Fortunately, the nursery was on the fourth floor—an advantageous position from which to view the wall-walk surrounding the keep. Built of stone, Mingary was a sturdy fortress, sitting proudly atop a rocky promontory. The castle presided over the region of Ardnamurchan, flanked by steep cliffs on three sides.
Helen peered down into the courtyard and then out over the sea. Her smile faded. Alas, her time of peace had come to an end.
“It looks as if the chieftain has returned,” said Glenda. “And there’s an additional galley in his wake.”
“Look at that.” Helen leaned further toward the window. “King’s men?”
“You’d ken better than I, m’lady.”
Though Helen couldn’t make out the design on the pennant flapping in the wind, it was white and blue with no likeness to the king’s yellow and orange colors. “Whoever they are, I suspect they’ll be hungry.” Peeking through the heavy clouds, the sun indicated the hour was late morning. She must make haste.
Glenda reached for Maggie. “I’ll stay with the bairn until Sarah returns. Go meet the ships, m’lady.”
Helen smiled. “Thank you.” She quickly pattered through the stone passageway and down the stairwell. The great hall was empty, all except for Robert, the cruel guard who always seemed to be sharpening his weapons. With a scrape against the whetstone, he looked up and offered a yellow-toothed sneer. “M’lady,” he said without the least bit of reverence in his voice.
Helen tried not to shudder, nodded, and hastened straight for the kitchens. Stepping inside the enormous chamber, the smell of onions and turnips filled the air. “Peter! Sir Aleck has returned with an additional galley in his wake and they’ve arrived just in time for their nooning.”
The cook turned, four plucked chickens suspended from his fingers. “I heard the ram’s horn.”
She hastened across the flagstone floor. “What can we feed them?”
He tossed the fowl on the butchers block and snatched a cleaver. “I’ll add these to the pottage I’ve set over the fire.”
Helen regarded the raw meat—hardly enough for an army. But at least the enormous cast iron pot suspended above the hearth was boiling. “We’ll need more than a few hens.”
Peter attacked the chickens with violent hacks of the blade. “The maids are plucking a half-dozen more. I’ve bread and oatcakes aplenty, and cheese.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “Sir Aleck won’t like being met with such simple fare, but it will have to do at short notice.” Helen pointed toward the cellar. “Set the lads to turning the venison on the spit.”
The cook didn’t look up from his work. “There’s hardly enough time for that, m’lady.”
Helen affected one of her pointed stares. “If they start now, the beast will be roasted through by the evening meal, and your chieftain will be happy.”
Peter stopped chopping. “Right. I hadn’t thought past the midday meal. I’ll fetch the young fellas as soon as I’ve added these to the pottage.”
“Very well.” Helen smoothed her hand over her veil to ensure no tresses were loose. Then she pinched her cheeks and straightened her skirts and apron. Her appearance would have to do—not that Aleck ever noticed when she made an effort to look her best.
The incident in the great hall with Mary had her hackles up for the past month. Helen never considered herself unattractive, but it surely seemed as if she’d contracted a case of leprosy where Aleck was concerned. He made no secret of the fact he preferred larger women and Mary certainly fit that bill. The widow had enormous bosoms and a full body to support them. Forever seeing the logical side of things, Helen supposed Aleck’s attraction to Mary made sense. After all, he was a large man.
Hastening ahead, she berated herself for always rationalizing everything. Blessed be the saints, Helen was Aleck MacIain’s wife, and now that he had returned, she would do everything in her power to win his favor. She would never give up. He would visit her bed, and by God’s grace, she would conceive immediately and bear a son. Then everything at Mingary would be pleasant.
Perhaps for the first time since she’d married him, Aleck would shed his gruff demeanor and be agreeable as well. There’s always hope.
As she made her way to the sea gate, men and women followed, an excited hum rising from the crowd. Aleck’s galley had sailed ashore and the guards were heaving her onto the beach. The boat behind was following suit, the crewmen hopping into the shallows, tugging the ship’s ropes. None of the visiting Highlanders sported a royal surcoat, but they all wore hauberks and bits of armor. By the swords strapped to their backs, Helen had no doubt they were fighting men.
Wringing her hands, she watched Aleck jump over his galley’s bow onto dry land—he’d stood at the stern of the boat while his men heaved it ashore.
With squeals grating in Helen’s ears, Mary dashed up to him and threw her arms around his neck. Aleck kissed the widow on the mouth. It wasn’t a peck. It was a vulgar clamping of the lips, their bodies crushed together in an obscene embrace.
Mortified, Helen covered her eyes, fearing they’d never pull away.
Her cheeks burned. Her throat ached like someone had taken a rasp to it. There go my hopes of winning his favor. I wish I never had to speak to him again.
Aleck slung his arm around Mary’s waist and led her forward—straight toward Helen. She blinked. If only she could dash around the corner of the keep and hide. Helen glanced over her shoulder and considered a swift getaway. Blast, she would look the fool if she ran. Standing tall, she faced Aleck, unable to affect her usual serene smile.
But her husband grinned broadly. “You’ve forty hungry men to feed, wife,” he bellowed. “You’d best go see to the preparations.”
Mary leaned into him, grinning as if she were drunk. Helen had heard about whores in alehouses—Mary would blend right in to such a disreputable establishment.
Swallowing her urge to issue a dour retort, Helen refused to allow Aleck’s behavior to degrade her in front of the clansmen. She regarded her husband with feigned indifference. “Who are your guests, m’laird?”
“The Chieftain of Clan Gregor and his band of upstarts. They’ll be with us for a time.” Aleck threw his thumb over his shoulder with a smirk. “King’s business.”
“The MacGregors? They are close allies with the Campbells of Glenorchy. It will be a pleasure to see to their comfort.” Helen bowed her head. “Peter’s making preparations for your nooning. I’ll greet our guests and then oversee the kitchens.”
Aleck didn’t appear to have heard a word she’d said. He proceeded into the courtyard with that disgraceful widow still on his arm.
Helen cleared her throat and looked to the shore. She would act the proper lady. Never in her life would she demean herself by showing her revulsion at Aleck’s behavior or letting on that it bothered her. Many great men took lemans. She would find a way to accept it.
With her resolution, she clasped her hands and focused on a sturdy man approaching from the stony shore. Water dripped from the quilted arming doublet beneath his hauberk and streamed down his well-muscled calves.
Recognition sparked deep in her stomach. Then her heart nearly thumped out of her chest.