’m not stupid.”
“You can’t cook, leastwise not without making my boys sick for days. And you can’t sew, except for wounds. You can’t even clean worth a spit.” Margar’s hands settled on her hips. “I say you be stupid.”
“Margar, I’m getting angry with you,” Alyssa warned. “All right. So I can’t do those things. But even Kevan agrees I have value. I can do other things.”
“Beddin’ your man and doing a fine job of that don’t take sense, Alyssa Buchannan. That you do with your heart.” The woman thrust out her pointed chin. “You be stupid.”
“What do you want from me, you old witch? You know I’ve tried. It isn’t that I won’t do women’s work, I—I can’t do it!”
“Aha!” Margar slapped her thigh. “Now we’re getting somewheres. Sit down, child. Now, this old witch is gonna help you.”
Alyssa dropped to a stool and propped her elbows on the table. “You’ve been helping me, Margar. I just can’t do those things. I hear you, but somewhere between my mind and my hands your instructions get warped.” Alyssa groaned. “Mayhap I am stupid.”
“You are.” Alyssa shot her a surprised look, and Margar nodded. “I told you, you was. Would I lie to my lady?”
“Well, you don’t have to sound so bloody happy about it.”
“Oh, but I am happy, child.”
“Why? Do you hate me? Is that it?”
Margar sat on the stool across from her and bent over the table. “No, child. I couldn’t help you until you’d help yourself. Think for a minute. What would happen if no one did women’s work? Tell me.”
“There’d be nothing fit to eat.”
“Aye, what else?”
“Everything would be filthy. The keep wouldn’t be fit to live in.”
“Aye, go on.”
“We’d all be without clothes. No one would sew.”
“Some of my boys might enjoy that for a while,” Margar cackled, “but come winter, they’d get a mite chilly. What else would happen?”
Alyssa considered, but could think of no other consequences. “I don’t know.”
“You’ve forgotten the most important thing we women do in our work.”
Alyssa frowned. “What?”
The old woman’s eyes grew misty. “We give our care, child. A bit of our hearts goes into fixin’ meals what fills the stomachs of ours. Into the stitches we make with the needle and thread for them.” The old woman smiled. “Now you tell me. Ain’t that important?”
Alyssa lowered her head. “I—I guess I never thought of women’s work quite that way. But it’s true, isn’t it?”
“Every word, child.”
The old woman rested her hand on the table. Alyssa really looked at it for the first time. Margar’s fingers were crooked and bent, her knuckles, raw. Her skin was angry and red, irritated from too many hours in water and from exposure to the harsh, Highland winds. The tips of her fingers were nicked with cuts and her nails were jagged. Yet with all their flaws, Margar’s frail-looking hands were as strong and able as Kevan’s.
Both gave love.
Alyssa lifted the hand she’d studied and pressed it to her cheek. Tears burned her eyes, and she slid from the stool and buried her face in the old woman’s lap. Margar stroked her hair with a gentle touch.
“I’m sorry. You knew your value all along. Yet, fool that I am, I had to be told.”
“‘Tis all right, child. My heart’s got a good home in you.”
Margar patted the tears from Alyssa’s cheek with the edge of her sleeve and smiled—then she slapped Alyssa.
Stunned, Alyssa cupped her stinging cheek. “Why did you hit me?”
“You called me an old witch, you little hellion. Even my boys know better than that.”
Alyssa’s laughter echoed through the hall.
“Them tables is filthy,” Margar said sliding from the stool and disappearing down the corridor to the kitchen. Her voice carried back to Alyssa. “Best get ‘em scrubbed.”
“Aye, Margar, I will.”
LATER THAT DAY, Alyssa turned her full attention to Margar’s instructions, determined to confront the enemy kitchen like she’d confronted the enemy raiders on the battlefield. She’d succeed in preparing something edible or die trying, and that was that.
“Well,” Alyssa looked at Margar, dancing with excitement. “Is it fit to eat?”
Margar broke the bread and sniffed it.
“What are you smelling it for?” Alyssa asked impatiently. “What I want to know is if you can swallow it.”
“In any work, you gotta use all your senses, child. Would you ride into a stable smellin’ of smoke?”
“Are you daft? Of course I wouldn’t.”
“Well, you don’t go eatin’ without sniffin’ first either. ‘Afore it gets to the mouth, it’s gotta pass the nose. If it don’t smell good—”
“It’ll not get to the mouth,” Alyssa finished with a smile. “You know, Margar, I think if I thought about women’s work like I do men’s, I would do better. What think you of that?”
“Mayhap you ain’t stupid after all.”
“So how does it smell?”
Margar grinned. “Good enough to eat.”
She took a bite and swallowed. “A wee bit tough. But it ain’t bad. I’ve served worse myself—in my younger days, of course.”
“Of course,” Alyssa agreed. “And the mutton?”
“Well,” Margar said, looking down at the roasted meat. “It ain’t black. That’s a good sign.”
“Sight before smell, eh?”
Margar’s blue eyes gleamed. “You be learnin’, child.” She sniffed the meat, popped a bite into her mouth, then chewed slowly.
Alyssa held her breath, and when she couldn’t bear to wait another second, groaned. “Well?”
“In a minute,” Margar said, shushing her with a slap to her forearm.
“The waiting is making me crazed. Is it so tough you can’t swallow?”
“Nay.” The old woman grinned. “‘Tis so good I don’t want to.”
Alyssa beamed.
WEARY, ALYSSA went to bed with a bittersweet heart. Her progress in women’s work had made her proud, but her worry about her men overshadowed her pleasure. Where were they? Was Kevan safe?
She whispered a prayer to her Maker, pleading that all would return home upright in their saddles. Pleading that Kevan’s angel, the white-haired man from the wood, would keep watch over those close to her heart. And pleading that David would keep his vow, guarding Kevan’s back and his own life, as well.
In the middle of her lengthy plea, Alyssa gave a great yawn, and her lashes fluttered to her cheeks.
Late in the night, Alyssa tossed and turned, hovering somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. Again and again, she saw the face of the guard who had informed Kevan of the attack on MacMillian. His sharp features, the dark circles under his eyes, haunted her. Where had she seen him? Where?
And then she knew.
“Oh God!” Screaming, she jerked awake and bolted froth her bed. “The guard! Dear God, the guard!”
Eleven
ALYSSA SHOOK Margar’s shoulder.
Margar slung the bedcovers back. A dagger flashed.
Gasping, Alyssa jumped back. “Margar!”
The old woman groaned. “What the Hell be you doin’, child? Tryin’ to get yourself killed?”
“Margar, listen! It’s a trap! The men, the MacMillian’s attack. ‘Tis here. Innes will attack here!”
“What?” Margar sat straight up.
“The guard who sounded the call. I remember him. He was Innes’s man. When Kevan called up his allied-vassals, I saw him at Cameron. He came into the hall to warn Innes of a storm.”
“They’ll not attack till morn,” Margar predicted, her blue eyes gleaming. “But you be the warrior. What do we do?”
“You mean to help me defend the keep?”
“Ain’t no man gonna run me outta my home without me takin’ a bit of his hide with me.” Margar got out of bed and reached for her plaid. “I been practicin’ with my dagger. And with the bow.”
Alyssa wanted to laugh. Margar’s insistence that’d she’d touch no weapon had been fierce. But Kevan was right. The contrary witch had a soul of gold.
“Well,” Margar asked her. “Ain’t you gonna rub my nose in it?”
“Later,” Alyssa promised. “Right now there’s too much work to do.”
TOGETHER ALYSSA and Margar woke the keep and ordered everyone—men, women, and children—to the hall.
When they’d gathered, Alyssa studied them. There were few men in the group. After praying for divine intervention, she told the clan of her suspicions.
“Silas,” she addressed the warrior she knew to be the most able horseman. “Ride tonight. Find your laird and inform him. Have another man go on to the MacMillian. Tell him Lady Buchannan requests his aid. Make sure you tell him it is me and not Kevan who calls. If I’m wrong—which is possible—I’ll not make my husband look a fool, save for marrying me.”
Silas crossed his heart with his hand. “I’ll leave at once, my lady.”
“Tell your laird I expect they will test the back wall. But have a care leaving, Silas. They no doubt have guards elsewhere.”
“I know.” Silas grinned. “My hide is precious to you.”
That he didn’t challenge the orders of a woman pleased Alyssa, and she smiled. “Aye, Silas. It is that.”
Silas left the hall. Many of the women were sniffing, crying into their plaids.
“Cease your weeping!” Alyssa bellowed. “You are Buchannans. Do not shame your laird with weakness. Honor him with your courage.”
“But we don’t know what to do.”
“I know you’re afraid, Celwyn,” Alyssa told Angus’s pretty wife. “But fear has its value. It will keep you cautious. You all have been taught to use the dagger and the bow. In battle, anything can be a weapon. Don’t stop to think. Let instinct guide you.”
“But, my lady,” Celwyn interrupted. “We’re women.”
“Aye, we are.” Alyssa smiled. Scanning, she made eye contact with every woman in the hall. “An advantage, I would say. We have the skills of men—and the cunning of women.”
Margar cackled. “Innes will rue this day.”
“Aye,” Alyssa agreed. “The bastard will that.”
“I’ll get food ready. Women, too, will need strength for battle.”
It was Tam’s daughter, Maven, who spoke. Alyssa smiled down at her. Only seven summers, and the lass was thinking clearly. She’d grow to a fine woman in the Buchannan clan. “That’s a good idea, Maven. And, if you would, boil some water. As much as you can.”
“I will,” Maven promised. She called to three other lasses, and they left for the kitchen.
“There aren’t enough of us to guard the holding, Lady Alyssa,” Angus’s son Patrick said. “What say you to that?”
“You’re right. But we can protect the upper bailey wall, defend the keep.”
“What about the people in the lower bailey?” one woman asked.
“Bring them inside the upper wall. The animals, too. I want no provisions left for Innes and the raiders in the lower bailey. But, pray, we must be quick to prepare. If not the comin’ morn, Innes will surely attack the next.”
“I’ll rouse the lower bailey,” Celwyn said. She turned to Patrick. “You see to the animals—and don’t forget my bees.”
Alyssa listened as the women began making plans. It surprised her that before executing them the women and the warriors sought her permission. She whispered a prayer to her Maker that the women and children would be more cunning than Innes was skilled, that their desire to keep their homes safe would outweigh the advantages of Innes’s warriors. And most of all, she prayed that Kevan would not be long in returning—for Alyssa Buchannan, his warrior wife, was terrified.
That day, spent busy in preparation, passed without incident. By moonlight, Alyssa rode Streak around the inner perimeter of the upper bailey wall. Women were posted every six feet.
Having abandoned their dresses, they had donned shirts and their plaids. Sand was hot and ready. So was water—just in case. Arrows were lined up and waiting, as were the odd household items the women had chosen to have at hand.
At first Alyssa couldn’t fathom what use vats of honey would be, nor the vats of dye that had been brought into the hall earlier that morning. But the most strange of the household items she saw collected were brooms. Almost every woman had brought hers. What use were brooms against swords?
What use, indeed. She shook her head and kept riding, paying close attention to the back upper bailey wall. Every third guard was a warrior, fully armed. Some of the older children were there, too, aiding the women and warriors. The rest were minding the younger children in the upper rooms of the keep.
She rode through the lower bailey, then slid down from Streak’s back and took her position behind a tree. Her defense strategy was bold. But if her plan failed, the empty cottages would be razed, and the animal pens and the stables destroyed.
Fear churned in her stomach. She prayed that Silas had reached Kevan. It would take another day before Silas would reach the MacMillian, and then two days for Kevan to return.
If these women were warriors, they would stand a chance of defending his home until Kevan returned. But they were not warriors. They were mothers and wives—at best, poorly trained to defend. How many of them would have the heart to kill a man? How many of them would die . . . ?
The alarm sounded.
The back wall of the hold had been scaled. Thank God, near the copse of trees.
