Highlander’s Wrath by Adamina Young
All Have Two Faces
Coira could hardly sleep that night. Her thoughts were chaos, and her heart full of moral outrage. If her mother forbade her to travel up to Scotland to help Laird Hamish’s poor wee son, it would be the most unjust decision imaginable. The birds had hardly begun to sing in the trees before Coira rose and dressed without help from her maid, determined to speak to her mother before anyone else. She found the lady in the nursery, feeding the latest addition to the family.
“Mother,” Coira whispered, “I am glad I have found you. I want to speak to you about what was discussed last night at the supper table.”
Coira knew her mother would have had her say in the bedchamber to her husband last night. But this was the best way to understand what her mother had said. By doing that, she would be able to approach her father with a fully formed argument.
Grace was always in a mellow mood when she had a bairn in her arms. As she looked down at the infant’s sweet face as it suckled, Coira’s mother understood there was a time to hold a child close and a time to let a child go, but this trip to Scotland...it was too far, too strange.
“Dearest child, I ken it would no’ be long before ye sought me out, and I told yer faither so last night. I ken this suggestion of yer brither’s has ye all riled up and ready to fly north to save that poor motherless boy, but I advised against it.”
“Why, Mama?” Coira wanted to know. “I would only fill the position until another woman can be found, and if I do not like it there, I could always come back, no?”
Grace did not immediately reply. She was having difficulty saying what she felt in words.
“The thing is, Coira, we ken naught about this man. What are his habits, his predilections? What form do his manners take when yer parents are no longer around to stand guard against them? And there is something about his dark looks and lowering brow that I mistrust. His face falls into the lines of anger and displeasure all too easily.”
Coira shrugged, too intent on her mission to save the Barclay heir from a childhood of loneliness to care about her mother’s observations. “Are not all men the same? Quick to take offense when things do not go their way? I’m sure once his lairdship is relieved from worrying about his son, he will lose his scowl. When all is said and done, we all have two faces: our private one and our public one.”
Mistress McDonald took refuge in the oldest parental dictum. “Ye’ll have to ask yer faither and see what he says. And don’ say I didnae warn ye if this all goes terribly wrong, Coira. Ye’re too headstrong for yer own good.”
Curtsying to her mother in order to hide the triumphant smile on her face, Coira ran down the corridor to where she knew her father would be breakfasting in his study. But the smell of freshly baked bread lured her down to the morning room, and she decided to break her fast before her encounter with Mister McDonald.
Laird Hamish was in the morning room before her, seated at the table. He looked up when she entered but ignored her and continued eating the breakfast that the servants had prepared for him. Coira was a little shocked at such rudeness and felt duty bound to bring it to his lairdship’s attention.
After placing a bread roll on her plate and sitting down, she cleared her throat, saying loudly, “Good morning, Laird.”
Laird Hamish, like most overindulged and spoiled men, especially those who held their households in check with fear and trembling, had never been interrupted over the breakfast cups in his life. Nevertheless, in acknowledgment of Coira’s standing as his host’s eldest child, he left the spoon on his side, locking his flint-like grey eyes with her cool blue ones, replied curtly, “Good morning.” Then he continued eating.
“What do you think about my brother’s suggestion that I travel back up to Scotland with you and teach your son?”
This time, when Laird Hamish stopped eating and looked at her, he could see the merriment in Coira’s eyes. She knew she was upsetting him with her interruptions and was taking pleasure from it!
“I think it a very good one if ye are indeed qualified for such a task. Ye are yet young.”
“I hold eight and ten summers, my laird. Fully old enough to teach and guide a boy of four. I have been doing it since I was eight years old.”
He did not bother replying to this, but Coira could tell from the way his knuckles were turning white that Laird Barclay was anticipating her next comment. She did not want to disappoint him.
“My own education was meticulous and comprehensive, my laird, and I believe it will stand me in good stead when it comes to passing along my knowledge to others.”
Goaded to a retort, his lairdship said, “Aye, but I dinnae want me son to talk with all yer break-teeth words. I want Colban to grow up to be a proud Highlander and no’ some prancing Sassenach popinjay.”
“You want your son to grow up to be like my father, you mean?” Coira countered. “He is the McDonald, you know, chief of his clan. And while he may not be best described as ‘proud,’ there’s not a man alive who would not call him a Highlander.”
Their eyes were locked, the bread rolls and cooling tea sitting forgotten on the table between them. Hamish felt his blood boil and tried hard to stifle the urge to give this girl a tongue-lashing. How dare she talk to him, Laird Hamish Barclay, in such a tone? His appetite was ruined, and his quiet English breakfast destroyed. Where were her manners?
He decided to quell her with his most dismissive air. “Ye are naught but a cheeky house cat, and I doubt ye have it in ye to teach me son anything but how to abraid his elders.”
Coira took her chance. “Forgive me, Laird. I forgot you yourself were so afflicted with age, you being a sad old widower, after all.”
This reply floored Laird Hamish like no other argument could have. Sure, he would not see thirty years again, but to call him old was a gross exaggeration. He looked at Coira with a dawning respect. He decided some sort of truce was called for.
“P’raps we should visit yer faither’s study together after breakfast and ask his permission for ye to accompany me back to Barclay Castle? But hear me well: If ye tell yer parents about our wee conversation here, the deal is off. I’ll no’ have anyone thinkin’ I allowed meself to be browbeaten by a wee slip of a girl.”
And on those words, he decied to finally finish his meal, which was a good thing because it stopped him from seeing the small smile of victory on Coira’s face.
The family was called to gather together in the drawing room to hear Mister James McDonald’s decision later on that day. Laird Barclay was nowhere to be seen; he had already taken a wherry back to the inn. A coach and four had to be organized, as well as outriders and a coachman to drive it.
“Say your farewells to yer sister, children,” James announced, “for she is to travel back up to Scotland with his lairdship to tend to his wee son.”
Many voices were raised, the loudest of which belonged to Lucan.
“How unfair, Father! That Coira gets to adventure up in the Highlands while we’re all stuck down here!”
James held up his hands, and the room fell silent. “Yer mither an’ I wish for each of ye to discover the beauties and delights of the Highlands in turn, but as the eldest, yer sister must go before ye.”
Gawain turned to his sister. “Coira, promise ye will write home whenever ye can. Tell us what it’s like: the castle, how the villagers dress, the sea—oh, everything!”
Coira assured her brothers she would write letters at every opportunity she had. “But with a small child to look after day and night, I do not want to raise your expectations at how frequent my communications might be!”
Laughter rang out at her words, but it was with eyes misted with tears that Coira went upstairs to guide which clothes her maid packed for her. She had a suspicion her light silks and flyaway muslins might not be appropriate attire for the bonny Scottish Highlands in winter.