The Niece of His Highland Enemy by Alisa Adams
12
From the look of the girl, Fergus estimated that she was no older than nine. Her hair and eyes were the same color as Moire’s. In fact, there was such a striking similarity that they appeared to be the same woman at different stages of her life. The child was covered in sweat and streaked with soil, and it looked as though she was still nursing a sunburn from the previous days’ labors. She held a trowel and appeared to be using it to plant rows of crops. Still, she beamed at Moire, waving.
Moire hitched up the hem of her dress and ran to Freya, embracing her. “I can scarcely believe it!” she exclaimed. “All these years we’ve been apart, and now here you are, right in front of me! Why did you not answer my letters? I feared the worst!”
“I was kept quite busy at the MacGregor manor, where Uncle Ronald sent me,” Freya told her. “The older I grew, the more work they felt I could handle. By the time each workday ended, I was so tired that I could do little more than eat my supper and go to sleep! But MacGregor assured me that he would write to Uncle Ronald and let him know that I was safe and all was well.”
“‘All was well?’” Fergus repeated incredulously. “Do you mean to tell me that you were sent to work in the fields despite your tender age, just as the children here do?”
Freya nodded earnestly. “All of us must work together regardless of age or ability, for the good of the clan! Uncle Ronald expects nothing less of those he is laird over, and he made sure that his friend MacGregor taught me such values as well while I was staying with him.”
“I see.” But Fergus remained unconvinced. The sight of her—and the others who were her age, or even younger in some cases—working the fields vexed him greatly.
“That’s quite enough talk for now,” a nearby guard growled. “Young Freya has much more work to complete this morning before it is time for her to rest. She doesn’t need the pair of you distracting her from it. Move along.”
“You speak to the niece of your laird in such a disrespectful manner?” Fergus balked.
Before the guard could respond—and from the scowl on his face, he definitely had a choice response in mind—Moire interjected. “No, he is correct to do so, Fergus. As I said, all are equal in status here.” She gave Freya another quick hug. “I shall leave you to your work. Later this evening, though, we shall spend time together! It has been far too long since we have seen each other, and we have much to talk about.”
“Aye, so long as I’m not too tired to keep my eyes open,” Freya answered with a laugh.
Fergus and Moire walked back toward the castle. “You have said that all are equal here,” Fergus observed, “yet I do not see your uncle toiling in the fields alongside his people.”
“Certainly not!” Moire replied. “All of us are aware that he has more pressing matters to attend to as ruler of the clan. We would not expect him to shirk those duties which are uniquely his own, just to take up the tasks of plowing and reaping, which anyone might do in his stead.”
“And what of you?” he challenged. “Did you work those same fields as a child?”
“After our parents died and I was brought here, yes, I did,” she answered. “He afforded me his shelter and protection, after all, so it was only right that I be expected to contribute accordingly. And I shall work the fields again, though this morning, my uncle was kind enough to inform me that I may take today and tomorrow to settle in and relax after my recent ordeal.”
“Aye, how very charitable of him,” Fergus grumbled. “So your other siblings are also laboring in the fields, as far as you know?”
“I do not know,” she retorted. “I believe Sorcha and Aodh are, but I have not heard from them. And Dand left some time ago, so I know not where he might be. But I have told you these things before. Do you ask again because you doubt that I speak truthfully?”
“Not at all,” he said mildly. “Merely assembling the facts at hand in my head so that I may better assemble them.”
The fact of the matter was, he did doubt that Moire was being entirely honest with him. Something strange was going on, of that he had no doubt. He had a strong suspicion that she knew far more than she was telling him.
But why would she keep things from him, especially after he had saved her life? It made no sense at all.
The previous day, he had been worried about walking into some overt ambush and being shot full of arrows from the guards on the ramparts or led into a hall full of enemies with swords drawn and butchered on the spot. Had he been spared from such a brutish fate only to be more subtly ensnared by some secret plot?
Once again, he thought of the spiderwebs in his guest chambers and shivered.
“I understand why you would question our way of doing things,” Moire said sensibly. “Many visitors have, for such practices are beyond their experience or comprehension. Expecting children to work alongside their parents may seem extreme to you, even barbaric. Even so, Fergus, I urge you to open your mind that you might recognize the benefits of such a thing. The advantage it gives us over other clans, who are nowhere near as productive and prosperous as we are. And as you said, you might come to implement such a thing yourself, especially if our clans are to be joined someday soon.”
Fergus was taken aback by her words. “Joined? What on Earth do you mean?”
She laughed. He realized that after everything she had been through, he hadn’t had many chances to hear her laugh. The sound was like beautiful music, and it brought a pang of longing to his heart as he hoped that he might find occasion to hear it again and often.
“Do you think I have not noticed the way you gaze at me?” she asked, taking his hand in hers. “It is clear that you fancy me, just as I fancy you. Are we not both of noble birth? Would a union between our two clans not be a boon, particularly given your recent skirmish with the Sinclairs? Admit the truth, Fergus! You did not only come here to return me to my uncle. You have also considered proposing such an arrangement!”
“The notion had crossed my mind, aye,” Fergus conceded. She was sharp, to have so clearly seen a plan that he himself had not yet firmly settled upon. Or perhaps I am simply that transparent, he added mentally.
“Good! There is no shame in it! Such marriages are arranged every day, and usually not between two people who are as naturally smitten with each other as we seem to be.”
There was a twinkle in her eye, and she was still holding his hand, her thumb stroking his fingers delicately. The sensation made his heart flutter wildly. In that moment, he felt like the most fortunate man alive, having discovered that the woman he desired wanted him just as much. What more could any fellow hope for?
Perhaps the secrets she kept from him were not malign. Perhaps she had simply been hesitant to disclose certain things to him because they had known each other for such a short span of time—things like the working conditions in the fields, for example, which might have initially put him off due to their surpassing strangeness.
Mostly, he was relieved that his feelings were reciprocated and that he would be able to return to his own people with the news that there would be a firm and lasting peace between the Brodies and the Campbells.
Moire must have seen these thoughts running through his head, for she giggled and leaned in close. Her body was pressed against Fergus’s, and he could feel every curve and contour. Her pulse thrummed against his chest, and her breath tickled his ear as she whispered to him softly,
“Keep your sword at hand at all times while you are here.”
The words stunned him like a punch to the head. Before he could ask what she had meant by such an enigmatic statement, she withdrew and skipped merrily down the corridors of the castle.
Clearly, she had wanted to make sure no one was within hearing distance when warning him.
But what was she trying to warn him about? What kind of danger was he in here? Now that Ronald had lulled him into a false sense of security, would he stoop to slitting Fergus’s throat in the night? What would be gained from such a thing?
Well, that last question was not difficult to answer, was it? The Brodie clan’s forces had been decimated in battle just days before. The cold-blooded murder of their young laird—his corpse sent back mutilated, perhaps—would destabilize the clan even further and send a clear message to the remaining Brodies: that the Campbells were not to be trifled with. That, indeed, the Campbells were in a position to assume control of all lands that belonged to the Brodies.
But was the answer so gory and crude as that? Or was there some deeper and more sinister game being played here? And if so, what was Moire’s part in it?
He heard his father’s voice in his head once more, almost mocking him: Which is behind the door, my lad? The lady, or the tiger?
Father, might you at least give me a clue?he prayed silently. Just this once, that I might live to see another sunrise rather than join you prematurely in the kingdom of heaven?
But no answer came to him.
