Chapter Seven
“Tis a mystery to me,” Aiden told Darach as they both exited the great hall, summarily dismissed by their sire.
Darach waited until they were outside to react. “Ye are of an age to know better, lad.” He grabbed a fistful of his sibling’s tunic, pulling him close. “The next time ye wag that tongue . . .”
Aiden didn’t fight against Darach’s greater strength; he went limp in his grasp. “Did ye expect me to remain silent while ye marched the lass inside our hall? The Norse—”
“Are fooking heathens birthed by Satan’s mistress herself,” Darach finished for him. “Make no mistake, lad, I feel the same hatred as ye. But their women . . . our women . . . are innocent. Can ye no understand? Tis a man’s world. And I’ll not have a woman’s blood on my hands.” He gave his brother a shake, then released him.
Aiden straightened his tunic, looking a bit wounded by Darach’s harsh chastisement. “What will ye do with her, then?”
“Confirm her story, first. If the lass is related to the MacAlpin’s, I will personally see her home.”
“The MacAlpin’s?”
“Aye.” Darach shook his head. “Another hard lesson about why it is so important to listen before ye act.”
“I’m sorry, Darach.”
“Save yer sweet words for the lass, not me.”
“How is she related to the MacAlpin’s?”
“She claims her ma was born here, taken by force when she was young,” Darach said.
“By God.”
“What horrors has the woman endured to find her way home?” Darach muttered.
Just then, the riders Darach ordered to stay behind and burn the ship rode through the gates carrying some of the cargo they’d taken.
“There’s more to haul back,” Kerr said as he slid from the saddle. “I’ll need more hands and horses.”
“Do what ye must,” Darach said, eyeing Elle’s small trunk secured to one of the mounts. “Give me the lass’s baggage.”
A few minutes later, Darach carried the trunk down a footpath that led to the small loch where he liked to pass time alone. No one would disturb him there. He found a spot to sit and set the container on the ground before him. What would he find inside? He knew what he hoped to find—the truth. Without hesitation, he opened the trunk.
“All contact with yer family has been severed?” the laird asked, after hearing Elle’s tale of capture and her eventual escape from Norway.
“I know not if my sire and mother are alive or dead, sir.”
“Yer siblings?”
“Much the same.”
“God have mercy,” the laird muttered, taking a drink of wine. “Ye have my sympathy, lass. I do not know how I’d live another day if my children were taken from me. Tis hard enough to live without their mother.”
She recognized the pain in his eyes, the same look she’d seen in the eyes of the men she’d shared space with on the longship. All of them had been wrongly displaced by war, taken from their families and lands, and sent away, never allowed to return to their homeland. “Death might be a kinder fate,” she whispered.
The laird gave her right hand a squeeze. “Sadder words haven’t been spoken by a more tender woman.”
“If I cannot find sanctuary here, I am afraid I have nowhere else to go. Unless you send me to Orkeneyjar. I am sure someone there could find a use for me.” Though the very thought made her soul quiver with fear.
“Use?” the laird repeated. “Have the ravages of war cost ye so dearly, girl? Hope exists, if ye let it.”
Tears burned Elle’s eyes. She was hungry, thirsty, and exhausted beyond measure. Her heart was heavy with sorrow, not only for the loss of her family, but from the deaths of those men. As deeply rooted as her faith was, she still had a tendency to believe in omens. And what more ominous omen was there than to arrive in a strange land with a ship full of dead men. If word spread about her circumstances, no one would want to get near her from fear of sharing in her bitter cup of fate. She tried to push the horrid thought from her mind.
“My clan has little dealings with the MacAlpin’s. But I am sure . . .” The laird fingered a strand of her red hair, openly admiring it. “Once they set eyes upon ye, it would be difficult to turn ye away.”
“I am ever grateful, sir. And until arrangements can be made, I have capable hands and a strong back. I am willing to work for my upkeep.”
The laird stretched his hands out, palms up. “Place yer wee hands in mine, Elle.”
She did so without hesitation, feeling the callouses on his palms.
“These are the soft hands of a lady, not a serving wench. I’ll no have it said I took advantage of ye. My son, Darach, has spoken wisely. Ye will be treated as any guest—eat at the high table and have leave to wander about the inner bailey, with an escort of course. I cannot promise the women will take kindly to ye being here, though I will issue an order for them to treat ye well or stay silent. And no man will molest ye, that much I can promise.”
“God bless you,” she said, withdrawing her hands from his.
“Save the blessings for yerself, lass. Ye need them more than I.”
She waited patiently as the laird summoned two servant girls who listened to his careful instructions. Elle was to be given a bath and fresh clothes, then assigned to a private bedchamber where she could get some much needed rest. Once finished with his servants, the laird excused himself, joining his attendants once more.
The older of the two women stood before Elle with her hands propped on her hips. “Well, girl?” she said. “The laird might be fooled by ye, but ye’ll find no comfort here.”
“Nola!” the second woman exclaimed. “Ye promised the laird—”
“To what, Kyla? Kiss the feet of a red witch?” Nola crossed herself. “A bath ye’ll get. A fresh gown ye’ll have. But don’t expect anything more. Speak not to me or the other women in this household. Understand?”
Elle nodded and stood, keeping her thoughts to herself. The Norse were hated enemies here, and rightfully so. Her father’s people had stripped Scotia of its peace and wealth, enslaving its sons and daughters, and claiming the fertile land for themselves. She followed the women through the hall and down a long corridor. Nola opened the door to a small but neat bedchamber, giving her a shove inside.
“Do what ye will within these four walls. When I can spare the lads, I’ll have buckets of water brought to ye. I’ll not have ye in my kitchens bathing where everyone else does. As for a gown, Kyla will give ye one of hers.”
“Thank you.”
Nola didn’t give Kyla a chance to say anything. She dragged the younger woman out of the room and slammed the door.
Frustrated and feeling all alone in the world, Elle finally surrendered to her grief, sinking to the floor and weeping for everything she had lost.