Devil in a Kilt by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

Chapter 13

Linnet awoke to a bright morn, much relieved to find herself alone in the bed. The saints must’ve smiled upon her, for she doubted she’d been able to face her husband so soon after the disquieting happenings of the night.

Later, aye. After she’d had time to compose herself.

But not yet.

She was also relieved to see the door stood open a crack and some goodly soul had unlocked the chest containing her new clothes so she’d be able to dress. Even her arisaid had been returned, its soft woolen length carefully folded and draped over a chair.

With haste spurred by the chill morning air, Linnet made use of a basin of scented water to bathe, pulled on the first gown she withdrew from the chest, and slipped from the room.

Yet even properly dressed, she shivered as she hurried down the spiral steps. Although no longer murky and dim, the curving stairwell remained clammy and damp, the walls permeated with wet sea smells from the night’s storm.

Indeed, she feared it would take more than a new day’s sun to banish the blackness lying so heavily over Eilean Creag. And neither woolen blankets nor a blazing hearth fire would ease its cold.

Not so long as its master carried darkness in his soul.

Lifting her chin, Linnet hastened down the remaining stone steps. If only for Robbie’s sake, she meant to bring light and warmth to this grim island fortress.

It was a feat she meant to accomplish, no matter the cost.

But her determination faltered when she neared the hall and she saw what looked very much like her undertunic being brandished about like a trophy of war.

Even the servants, painstakingly collecting refuse from the floor or sweeping ashes from the hearths, were all rosy-cheeked and excited, boasting along with her husband’s men about the blood-smeared state of her undergown.

Lingering in the shadows of the hall’s arched entry, she peered hard at the displayed garment. It was indeed hers. The very one Elspeth had fair wrested off her the night before.

Linnet pressed a hand to her breast while her heart hammered with embarrassment. But confusion warred with logic. The garment couldn’t have been bloodied.

It wasn’t her woman’s time and Duncan MacKenzie had been asleep long before Elspeth had left the chamber with Linnet’s clothes.

Someone had to have purposely stained the tunic after it had been taken from her room.

Would Elspeth do such a thing?

And if so, why?

Or had she merely imagined Elspeth had near forced her to remove the undergarment, then departed with it? Sometimes, with the onset of her spells, her mind went fuzzy. Afterward, too. There were times she’d lost hours because of the toll her visions exacted from her.

And she’d been visited by a powerful one yestereve.

“Mercy.” She blew out a shaky breath. Truth was, she could well have confused the events of her wedding night.

But even if Elspeth hadn’t taken the tunic, it couldn’t be stained with her maidensblood. To her best recall, her husband had slept most of the night. First on the other side of his improvised tapestry barrier, then in a chair by the hearth.

It was true, her vision had disrupted his slumber, and he’d confronted her but hadn’t laid a hand on her.

Or had he?

A hazy recollection of him naked and aroused played through her mind. Vaguely, she remembered watching his manhood swell, the whole of it growing thicker and longer beneath her gaze, but the titillating image was too elusive to grasp.

As if the devil himself meant to taunt her, she couldn’t recall anything else.

Nor for sure.

Could her husband have ravished her during her vision? Or after? When her mind had still been too fogged for her to take proper heed of what might have happened between them? The image on the bed had reached for her, demanded she ‘return his heart.’ Had Duncan MacKenzie taken in the flesh that which his vision-likeness couldn’t claim?

Was it possible to be bedded by a man and not have any recollection of the act?

She didn’t know but knew who would. So she took several deep breaths to calm her still-racing pulse, then pushed away from the wall. Drawing back her shoulders, she entered the hall with as much grace as she could muster.

Thomas, a strapping lad who couldn’t speak, spotted her first. The youth blushed to the roots of his sleep-mussed hair and nodded as she passed.

Everyone else fell quiet, suddenly appearing overly intent on whatever task they could find to occupy themselves. Some gave her respectful nods as Thomas had, a few of the younger serving maids smiled bashfully.

But no one moved except the tale-spinning seneschal, Fergus. He plucked the tunic from the hands of a scarlet-faced warrior and brought it to Linnet.

“You’ll be wanting this.” He handed it to her with much solemnity, as if the undergown were a precious reliquary and not a sullied piece of linen. “’Tis the way of our clan for the lady to save the proof of her virture. We thank you and Duncan for sending it to the hall for us to see.”

Linnet took the proffered tunic, quickly scrunching it into a ball to hide the smears of blood. “But I didn’t-”

“It was not our wish to embarrass you,” he broke in, his commanding voice loud in the hall’s silence. “We are all right pleased to know you came to our laird a pure and virtuous bride.”

“Oh, m-my,” she faltered as a chorus of cheers broke the stillness. The MacKenzies were acknowledging her as their own, as their laird’s lady.

Thanking her for her virtue.

Only, until a few moments ago, she hadn’t known she’d relinquished it.

She still didn’t know for certain.

But she did know she hadn’t sent her undergarment to the hall for all and sundry to examine.

Blood-smeared or nae.

Aye, that much she knew.

“Where is Elspeth?” she asked, amazed her voice sounded so calm.

“Where be who?” Fergus placed a cupped hand behind his left ear and leaned forward.

“My servant,” Linnet said louder. “The grizzle-headed old hen I thought I trusted,” she added under her breath.

“Grizzle-headed, eh?” Fergus folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at her. “’Tis a fine woman, she be, your Elspeth. I havenae seen aught grizzled about her.” He paused, fixing her with a hard look as if daring her to challenge him. “You’ll find her in the kitchens. Just go through the screens passage and follow your nose.”

“I thank you, sir.” Linnet didn’t bother to tell him she’d already visited Eilean Creag’s vast kitchens. “A good morrow to you,” she added, again marveling her tone hadn’t betrayed the emotions swirling inside her.

A fine woman, he’d called Elspeth. The three words echoed in her head as she made her way from the hall, her soiled gown tucked beneath her arm. Could the crusty old seneschal be smitten with Elspeth? It was too startling to consider.

Or was it?

Eilean Creag seemed a place where nothing should surprise her.

But she pushed the notion aside as she rounded a corner and neared the arched entry into the kitchens. She had other matters to discuss with Elspeth. It wasn’t her concern if her childhood nurse had been making moony-eyes at her husband’s legend-chanting steward.

If her suspicions proved true, Elspeth deserved to tie herself to a bandy-legged MacKenzie ancient whose fierce glares would curdle vinegar.

* * *

Linnet spottedElspeth the moment she entered the kitchens. The stout old woman stood before one of the three enormous hearths, using a long-handled ladle to spoon something from a cauldron into a smaller earthenware pot held by a young lad.

Careful to hide the soiled tunic behind her, Linnet crept up behind her.

“Since when must you stir pottage like a kitchen maid, or did you think I wouldn’t look for you here?”

Elspeth jumped and spun around. The ladle flew from her fingers, landing on the stone floor with a clatter. “Faith, but you startled me,” she gasped, clapping a hand to her breast. “I thought you’d still be abed.”

“Why would you think that?” Linnet lifted a brow. “Perhaps because you believe the MacKenzies’ fabled marriage stone has already begun to work its magic?”

For the first time Linnet could recall, Elspeth avoided her eyes. “Why, ’tis the morn after your wedding night…”

“And you’re hoping it was a wedding night, aren’t you?” Linnet leaned in, speaking softly. “A real one, I mean.”

Elspeth smoothed the apron she’d tied around her thick waist before she met Linnet’s gaze. “I willnae lie to you, child. To be sure, I’m hoping you found favor with one another.”

Linnet stepped closer till her nose almost touched Elspeth’s. “And how was that supposed to happen between myself and a man who finds me less appealing than a kirk mouse?

“Or were you supposing he’d downed a sufficient amount of hippocras at the wedding feast to make himself fuzzy-headed enough to bed me?” she went on, anger knotting her belly. “Perhaps allow him to overlook the homeliness of my freckle-nosed face?”

Elspeth shook her head. “You’re talking nonsense, lass. You were the bonniest bride. More beautiful than any I’ve e’er seen.”

“Then why wasn’t it left to my husband to carry me to his bed if he so desired? There was no mistaking he didn’t want a bedding ceremony, that he-” Linnet broke off, lifting a hand when Elspeth opened her mouth to protest. “While I can understand his men getting out of hand since they were all so deep in their cups, I wonder at your participation in a scheme that could only end with my humiliation.”

Elspeth glanced left and right before she spoke in a whisper. “It was the Sassunach’s idea, not mine. Though I did listen to him, for I truly believed he meant well.”

“So the two of you conspired to leave us unclothed and locked in my bedchamber in the hopes we’d succumb to carnal temptation?”

A pink tinge stained Elspeth’s round cheeks. She nodded. “Aye, that was the way of it.”

Anger and disappointment raced through Linnet so quickly she feared steam would escape from her ears and blood from her nose. “Did you never consider how shamed I’d be to have him reject me when I stood before him wearing naught but my skin?

“Oh, Elspeth.” She paused to catch her breath. “Did you not think he’d be furious at being forced to spend the night with me?”

“We acted on good faith, with your best interests at heart.”

“And is this what you call good faith?” Linnet whipped the undergown from behind her back. “Do you care to explain?”

Tiny beads of perspiration appeared on Elspeth’s brow, but she didn’t flinch, clearly as determined to defend herself as Duncan MacKenzie was to avoid consummating his marriage.

“We thought ‘proof’ would make it easier for you,” Elspeth finally admitted. “You’re both too stubborn to see beyond your own noses. Yours is a perfect union, but neither of you is capable of seeing into the other’s heart. We only meant to help.”

“Indeed?” Linnet dangled the gown in front of Elspeth as if it was as distasteful as a barrel of half-gnawed and fly-covered fish carcasses.

“Help me?” Linnet smothered a bitter laugh. “Have you forgotten who warned Da not to barter me to the ‘spawn of the devil’ – a possible murderer?”

“Ach, lassie.” Elspeth wiped her hands on her apron, then rested both on Linnet’s shoulders. “Aye, to help. And I dinnae believe the MacKenzie took his first wife’s life.”

“How can you know?” Linnet frowned at her, still riled but her chest no longer heaving in agitation. “You don’t have the sight.”

“Nae, I do not. I dinnae need it. At my age it’s possible to tell a man’s character by simply looking at his eyes. Duncan MacKenzie isn’t a murderer of women.”

Linnet tightened her lips, glanced aside. She, too, doubted the dark tales spun about her husband. If he had murdered his first wife, she would have sensed it. Such vile acts clung to a person, forever blighting them, even darkening the circle of luminous light she sometimes saw around a person’s physical body.

While an air of blackness did surround her husband, it wasn’t the mark of murder.

A different kind of darkness limned him, one borne of much sorrow and grief. But that didn’t excuse his treatment of Robbie, nor his callous rejection of her as a true consort.

Still, he wasn’t a murderer.

Of that she was certain.