After the day’s events, Eoin was a bit surprised when Aleck invited him to sit at the high table for the evening meal. Of course had he not been invited, MacIain would have acted against every code of decency in Christendom. Nonetheless, Eoin hadn’t expected even one shred of decorum, given the pummeling the Ardnamurchan men took in the courtyard.
He was further taken aback when directed to sit at Lady Helen’s left, but then, having her placed between Eoin and Aleck was good insurance against a brawl. Eoin was fairly certain he wouldn’t allow MacIain to work him into a rage, but one never knew—especially if whisky was involved.
Wearing a scarlet gown of velvet, Lady Helen suited her role as lady ideally. The gown’s feminine lace collar accentuated her neck, especially with her honeyed tresses drawn up under a conical hennin, with only a few wispy curls showing at her nape. She would have blended in well at the king’s table and presently seemed out of place, considering her uncouth company.
Eoin smoothed his hands down the front of his doeskin doublet. He’d not thought to bring courtly attire on this journey, though he always carried this piece of finery in his traveling kit. One thing Helen’s mother had taught him during his fostering at Kilchurn Castle, was the adage, clothes maketh the man, which was the only reason he carried the damned thing. Aside from its excellent craftsmanship, it was useless as an arming doublet and provided little warmth. He leaned back in his seat and regarded the Chieftain of Ardnamurchan. The lord of the keep looked slothful, wearing only a linen shirt over a pair of leather breeks. Worse, the shirt was unlaced at the collar—very slovenly indeed. Eoin puzzled. Wouldn’t Lady Helen have set him to rights above stairs, if not his valet?
Aleck reached for a ewer of ale and poured for himself without a passing glance to his wife.
Lady Helen watched him with an unruffled expression.
Something is amiss.
Eoin swallowed his mouthful and leaned far enough forward to see that her tankard was empty. “Please excuse me.” Eoin reached across for the ewer and held it up. “M’lady?”
Her eyes brightened with her smile. “Yes, that would be lovely, thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Eoin poured. “I understand you have a daughter.”
“Aye, she’s but six sennights old.”
“She is a wee one indeed.” His gaze slid down to her slender waist. “You are fit. No one would have any idea you’d recently birthed a bairn.”
“How nice of you to say.” Helen chuckled softly. “I named her Margaret for Mother and Alice for my younger sister.”
“I am impressed. If the wee one grows up to be anything like Lady Margaret, she will be a woman to be reckoned with.”
“I hope so.” Helen daintily used her teeth to clip a bite of roast venison from her eating knife. “I call her Maggie. Margaret seems ever so serious for a bairn.”
“Maggie? I like it.” Eoin raised his tankard. “To Sir Aleck and Lady Helen for the birth of a healthy lass. May she grow up to be as bonny as her mother.”
Aleck slowly picked up his tankard, a sneer stretching one corner of his mouth. “The bairn should have been a lad.”
Eoin shrugged. “Aye, but the world needs lassies as well as lads—and she’s only your first.”
“It took five miserable years for Maggie to come about.” Aleck slammed his tankard onto the table and glared at Helen.
Folding her hands in her lap, she fixated on her trencher, her face nearly as red as her gown. Eoin averted his gaze and shoveled a bite of food in his mouth. He had no business worrying about Lady Helen’s domestic issues. MacIain was irritated that she’d birthed a lass? The bastard had best get his arse above stairs and start working on the next bairn, which Eoin prayed would be a lad—not for Sir Aleck, but for Lady Helen’s sake.
Eoin tore off a bit of bread and slathered it with butter while watching Helen out of the corner of his eye. She’d always been mindful of her manners, but her motions seemed exact, as if she were making a conscious attempt to be perfect. Her back was erect, her chin level—she was the picture of a well-bred woman. The only problem was she appeared too stiff. Was she trying to hide something? Come to think of it, since Eoin had taken his seat, Sir Aleck had hardly given his wife a nod.
“The venison is delicious.” Eoin tested the waters. “I commend your excellent skill with the menu, considering you had little notice of such an immense gathering of guests.”
Helen beamed with a radiant smile.
“Cook has it well in hand,” Aleck said, his mouth so full, he spat food across the table. “Lady Helen had little to do with it.”
The lady’s lips disappeared into a thin line and that rigid spine somehow inched a bit straighter. Eoin couldn’t help but lean toward her ear and whisper, “My guess is your husband’s quite mistaken.”
She dabbed the corner of her mouth with a delicate finger. “Actually,” she said loud enough for Aleck to hear. “Had I not stopped by the kitchen on my way out to welcome you, we might be dining on bread and cheese this eve.”
Aleck reached for the ewer, then slammed it down with overzealous force. “Bring me some whisky!”
Helen jolted and clapped a hand to her chest.
Married five years and her husband’s raucous behavior still makes her jump? Dear Helen, what mess have you made of your life?
Eoin raked his fingers through his hair and looked away. How many times must he remind himself Lady Helen’s plight was not his worry? She hadn’t asked him for help. In fact, aside from Sir Aleck’s ribbing, she appeared to be healthy—coping quite well.
After a servant brought a flagon of whisky, Aleck poured for himself then shoved it past Helen where it nearly toppled over in front of Eoin. “Join me in a tot?”
“My…ah…thanks.” Eoin would have preferred to tell the lout he was about as chivalrous as a moray eel.
Aleck took a swig. “Play us a tune, wife.”
Helen regarded him. “I don’t think our guests—”
“Bloody hell, woman. I want to hear some music—playing the lute is about all you’re useful for around my keep.” He flicked his wrist. “Go on.”
Eoin had heard enough. He pushed back his chair and stood.
Helen did as well, but grasped his arm. “Leave it be,” she said in a low tone.
Eoin glared at Aleck—the bastard had remained seated when his wife stood. “Did you not see the lady rise?”
The chieftain looked up with an irritated glare. “Pardon me?”
“Your wife.” Controlling his rage, Eoin opted for restraint rather than inviting the ruffian out to the courtyard. “Aside from being the lady of the keep and a wife of one of Scotland’s noble chieftains, she’s the daughter of a baron. Do you not show her a knight’s courtesy when she stands?”
MacIain’s eyes grew wide while he gaped at Eoin, but his surprise was soon replaced by a black-hearted scowl. “She would have earned her respect had she birthed a lad.” He gestured to the empty seat. “I suggest you mind your own affairs whilst you’re a guest in my castle.”
Eoin paused for a moment. If only MacIain would lose his temper and blurt out a threat. He’d welcome any excuse to take the bastard to the courtyard and teach him a lesson in chivalry. But aside from a smoldering fire in his eyes, the chieftain managed to control his ire. Eoin bowed to Lady Helen, took his seat, and turned his attention to her performance.