AN UNEXPECTED PROBLEM
Ettie tiptoed into the solar early the next morning, lured there by the scent of oat porridge and fresh-baked bannocks that wafted, enticingly, through the open door. She had found it hard to sleep that night, tossing and turning in bed. Despite Alina's sudden friendship, and the closeness she felt to Chrissie and Amice, she was still ill-at-ease here. Moreover, with Brodgar gone, she found she could not rest.
Waking early, she had summoned Brenna, the maid, and dressed in a soft blue- and cream-colored gown, one made in the latest fashion. She headed downstairs, shivering in the cold breeze and reached the solar, entering it quickly. She walked to the fire, and then stopped as she heard something at the table.
She had thought she was the only one about so early, but Lady Amabel was there, sitting at the far side of the table. She was alone, meaning she and Ettie would be sitting down to breakfast together, if she were to stay.
“Oh...” Ettie turned, about to leave. Amabel called out.
“No. Come, Henriette.”
She felt her heart thud painfully in her chest. The last thing she had expected – the last thing she wanted – was a confrontation with Lady Amabel. However, it would have been shockingly rude to leave, having been noticed. She sighed and walked in further. “My lady, I...I didn't mean to disturb. I'm sorry,” she said softly. With the apology came a host of others, not spoken. Sorry for invading your house. Sorry for disturbing your peace. For whatever it is that makes you disapprove so.
“Not at all,” Amabel said lightly.
Ettie swallowed. Drew out a seat, the one where Amice usually sat. Took a breath. Trust. “My lady?” she asked, feeling a lump in her throat and forcing out words.
“Yes?” Amabel said, reaching for the pitcher of milk that stood beside her.
“My lady, what have I done that offends you? Please, tell me? I hate to think I am unwelcome here, or that my presence in the house troubles you so.”
Amabel's green eyes widened. “No, dear!” she said. She reached out and patted her hand. Her own fingers were long, the joints prominent, rings on three of her fingers, big and golden. “You haven't offended me! Heaven forbid.”
Ettie felt herself relax. “But, my lady. If I have, please say.”
“No, child,” Amabel smiled. She had a nice smile, Ettie thought. Warm and easygoing. “You haven't done anything wrong. I'm sorry if...” she closed her eyes, thinking. “I suppose I have been remiss. It's not you. It's...my plans.”
“Oh?” Ettie reached for the butter, adding it to her bowl of steaming porridge, then reached for salt to stir in.
“I should explain,” Amabel said. “This is the right time to do it, too. We can be as frank as we need to be, you and me.” She smiled.
Ettie swallowed hard. “Please do be.”
“Well,” the green eyes sparkled. “My family would tell you not to ask me to be too frank. I'm sure my bluntness offends all of them heartily sometimes,” Amabel chucked. “But here it is. You see, Brodgar is promised.”
Ettie felt her heart drop into her shoes. Was this what Alina had been speaking of? The trials? Trust. “He is?”
Amabel nodded. “Since he was a baby,” she explained. “Or thereabouts. You see,” she paused. “Our family has an enemy. The MacDonnell. Your uncle might have mentioned it? The feuds were happening during his stay.”
“He mentioned something similar.”
“Oh, good. Then you know, at least a little, of what transpired, and why the hate has grown. What devastation the past wreaked on us.”
“A little,” Ettie agreed. Her heart was still in her shoes, sinking lower progressively. What Amabel told her made her lose hope. Hope. All the possibilities.
She swallowed and listened as Amabel continued.
“Well, we promised Brodgar to wed the daughter of the current thane. He is a progressive sort. I hope so. We have high hopes for him, and for the ending of our troubles. Brodgar and this wedding will bring us peace. Or so we hope.” She smiled fondly. “Oh, don't look so sad. You see, when you arrived,” she paused. “I saw Brodgar change. He doesn't want this marriage. You have his interest.” She chuckled.
“My lady...”
“No, don't disagree there,” Amabel said, teasing. “I know my son and I recognize that look all too well. He has his eye on you. I can't let that happen. You see why? Now you know why I'm so awkward.” She sighed. “I'm sorry.”
Ettie looked at her. Even though her words cut her, she could find it in her heart to feel sympathy for the proud lady who sat before her. “I'm...I'm sorry,” she said in a hushed whisper. “I did not know anything of this matter. I thought...”
“Of course you didn't,” Amabel said, patting her hand again. “I know it's not intentional. You didn't exactly tell the obstinate youth to fall for you.” She smiled, showing pointed teeth.
Ettie chuckled, though sadly. “I suppose not.”
“You suppose aright,” Amabel said firmly. “Now, the best thing to do is have a good meal. Then you and I can sit together and think our way through this problem. Now you know what it is, perhaps we can come up with a solution together. Sound good?”
“Yes...”
Ettie stirred her breakfast, feeling utterly miserable. She had woken apprehensive, but hopeful. Now she felt as if that hope had been blown apart by a stone shot from a sling. She was hopeless.
All the possibilities. Well, this one seems like it's no longer possible. I may as well give it up.
She sighed.
“Henriette?”
“Yes?” she looked up, dull, as Amice appeared. Her friend was dressed in unbleached linen, her red hair loose down her back. She was smiling.
“We decided to dance today,” she said, inclining her head at Aunt Chrissie and Blaine, who had just arrived in the doorway. “With the gathering coming up, Aunt Chrissie said we need practice. And I, for one, agree. Isn't that going to be so much fun? We'll get the fiddle player up from the village, or perhaps the piper, and spend the afternoon in the great hall together.”
“A fine idea,” Amabel said approvingly. “Though if it's old Norries, I swear I'll go deaf.”
They all laughed, Ettie frowned.
“The village fiddler,” Aunt Alina explained, sliding soundlessly into the seat beside her. “We all have an endless vendetta against him and the three tunes he plays expertly and incessantly.”
“Yes! If I hear, ‘Lady, Wilt Thou Be Mine’ again, I'll go mad!” Amice declared. They all laughed.
“Mayhap we can persuade him to branch out,” Alina said, reaching for a bannock, which she buttered lightly, breaking bits off to eat.
“If t'were possible, we'd have done it ages ago.” Amabel nodded.
“Always a first time,” Chrissie piped up.
“With Norries, there's never a last time.”
Everyone roared with mirth at Blaine's comment. Ettie smiled. She wanted to join in the witty banter, but she couldn't find it in her heart to try. She was miserable. It felt as if the beautiful future she had allowed herself to imagine had been cast from the rampart. She was left with shattered shards, and no way to mend.
“Trust.”
Ettie turned to Alina, with a look of total amazement. “Sorry, Aunt?”
“Toast, I said,” Alina said succinctly. “These bannocks are overcooked,” she added, indicating the one she held, which was charred a little.
“Oh.” Ettie blinked. She was sure she had said something else. “Sorry. They are.” She shrugged. As she sat, listening halfheartedly to the talk of the gathering and the preparations still made, she considered it. Trust. If the future was a ladder to some uncertain place, the only way to climb it was by having faith that it led somewhere that would make you happy.
Maybe Brodgar is the thing that would make me happy. Maybe not. She sighed. She would do everything she could do, and trust that wherever the ladder led was somewhere good. After all, why shouldn't it be?
All possibilities are possible.
She heard the words as if Chrissie said them in her ear. As it was, she was halfway down the table, doing a fair approximation to the latest court dances while still in her seat. Amice, seated opposite, was laughing in delight. Blaine watched happily.
They all look so excited about the gathering, Ettie thought emptily. But I have no reason to be excited, now, do I?
She glanced at Amabel, who was buttering an oatcake, seeming pleased. She was laughing with Broderick and Duncan, who had just arrived from some expedition to the forest, and seemed happier since relaying her concern.
I wish I felt relieved as well, but no. She almost wished she hadn't decided to ask Lady Amabel what was concerning her. Knowing made her so miserable she wished she could leave.
If I did leave, where could I go?
Uncle Heath was her only other home. He wasn't at home, but up in the north, training the knights. She had to stay here. The other possibility, of course, was seeking refuge at Lochlann, the home of Joanna, Amice's older sister.
She glanced at Amice, who beamed. “You'll help me learn the quadrille? Oh, please say yes, Ettie! It won't be half so much fun without that...”
Ettie smiled, doing her best to look as if she wasn't sad. “I will.”
“Oh! Hurray!” Amice said, looking back at her and then turning to Chrissie. “Explain it again, do, please, Aunt?”
“Well,” Chrissie began, sighing. “First you need to start with your hands up, like this. Lean back on your back foot, then step forward...”
As Chrissie explained the dance-moves again, Ettie found her attention wandering. She felt someone's eye on her and turned to see Alina looking at her. There was compassion there if she chose to accept it. She nodded.
Alina nodded back. Ettie could almost swear she heard the woman's voice speak to her mind. Trust. I didn't say it was easy. You can do it. I believe in you.
Ettie smiled at her. She inclined her head again, and then looked away as Duncan cleared his throat.
“My lady? You would accompany me to the forest later?”
“Of course, Duncan,” she agreed. “I have a mind to be out of doors. I wouldn't mind a hand with gathering some vervain, either...” She glanced meaningfully at Ettie, who flushed. Being asked by Alina to help with her work, however slightly, was an honor. She was about to agree when Amice protested vociferously.
“Oh, Aunt! Not now...please? I need Ettie to help me with the dances! You can have her tomorrow.”
Amabel smiled at Ettie with real warmth in it. Ettie looked up and then at her hands again.
“Well, dear. You can't possibly feel unwelcome. We want you sorely.”
Ettie smiled. “Thank you.” She looked at her plate, feeling a lump in her throat that made it difficult to swallow.
I wish that were true. I wish that everyone wanted me. Everyone and Brodgar too.
She sighed. Whether she and Brodgar wanted each other was probably immaterial at this point. She was not even allowed to consider marrying him, and nor, it seemed, was he for her.
She finished her breakfast in silence and, as she left the hall, felt her arm grabbed by Amice.
“Come on, sister!” Amice said cheerfully. “You don't mind if I call you that, I hope?” she asked, pretty face scrunched up earnestly. “I want to dance!”
“I'm coming,” Ettie nodded placidly.
“Well, so am I,” Chrissie declared boisterously from behind them. “I need practice. Besides, I've been to Edinburgh most recently. I should pass on what I saw there. Though Heaven alone knows what a dreadful memory I have for such things...”
“Nonsense, dear,” Blaine put in behind her, dropping to give her a kiss on her cheek before moving on. “I know you speak French, and Heaven knows what else. If you have a bad memory, I must be a dolt.”
“You daft man,” Chrissie said, squeezing his cheek. She was flushed and happy, the compliment bringing color into her neat features.
Ettie looked from one to the other, feeling pain in her heart. So many people here had found someone they loved. She had a sense she loved Brodgar – she knew she had not known him long, but the connection was strong and overwhelming – and yet they were denied.
“Come on,” Chrissie said, patting her hand as, together, the three of them swept down to the hall. “Let's be bold and resolute...we'll need to be if Norries is playing the fiddle.”
They all laughed and Ettie allowed herself to join in, trying to forget.
In the hall, the benches where the men-at-arms sat to dine had been pulled back, giving them a square perhaps ten paces by fifteen in which to dance. Ettie leaned back, looking up at the fine vaulted ceiling. The great hall here was great indeed, a vast fire roaring in the grate opposite, filling the space with red warmth. The high dais was on her left, the entrance to the castle on her right. Chrissie stood beside her while Amice twirled in the open space, humming tunefully.
“Ah. There's our man,” Chrissie smiled, seeing an elderly greybeard in a plaid, plain linen tunic and trews appear at the doorway. He had a tartan bonnet on his head and a vast gray beard, outdone in magnitude only by his smile.
“Ah! Milady!” he bowed to Chrissie, who beamed.
“Norries. Just the man we need. Now, if we're going to be practicing the quadrille, we need something with a steady measure. How about ‘Lady, Wilt Though Have Me?’ Would that work?”
She looked across at Amice with a grin so wicked that even Ettie felt herself smile. Amice blew her cheeks out in a sigh.
“Well, then,” Chrissie said, assuming the air of a teacher. “Come, now. You two girls come and stand with me, and I'll talk you through the steps. Now. One, two, three, four and one, two...”
As she demonstrated, and Ettie, frowning, did her best to copy her, she found herself daydreaming of dancing with Brodgar. What it would be like to have her palm rest on his, as it did now on hers; how it would be to stare into his eyes while the music drifted and flowed round them.
I might as well dream it, she thought a little defiantly. No one can say I cannot dream.