Castle Cameron

Commotion from the inner bailey startled Lilias from where she’d been staring blankly at the mortar between the stones in the wall. Riders. The guards called out greetings. Horses huffed against the chinking of their tackle and their hooves clacked on the cobblestones.

Her body was heavy and her eyes still burned from the tears she’d shed. How was she going to stand to greet whomever it was that had come? All she wanted to do was curl up beside her mother and never let go. As much as she wanted to deny it, her mother, her pillar of strength, her champion, was dying. An affliction of the blood the physician said before he bled her and then left leaches to feed on her weakened body. A tumor growing in her mother’s belly, the healer contradicted. Whichever it was, both the healer and the physician said it was not curable. They gave her tisanes to dull the pain, and broth because she could not eat whole foods.

Lilias’s father and brother did not mourn as deeply, or visibly, as Lilias did, but she suspected that they had their own way of mourning that she wouldn’t ever understand. Father was drinking more ale than usual, deep in his cups by supper time each night, shouting and ranting. And Rauld spent much more time in the village with the lassies, coming home late at night, reeking of debauchery.

And Lilias was left to pick up the pieces.

So, what was the point in greeting uninvited guests when the most important person in her world was lying at death’s door?

“Go away,” she whispered to the air, imagining her words somehow swirling out the window, and dropping like a bucket of cold water on whoever it was. Never mind that her mother would not have wanted that. Never mind that even though she lay weak, her mother was still making demands of Lilias from her bed. Demands like how to be the lady of the castle, that she had to be strong for her brother and father, and even now, Lilias could hear her mother’s voice telling her to greet the strangers who’d come riding through their gates.

“My lady?” A guard stood in the doorway, his gaze leveled at her feet. “There are visitors here to see your mother. Your father directed me to find ye.”

Lilias kept her voice disinterested, acting as though she’d not spent the last hour sobbing. “Who is it?”

“The ladies of MacDougall.”

The ladies of MacDougall? Why on earth would they be calling on her? The Lord of Isles was the liege lord of her father, and for certes, her father had traveled to Dunstaffnage before, but never had Laird MacDougall come to Castle Cameron, nor had the ladies. Could they be coming to pay their respects to her mother? If that was the case, she couldn’t deny them entry.

Lilias stood from her perch and swept her hands down the length of her skirts, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Please send them in.”

As soon as the guard was gone, she used the cuffs of her sleeves to wipe at her face. She smoothed her hair and pinched her cheeks. But even that amount of primping, would not be able to hide the swollen, redness of her eyes.

A moment later, two women swept into the room dressed in fine wool arisaids made up of MacDougall colors of red, green and blue. One was a bit older than the other. The elder Lady MacDougall had auburn hair with streaks of gray, pulled into a tight braided circlet and skin that was still mostly smooth save for a few creases around her eyes, and mouth. One could only tell her advanced age, close to seventy summers, by the sharp points of bone where skin sagged. Her beauty was one that remained no matter her age, with noble bone structure, that gave her a classic elegance. The younger lady was blonde, plump, and pretty. Perhaps nearing fifty summers. With smooth skin, creases at her watery blue eyes, she came off more kind and soft, than the oldest of the pair, who demanded respect and admiration.

“I am Lady Lilias,” she said, introducing herself and sweeping into a curtsy.

“Rise, child,” the older one said. “I am Lady Elle MacDougall, and this is my daughter-by-marriage, Lady Fenella, mother to the Laird of MacDougall, Lord of the Isles.”

Lady Fenella offered a soft greeting.

“I am pleased to welcome ye to Castle Cameron. Please have a seat. Can I get ye some refreshment?”

Lady Fenella took the seat she was offered, but Lady Elle remained standing. “Aye, thank ye, my lady. Refreshments would be nice as the roads were rather dusty. We’ve come to speak with your mother.”

“Please do sit.” Lilias swept her hand toward a carved, oak chair that her mother used to occupy. “I’ve only just finished with that cushion, and I would be honored if ye were the first to sit in it.”

Lady Elle examined the crimson finches embroidered on the cushion, with a smile that softened her briskness. She sat down, and folded her hands in her lap.

“My mother has been ill of late.” Lilias informed a servant in the corridor that refreshments were needed for their guests before she took a seat opposite the two ladies. “I hope ye dinna mind speaking to me instead.”

“Of course not. In fact,” Lady Elle smiled again, her demeanor engaging. “Ye were the verra reason we’ve come.”

“Me?” Lilias tried to hide her surprise, but it didn’t work.

“Aye.” Lady Elle nodded, squinting as she examined Lilias. “Your beauty and wit have reached many within the land.”

Lilias swallowed hard, uncertain how to respond other than to say, “Thank ye.” How had her beauty and wit reached the MacDougalls? Oh, zounds! Were they here to suggest… that she… wed the MacDougall? Her heart dropped to her feet and she felt the color draining from her face. She was not ready to wed. Did not want to leave her ailing mother. And her father and brother needed her. Who else would keep the books or tend to the needs of the castle and their people?

“Ye need not be nervous, lass,” Lady Fenella put in.

“Have ye heard of the treaty?” Lady Elle asked, jumping right into the heart of the mysterious matter.

Lilias shook her head, still trying to figure out where her stomach had gone and why her fingers were now going numb. She wasn’t certain she wanted to know about the treaty. Nay, she was definitely certain she didn’t want to know.

“Laird MacDougall and Morten Olafsson came to an agreement of peace on the battlefield, on one condition,” Lady Elle explained.

The lady paused as she, and her daughter-by-marriage, were served a cup of watered wine by a servant, and a bowl of sweetened almonds.

“The condition?” Lilias urged, wringing her hands in her lap and waving the servant away. In fact, she wanted to jump up and sweep all the refreshments away and demand they stop their dillydallying and tell her right away what was going on.

“The condition was that my grandson needed to find a wife for Morten Olafsson. One of superior beauty, intelligence and wit.”

Lady Fenella smiled, speaking around several almonds. “We have been to interview many eligible maidens.”

Morten Olafsson. King of Mann and the Isles. The man who was constantly bringing war to their lands. The enemy of her people. A man her brother and father had fought against on behalf of Laird MacDougall.

They wanted to test her in regards to marrying that… that… that blackguard? Angry heat flushed up her neck to burn her eyes.

“And now ye’ve come here?” Lilias was unable to keep the incredulity from her tone. “Am I to be paraded with the other lassies as chattel?” Voice sharp, she winced at having spoken so to women that were clearly of a higher rank than she, but how could it be helped?

Oh, if her mother were in the room… She’d have given Lilias such a sharp pinch! Grateful, that was what her mother would say, be grateful. A great honor. A magnificent prospect. Bah! Rubbish! This was horrible.

A moment ago she’d been contemplating a life without her mother, and then the next thing she knew, two women had burst into her life telling her she was possibly to marry a complete stranger, one whom was rumored to be a monster, in order to settle the peace in their land. Aye, she could fall to the floor now and not get up.

“My dear, I understand that this is very unnerving,” Lady Fenella said softly.

“Unnerving?” Lilias cut her off, jumping to her feet. “I believe it is folly. Please, I dinna mean to be rude, but ye’ve come to the wrong place. I willna do it.” Her mind went back to the time her mother had taken her to see the taibhsear as a child. This was not the prophecy. This was not what she’d thought to happen.

Of course, she’d kept her eyes wide since she’d been a wee thing for a man as the seer had described. Dark of hair, stormy of eye, fiercer than a gale storm, but never had she come across a man such as that. And now, if she were to be tossed into the ring with a bevy of other lassies, she might never see the prophecy come true. And then what would she have left of her mother?

Lady Cameron had been ill for many months, and the only thing that seemed to keep her holding on was that she wanted to see Lilias married off to whoever the man was that the seer had envisioned.

“I canna. I willna.” Lilias started for the door.

“Lass, please.” Lady Elle’s voice was soft, calm, drawing Lilias back when she wanted to run from the solar. “I know this is upsetting news. I would not want this for myself, either. And I do understand feeling as though ye have no control over your own future. But, consider the alternatives.”

“Which are?” Lilias scrutinized the older of the two women. The silver streaks of color glinted in her auburn hair, and the lines around her mouth showed she smiled often. That she was happy. Lilias wanted to be happy.

“My grandson has decreed that any woman being interviewed who will not cooperate is to be… imprisoned.” Lady Fenella shot her an imploring gaze.

“Imprisoned?” Lilias’s heart did a flip. She shook her head.

“Does my father know what ye’ve come to discuss with me?”

Lady Fenella nodded while Lady Elle kept her gazed locked on Lilias. “He was presented with the document.”

“The document?”

“The orders from my son, his overlord,” Lady Fenella said. “Please sit back down. I’d hate for your father to be taken by our guards.” So it would seem, despite her kind affect, the woman did have more mettle than Lilias previously imagined.

“Taken?” Lilias’s feet moved back toward her chair of their own accord and she sank onto the suddenly uncomfortable cushion. So, this was how it would be.

“Lady Lilias, we need to do this. We despise it just as much as ye do. Please dinna resist us.” Lady Fenella reached forward to pat Lilias’s hand.

Vision blurring, Lilias felt herself nodding, as thought self-preservation had taken control of her body and mind.

“Before your mother was taken ill, did she teach ye the managing of a household?” Lady Elle sipped at her wine as if waiting to hear a tale.

“Aye.” With a numb tongue, Lilias listed off the things she did on a daily basis within her father’s castle, including how she tended to the people in their village.

“And can ye read or write?” Lady Elle asked.

Lilias hesitated to answer. A woman was not supposed to read or write, it was considered undignified. Well, that gave her an idea. If she told the truth—which was that she could—then perhaps they would find her unworthy of marriage to the Olafsson wretch. She’d do anything to be found lacking as a good wife. So, she nodded.

The two women raised a brow and exchanged a meaningful look. That had to be a good sign, right?

“What of arithmetic?” Was that a hint of a shudder she saw in Lady Fenella’s shoulders?

Lilias smiled. Her plan was working. “Aye. I studied with my brother’s tutor.” She sat up straighter. “And, I’ve kept my father’s books, though he and my brother both believe it is themselves.“ Ah-ha! The nail in the coffin. They would certainly not want her now. She was too smart, and boastful. A lord could never desire a woman who might be smarter than himself.

Lady Elle raised her brow in challenge. “Show us.”

Lilias leapt at the opportunity. She went to the seat before the window and opened the trunk beneath it, pulling out a leather-bound book. It was filled with parchment, a journal her tutor had made for her. She opened it up, her fingers sliding over the scrawled words she’d written as a youth.

She read to them from the first pages.

“Birds let out their high-pitched call,

Signaling of danger to one and all.

I am not danger, I shout my plea.

I am freedom, and freedom is we.

To soar, to sing, to perch, to live,

To despair, to love, to lose, to give.

I am the wind, the light of the sun.

I am courage, and together we’re one.”

When she finished reading, she held it out for Lady Elle to see.

Lady Elle gazed on her with an expression Lilias couldn’t quite place. ’Twas a mixture of suspicion and admiration.

Lilias straightened her shoulders, wishing she’d not bared her soul to these women. It had been impulsive. A need to show them she had talent, but that she also possessed a deeper soul than most, that what they had planned would suffocate her. Kill her. That a man like Olafsson wouldn’t want her for a wife.

Her plan looked to be backfiring.

“Did ye write this?” Lady Elle asked.

Lilias drew in a breath through her nose, and then expelled it slowly before answering. “Aye.”

“’Tis beautiful, lass. Full of heart.” Lady Fenella eyed her with a weighty expression, as though seeing her for what she truly was.

“Thank ye,” Lilias said, a prickle of pride nudging its way through her fear.

“Is this how ye envision yourself?” Lady Elle asked. “Free? Courageous?”

Lilias bit the inside of her cheek, afraid they might laugh at her as her nursemaid had when she’d read it, for how could a woman ever think of herself as thus? “’Tis about birds, nothing more.”

Lady Elle’s mouth quirked in a smile. “Now we both know that is not so.”

Lilias didn’t answer, instead jutting her chin forward in defiance. She’d not admit the truth. What did it matter to them what her poem meant? What did it matter to them that she thought of herself as that bird? That she wanted to soar through the air, to be free, to be courageous? They wouldn’t understand anyway, they were here to put her in a shallow grave. For that was what marriage to a stranger in a strange land would be.

Lady Fenella piped up then, interrupting Lilias and momentarily startling her from her internal thoughts. “And let us say there are eighty-five villagers who need to pay a tax of eighteen pounds each, what should ye expect the sum total tax to be collected?”

Lilias worked the numbers in her head as she’d done since she was a lass. “One thousand five hundred and thirty.”

Lady Fenella looked to Lady Elle who nodded. “Ye didna need a slate to work out the numbers.” ’Twas a statement rather than a question.

Lilias squared her shoulders. “I’ve not needed a slate for many years.”

“Can ye sing?” Lady Fenella asked, a smile brightening her youthful face. “And dance?”

“Play an instrument?” Lady Elle added.

Lilias nodded. “But I dinna feel the muse this morn.”

Lady Elle laughed. “Ye’re not a minstrel, ye’ve not the luxury of traveling from town to town, striking up a song when the muse deems it right. Ye’re a lady. And a lady must entertain her husband when he asks. Now, sing me a song. Play that harp, too.” She pointed to the small harp set in the corner of the solar.

Trudging with heavy feet, Lilias picked up the harp and carried it back toward her chair.

“I do so love harp music.” Lady Fenella sighed into her cup.

Lilias closed her eyes, and pretended it was her mother sitting before her. That she was singing the song of the fairies for her sweet Mama, and that her mother was dancing before her as she’d done before she’d taken ill. All the sadness, the fear, the hope she felt came through that song. The sorrow of her mother’s illness, the two MacDougall ladies, the impending inspection, all of it disappeared. And when she was finished, she shook herself as if from a daze.

“Lovely, dear. Simply lovely,” Lady Elle said. “Take us to your mother now.”

Lilias’s fingers stilled on the harp, her jaw tightening. “My mother is ill. She is not seeing guests. I do apologize for having to disappoint ye on that account.”

“I would like to speak with her,” Lady Elle said as though Lilias hadn’t spoken at all.

“I’m afraid she’s taking a rest—”

But anything more Lilias might have said was cut short by the solar door inching open and her mother standing there in her linen chemise, bare toes and a fur wrap over her shoulders. She looked so small standing there. So frail. Cheekbones jutted from beneath her pale skin. Not at all the formidable woman she’d once been.

Lilias felt herself choking up, but quickly regained her senses as she ran to her mother. “Mama, what are ye doing out of bed?”

“I heard ye playing, love. Ye know I like that song. Who are these ladies?” Lady Cameron’s shoulders stiffened, bringing her stooped shoulders back as she transformed into the lady of the castle, somehow managing to maintain an air of authority over their guests.

Before Lilias could introduce them, Lady Elle stepped forward. “I am Lady Elle MacDougall, and this is my daughter-by-marriage, Lady Fenella.”

“To what do we owe this honor?” her mother asked, her eyes narrowing. She flicked her gaze to Lilias, but the question in her eyes, Lilias wasn’t sure how to answer.

Did her mother know of the treaty?

“We came on behest of my son,” Lady Fenella said. “And the treaty he has made with Morten Olafsson, King of Mann and the Isles.”

“I’ve heard of the treaty,” her mother said, surprising Lilias. “But what does it have to do with my daughter?”

“We,” the two women exchanged a glance, “have decided that your daughter shall be presented to the MacDougall warriors as a possible candidate in the treaty, to wed Morten Olafsson.”

“The prophecy,” her mother murmured, her knees buckling.

“Mama, nay,” Lilias said reaching out to steady her. “I must get ye back to bed.”

Her mother nodded, then said to Lady Elle, “Come with me. Tell me everything.”

Lady Cameron shooed away Lilias’s complaints and told her to go downstairs with Lady Fenella to see the guardsmen outside.

Dutifully, she followed. Dutifully, she turned in a circle and sang for the twelve men as they stared her down. Dutifully she gave over her soul to the devil.

But inside, she seethed.