Caelen's Wife: Book One - A Murmur of Providence (Clan McDunnah Series 1) (8 page)

Drigh McPherson, husband to Arlah McCollin, overheard Obert’s loud protests. With his three-year-old son in hand, Drigh stepped forward. Drigh was a close to Obert in age, but he stood much taller and broader than the young McDunnah man. “I tend to me bairns,” Drigh said. “I also tend to me fields and train five days out of seven. What, pray tell, do ye
do to help yer wife?”

Obert snorted derisively. “I do no’ have
a wife.”

Drigh gave a knowing nod. “’Tis no wonder.” Lifting his son into his arms, he glowered at Obert. “I take much pride in what I do. I also take much pride in the fact that me wife is a right good archer. I feel better knowin’ me wife can protect herself if need be. I’d put any McPherson woman up against any McDunnah man any day of the week.”

Obert took umbrage to Drigh’s pointed statement. “At least the McDunnah women wear dresses and know where their place be! They have no’ turned us into eunuchs.”

Drigh growled and handed his son off to one of the older women who had come to watch.

Fiona and Caelen stepped forward to stop things from getting out of hand. Brodie came and stood behind Fiona.

“Obert,” Caelen said, as he calmly placed a palm on the young man’s shoulder. “Need I remind ye we are guests here?”

Obert’s lips drew into a hard line and he answered with a shake of his head.

“Good. Now, ye were beaten fairly and there be no shame in it.”

Brodie let loose with a hearty laugh. “Aye! Even yer own chief was recently bested by mine when she drew first blood.”

Caelen turned then and looked directly at Fiona with a warm smile that could be seen clearly on his face and in his eyes. “Aye. ’Twas the most delightful defeat I’ve ever experienced.”

Fiona’s cheeks burned brightly and for once, she was left wholly speechless.

“’Tis only because Caelen let her win,” Obert murmured.

Though the McDunnah men vociferously agreed, the McPhersons angrily disagreed with Obert’s declaration.

Caelen shook his head and threw his hands up. “Fer the last time, I did no’ allow
Fiona McPherson to win! She won fairly!”

“Only because she used her feminine wiles against ye!” Obert declared loudly.

F
iona stood in stunned silence
. For days now, she had worried that Caelen might have allowed her to win. True, she would have preferred to have drawn blood with the tip of her sword, not by the bite of her teeth. Still, she had
won, though the manner in which she won left her feeling less than a victorious champion.

Now Caelen McDunnah stood but a step away and declared to one and all that she had won fairly, that he hadn’t allowed
her to win.

And he declared it to be the most
delightful defeat he had ever experienced.
What was she to make of that statement? Did he say it because he was a devious lout or was there a chance that he had enjoyed the one kiss they had shared?

It had to be the former.

C
aelen
and twenty-five of his men left bright and early the next morn, heading north, with five cattle in tow. Deciding he did not want a repeat of yesterday, he left Derek and Obert behind. With Kenneth away trying to gather whatever information he could on who
was trying to make it look as though the McDunnahs were guilty of stealing sheep from the McPhersons, he needed someone with a level head who would not be inclined to wager away their keep. Traveling with him as his second in command for the day, was another of his many cousins, Phillip McAdams.

Phillip was close to sixty years old, a first cousin to Caelen’s late mother. Though he was an older man, let not his barrel chest and short arms and legs fool you. The man was still as strong as an ox and one of the few people who Caelen would not want to go up against in hand-to-hand combat.

The ride from the gates of the McDunnah keep to the McPhersons took nearly five hours. Were they not escorting five more of their finest cattle, lost to yet another
McPherson woman, it might not have taken so long.

Through valley and glen, the men rode in silence. Caelen could not help but notice that his men were not happy about the events of yesterday. Some had been there to witness Obert lose to a woman, others had heard of the event second hand. With their male pride wounded, they made for less than stellar company.

’Twas often difficult to tell what kind of mood Phillip was in, for he masked his emotions well. Unless he was furious over something, one never really knew what the man was thinking or feeling. Today was no different. The McDunnah men were not nearly as quiet or tight-lipped as the McAdams men and that was probably to the clan’s benefit.

Caelen could think of nothing but Fiona McPherson as they rode across the land. ’Twas another beautiful day, with bright sunshine and little wisps of soft clouds dotting the cerulean sky. The dew-covered grass sparkled in the late morning sun and it reminded him of Fiona’s green eyes, the sunlight itself reminding him of the color of her hair.

He knew he should stay away from the woman. Mayhap she had
bewitched him, just as Kenneth had claimed. Logically, it made good sense to have the McPhersons as an ally, at least that was what he tried to convince himself. His heart, however, told an altogether different story.

For nearly two decades now, he’d kept his heart safely ensconced behind a wall of stone. For reasons he could not begin to understand, Fiona McPherson was able to crack through that stone and allow his heart to feel something other than regret and guilt.

Admittedly, he was more than attracted to her. He had lecherous thoughts whenever he was near her. He could not and would not act on those sexual desires. Knowing his own mind as he did, he was certain that if he took that
particular road, he would not ever want to leave it, and that would not do.

Though he liked how he felt in her presence he could not allow that tiny crack to grow larger. Nay, he could allow himself to think of her as a friend, but no more than that, no matter how intense the physical ache to hold her in his arms.

B
rodie and William McCray
were patrolling the area a few miles south of their keep. They were not keeping a watch for ne’er-do-wells or hordes of angry Huns ready to attack. Nay, there were looking for sheep reivers.

“Ye still do no’ believe the McDunnah is behind the reivin’, do ye?” William asked as he scanned the horizon.

“Nay,” Brodie answered firmly, adjusting himself in his saddle. “I do no’.”

William gave a slight nod of his head. Of the three brothers, William was the most quiet and introspective. He was the thinker
.
He was also the most cynical of the three.

Collin, the oldest, was the leader, the one who went out of his way to make certain everyone was following the rules.

And Brodie? Brodie was the lover
and peacekeeper. He would rather argue his point than draw a sword, but draw one he would if it was necessary to protect his family.

“Would ye like to ken what I
think?” William asked hopefully.

Brodie was interested in William’s opinion, even if there was a good chance he wouldn’t agree with it. With a nod, he bade his brother to share his thoughts.

“Well, I am no’ so certain the McDunnahs are no’ behind the reivin’. There be a good chance that they claim innocence, only to gain our trust.”

Brodie did not see it that way. “But, what if
it be someone else? Someone, who, fer reasons we do no’ ken, wants us at war with the McDunnahs? Or, at the verra least, wants to put the McDunnahs in a bad light?”

“To what end?” William asked as he urged his horse onward at a slow canter.

“That, me brother, is the question. If the McDunnahs truly are behind the reivin’, what do they gain? And if it be someone else, what do they
gain?” Shaking his head, he continued. “Nay, I’ve seen how the McDunnah looks at Fiona. I do no’ think he be responsible for the reivin’.”

William pulled his horse to a stop. “What do ye mean how the McDunnah looks at Fiona?” His instinct to protect his sister at all costs was evidenced by his scowl.

Brodie laughed aloud. “William, quit yer fashin’. Fiona be a woman full grown and fully capable of makin’ her own decisions.”

“Decisions on what?” William demanded to know.

“Decisions on who, if anyone, she wants to share her bed with.”

It was, mayhap, not the most intelligent thing Brodie had ever said. Before he could blink, William had lunged from his horse, grabbed Brodie about the waist, and the two of them fell to the ground.

With the breath knocked from his lungs, Brodie could not protest. He could barely move with William atop him, ready to take his life. Grabbing Brodie’s tunic in his fists, William gave warning. “Do no’
ever
talk of our sister in such a foul manner, ever again!”

Struggling for breath, Brodie could not respond. Ever protective of his sister, William would not stand for anyone, including his own brother, to cast her in anything less than an angelic, sainted light.

William pushed Brodie’s head down into the grass. “That be our wee sister ye insulted, Brodie,” he said, his voice filled with contempt. “Do no’ ever speak of her in such a manner again!” Disgusted, he pulled himself to his feet and left his brother where he was.

’
T
was a full hour
before William would talk to him again. Brodie apologized and tried to explain what he had actually meant earlier.

“All I meant to say is that Fiona is a smart woman. I do no’ think she should spend the rest of her days alone, William.”

“She isn’t alone,” William argued. “She has us.”

Brodie never understood William’s over-protective nature when it came to Fiona. “William, ye ken well it be no’ the same. Ye have a wife, as does Collin. Someday, I hope to have one of me own. ’Tisn’t fair to Fiona that the rest of us have someone to love us, to share our lives with, whilst Fiona lives alone.”

“I do no’ want to see her hurt, like she was with James,” William said, his anger fading.

Brodie found his statement odd. “James hurt her?”

“A man does no’ need to raise a hand to harm someone,” William said.

Brodie was about to ask him to explain what he meant when William caught sight of riders approaching.

“Looks as though we have company.”

“
Y
e look like hell
,” Fiona told her brother Collin when she entered the gathering room. He was bouncing his screaming seven-month-old son, Symon, in his arms. The babe had been crying like this for days and no amount of bouncing, rocking or singing seemed to soothe him.

“I could say the same of ye,” Collin groused from near the hearth.

Fiona ignored his insult for she knew it was only lack of sleep that made him grouchy. No one who lived inside the keep had slept much these past few days, what with little Symon screaming so loudly all the day and night. Dark circles had formed under Collin’s eyes. Fiona hadn’t slept much either but could not put all the blame on the crying bairn.

“Where is Mairi?” Fiona asked, referring to Collin’s wife and Symon’s mother.

“Tryin’ to get a bit of sleep. We were up with him all of last night when finally, she sent me to the stables to get a few hours of sleep. Poor, Mairi. She is beyond exhausted.”

“I tell ye, the child is cuttin’ new teeth,” Fiona told her brother.

Collin disagreed. “Mairi’s mum believes otherwise. She says we’ve held him too much and now we must suffer for it.”

Fiona didn’t much care for Mairi’s mum, Delfina. How Mairi grew up to be as sweet as she was, was baffling considering Delfina was as sour as milk left out in the sun.

“I do no’ see Delfina here to offer any help or further words of wisdom,” Fiona said.

“We are torn, to be certain,” Collin admitted. “Mairi does no’ want to get on her mother’s bad side.”

“She has a good one?” Fiona asked with a raised brow. “Funny, but I’ve known the woman me whole life and was never blessed with seein’ her good
side.”

The more Symon cried, the more his father looked like a tortured prisoner of war. There were times, like now, when she found that she would trade her childless life for sleepless nights and crying babes, no matter how exhausting it might be.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she went to her brother. “Give him to me and ye go join yer wife,” she said as she held out her arms. Collin was all too eager to hand his howling child over.

“Are ye certain?” he asked as he hurried toward the stairs.

Fiona rolled her eyes and lifted the child up to rest him against her shoulder. “Aye, I am,” she told him as she began rocking back and forth from one foot to the other.

Collin looked positively relieved and headed up the stairs. Fiona called out after him. “And
sleep
with yer wife, Collin! Do no’ go makin’ any more babes!”

Fiona doubted she would have heard any response he may have had over Symon’s screams. She pulled him away to look at his wee face. Cherubic cheeks were covered in tears and blended with the drool rolling down his chin. He thrust his hands into his mouth and began to gnaw on his own little fingers.

“Spoiled, me foot,” Fiona said before kissing the top of his wee, bald head. “I may no’ have been blessed with me a child of me own, but I ken one who is teethin’ when I see him.”

Rubbing his back gently, Fiona walked to the end of the gathering room, up the three steps that led to the dais. An old and worn sideboard sat against the wall behind the table where she and her brothers sat for their meals. Flagons of wine and jugs of fine McPherson whisky were kept on the sideboard.

Putting Symon into one arm, Fiona opened a jug with one hand and dipped her finger into the whisky. Shaking off the excess, she began to massage Symon’s gums. Immediately, he began to chew on her finger. She could feel the little razor-sharp tooth just beginning to poke through his gum. Quickly, she removed her finger, lest it be sliced by her nephew, and gave him the hem of her apron to chew on instead.

“Between ye and me, wee one, yer grandminny Delfina is as mean as a rabid bear. She kens full well ye be teethin’, but she wants yer mum to suffer. The auld woman is still upset that her sweet Mairi married yer da.”

Symon continued to gnaw and hiccup, but his crying began to decrease. He looked up at Fiona as if he understood every word she said.

“That’s right, little one. For reasons I could never fathom, the auld bat hates yer da. Do no’ tell anyone, but I think it is because she is jealous. Her own husband, may he be rottin’ in hell right now, was a cruel bastard. Delfina be jealous because yer mum is so happy. And yer mum is happy because of yer da.”

The babe was still uncomfortable, but at least he was no longer screaming loud enough to wake the dead.

“Now, yer grandminny hates me because I married James McPherson.”

While Delfina would never admit to such, Fiona knew the truth. The woman had been trying to get a marriage made between her daughter and James almost since the day Mairi was born. Even if Delfina could have managed such an arrangement, Fiona doubted even that would have put a smile on the woman’s face.

Collin and Mairi made each other happy and that was enough to make Delfina hate every one of the McCrays.

Fiona left the dais, continuing to rock the babe in her arms. Speaking to him in soft, soothing tones, she walked around the gathering room, and pointed to one thing or another, as if she were giving him a grand tour and history of the McPherson clan.

After much rocking, soothing whispers and even a lullaby, Symon finally drifted off to sleep.

A stillness, a peaceful silence, filled the air. Fiona stood, near the hearth, listening to the soft, steady breaths of her nephew. Embers crackled softly, an occasional murmur and muffled noises coming from other places in the keep.

Such a beautiful babe, crying or sleeping. Little lips sucking at nothing whilst he slept in her arms. Little fingers of one hand were balled into a fist and rested against his ear. Wisps of hair, soft as a spring breeze, were barely noticeable and gave him the appearance of being bald.

Symon McCray was a beautiful babe, so soft and sweet — when he wasn’t screaming — he made Fiona ache for one of her own.

Tears pooled in her eyes. Tears of regret and longing. There would be no babes of her own for she was as barren as the deserts of Egypt. Isn’t that why James quit coming to her bed? Because she could not give him that which he wanted most, what
she
wanted most?

It no longer mattered, for James was now long dead and she was chief of their clan. No matter how intense the ache in her heart, she would never remarry, would never bring forth a babe so tender and sweet as the nephew she now held in her arms.

Wiping away her tears on the shoulder of her dress, she took deep, steadying breaths and prayed no one would see her like this, in tears longing for something she would never have.

For the rest of her days, she would have to be content with holding other women’s babes. There was no sense in missing something she never had. Her fate was such that she would spend the rest of her days a widowed and barren woman, chief of her clan. ’Twas her destiny, she supposed, to make certain that her clan remained at peace, well fed and sheltered, so that her people could live out their own dreams. Aye, that
was her fate, her future, her providence.