To Marry A Scottish Laird (9 page)

“Maggie suggested the abbess write to me to tell me of Kate’s death and the baby, but the abbess refused,” Lady Annabel said, sounding horrified as she continued narrating. “She said we had paid for Kate to be taken away and would hardly be interested in her daughter. She also said that while the abbey had been given a dower to take in Kate, she did not feel any responsibility toward Kate’s offspring and had no intention of raising her.”

“Old bitch,” Ross muttered, still staring at Joan.

“So she gave her to Maggie to take away,” Annabel continued as she read. “And Maggie . . .”

Joan tore her gaze from Laird MacKay’s strange stare and glanced curiously to his wife when she paused. Lady MacKay continued reading for a moment and then lowered the scroll and lifted her head to peer straight at her.

It was Laird MacKay who guessed, “And Maggie named the babe Joan and raised her as her own.”

Chapter 8

“
W
HAT?”
J
OAN ACTUALLY LAUGHED AT THE SUGGESTION,
a short nervous laugh, but a laugh just the same. The idea was just so ridiculous. She shook her head. “Nay. I am Maggie Chartres’s daughter, not this Kate person’s,” she assured him.

“Ye remember I said ye put me in mind o’ someone, do ye no’?” Laird MacKay asked quietly. “Well, I kenned who, the minute me wife mentioned Kate was with child when she got to the abbey. Ye’re the spitting image o’ yer mother.”

Joan shook her head in denial, and then glanced up with a start when Annabel was suddenly behind her.

“My husband is right. You are a mirror image of Kate,” the woman said solemnly.

Still shaking her head, Joan stood to avoid having to crane her head so far around and took a step back from the woman. “My mother was Maggie Chartres. She raised me.”

“Aye, Maggie raised you and loved you as a daughter, but you were born from my sister,” Annabel said quietly. “You are Kate’s daughter with her husband Grant. My niece.”

“Nay,” Joan insisted, backing away another step as if distance would make her denial true. “She would have told me.”

“She did not wish to see you hurt,” Annabel said softly. “My parents had rejected you and she feared we would as well. She ended her letter saying that she had never planned to tell you, ever, but when she realized she was dying and that you would be left alone in this world, she decided to send you to us with this message. She asked that if we felt as my parents did and had no interest in claiming you, to please simply send you on your way so that you would never know that you were not wanted.”

Joan simply stared at her blankly, her mind struggling to accept what she was being told. Her mother wasn’t her mother? She was the child of Lady MacKay’s sister, Kate? A woman who had apparently tried to kill the kind woman before her. Joan turned abruptly away to head for the keep doors. “I should go. I’ve delivered the message and should let you be now.”

“Nay,” Annabel protested, catching her hand and stopping her. “You cannot go.”

Joan turned back and peered at her with bewilderment. “Why? If it’s true that your sister was my mother, you can’t want me here. Cam said she tried to kill you.”

When Annabel turned to scowl at Cam at this news, he grimaced apologetically. “Sorry. I did no’ ken she was her daughter when I said it.”

Annabel sighed and then turned back to Joan and squeezed her hands gently. “That was a very long time ago, Joan, and your mother was just . . .” she hesitated briefly and then finished, “confused.”

Ross snorted, but stood abruptly when his wife glared at him and moved to join them.

“I would no’ say yer mother was confused exactly, but me wife’s right, it was a long time ago. And it does no’ matter anyway. We do no’ hold ye responsible fer yer mother’s actions. Ye’re our niece. Family . . . and ye’re welcome here.”

“See.” Annabel beamed at her husband, her smile just as wide when she turned to Joan. Squeezing her hands, she announced, “You will stay here. Your cousins will be so pleased to meet you and—” She paused abruptly, eyes widening. “Oh dear. We should see you bathed and changed before they—” Halting again, she turned to her husband, mouth opening.

“I’ll ha’e the maids bring up the bath,” Ross said before she could say anything.

“Thank you, husband.” Annabel leaned up to kiss his cheek. Taking Joan’s arm then, she began to usher her toward the stairs, adding, “Have them bring it to the empty room. Joan can have it for her own.”

“Ye’d best put her in Kenna’s room fer now,” Ross countered. “Cam will be in the empty room.”

“Oh.” Annabel paused to turn back and Joan did as well, as surprised at this news as the older woman proved to be when she said, “I am sorry, Cam. I did not realize you were staying.”

“I had no’ realized either when I first arrived,” Cam said quietly.

“Oh, I see,” Lady Annabel said, but her expression made it clear she didn’t understand. Neither did Joan. She really had thought he’d leave now and this was the last thing she’d expected. Well, no, not the last thing, she acknowledged. The last thing she could have expected was learning that her mother wasn’t her mother and she was a niece to the MacKays.

Her mind still grappling with this knowledge, Joan let her worries about what Cam was or wasn’t doing slip away for now and listened as Lady Annabel announced that she was about the same size as her daughter Annella and could borrow one of the girl’s gowns until they could make her some of her own. And while she couldn’t sleep in the empty room until Cam left, she could move into it then and it would be hers.

Family, expensive gowns, her very own room . . . it was enough to make a girl dizzy, at least a girl who had grown up in a hut that was simply one room with a fire in the corner, a rickety old table, two chairs and space to lay out pallets for herself and her mother at night. A hut that had stopped being her home when her mother, her last surviving family as far as she’d known, had died. Until moments ago Joan had been without family, possessing nothing but the clothes on her back and the herbs in her bag, and now . . .

She shook her head with bewilderment, overwhelmed by the changes taking place so swiftly in her life.

Cam watched Joan until she disappeared into one of the rooms on the upper landing with Lady Annabel, and then turned slowly to find Ross watching him.

“Ye ken why ye’re staying?” the older man asked.

“Aye,” Cam said simply.

Laird MacKay cocked his head and eyed him with interest. “Ye’re no’ going to protest that ye did no’ ken she was me niece so should no’ bear the consequences?”

“Nay,” he answered and shrugged. “That matters little. She is yer niece. I took her innocence, and I shall marry her.”

Ross relaxed and gestured to the trestle table. “Sit down and drink yer ale. I’ve no doubt ye need it about now. I’ll jest order the bath fer Joan and warn the cook to prepare a feast and then join ye. I could do with an ale or ten after today’s revelations meself.” Shaking his head, he turned away and headed for the kitchens muttering, “Kate had a daughter. I hope to hell she’s nothing like her.”

Cam winced at those words, then moved to sit at the trestle table again. He didn’t pick up his mug right away though. He was feeling a little peculiar at the moment and just sat waiting for his world to right itself. Cam had known the moment Ross guessed that Maggie Chartres had kept Kate’s child, named her Joan, and raised her as her own that he was right. He’d also known in that moment that he’d have to marry the lass. As he’d said, she was the MacKay’s niece. He’d taken her innocence. Ergo, honor demanded he marry her. It was that simple.

What wasn’t so simple was how he felt about that.

In truth, Cam wasn’t at all sure how he felt. He supposed he should be happy. He had wanted to keep Joan with him and their having to marry certainly ensured that would happen. On the other hand, she’d rejected his request that she come to Sinclair with him, and hadn’t just refused, but when he’d said he didn’t want what they had to end, she had responded with, “But I do.” Though Cam was loathe to admit it, more than his pride had been hurt by those words. Yet now they were to marry.

And how would she feel about that? he wondered. Cam suspected Joan didn’t yet realize the plans her uncle had for them. She’d seemed so overwhelmed by everything she’d learned that he doubted it would occur to her that they would be expected to marry until someone told her. It left him wondering how she would react.

She might be pleased, he acknowledged. He was a wealthy man, the heir to a very powerful Scottish laird. Her life would be much different from now on. She would go from being a poor peasant to having riches, servants, and eventually, several castles . . .

Aye, she might be more willing to suffer his presence with all that on offer. Unfortunately, Cam wanted her to want him, not the wealth and comfort he could give her. However, neither of them had a choice now.

“
O
H MY,”
L
ADY
A
NN
ABEL BREATHED AS SHE
stood back to look at her.

Joan peered at her uncertainly. She’d been bathed, perfumed and dressed, and had sat still while her hair was brushed dry and pinned up on top of her head in a fashion that was bloody uncomfortable. She only hoped it looked better than it felt because it felt like torture and it had all seemed to take forever. She didn’t know how Lady Annabel could stand all the fuss let alone having her hair like this.

“You look so like your mother,” Lady Annabel said softly.

Joan shifted uncomfortably. Lady Annabel meant her sister, Kate, but while they could insist that woman was her mother, in her mind, Joan would always be the daughter of Maggie Chartres.

“I think you may be a little lovelier though,” Annabel said thoughtfully. “Perhaps ’tis because you have a natural kindness she lacked.”

Joan blinked in surprise. She had never considered herself lovely, ever. But aside from that—“I’ve hardly said a word since you brought me up here. How could you know whether I’m kind or not?”

“You have kind eyes, dear,” Annabel said gently and then smiled and added, “And Maggie’s letter said that you were. She said you were smart and kind and brave and that she was ever so proud of you.”

Tears blurred Joan’s eyes at these words and she turned away, blinking repeatedly to keep from crying. She had always loved and respected her mother, so it was good to know the woman had thought highly of her in return.

“Besides, she also said that you had followed in her footsteps and become one of the finest healers she knew. Healers tend to be kind by nature, at least good ones in my opinion,” Annabel announced, and then said thoughtfully, “You are more like me in that regard. Your mother did not have any skills in that area that I know of.”

“But you do?” Joan asked with surprise.

Annabel smiled and nodded. “I used to work in the stables at Elstow Abbey. Sister Clara was in charge of them and taught me all I know about healing. We worked mostly with animals, but treated the other sisters’ ailments too and she taught me much in that area as well.” Her expression turned thoughtful and she murmured, “Sister Clara was very old though. The abbess must have brought in Maggie to help her when I left . . . or to replace her when she died,” she said softly and then sighed and shook her head as if to remove a sad thought.

Joan merely nodded. While she had been silent during her bath and the fussing that had followed, Lady Annabel chattered away about many things. One of those had been the fact that she’d grown up in Elstow Abbey, expecting to become a nun. Fate could be fickle, however, and her circumstances had changed so that she’d ended up married to Laird MacKay and bearing him three children instead.

“Come, we should go below and—” Lady Annabel paused and turned toward the door with surprise when it suddenly banged open. Two young women burst into the room, skirts flying, only to come to a shuddering halt after a couple steps as they took note of Joan. When they simply gaped at her, she shifted uncomfortably and glanced to Annabel to find her smiling faintly.

“Well?” Lady Annabel said with amusement. “Are you not going to greet your cousin?”

“Cousin!” the younger one squealed, rushing forward to throw her arms around Joan. “Father told us we had a cousin, but we could hardly believe it and had to come see ye fer ourselves. We’ve never had a cousin before, ye see. We’ve never had any family at all besides Mother and Father and each other. Oh, and Uncle Fingal,” she added, pulling back to peer at her as she explained, “We did have Uncles Ainsley, and Eoghann too, but they were both very old and died. Uncle Fingal’s old too, o’ course, but he still works as a blacksmith in the village and Mother said that keeps him healthy and strong.”

“Stop and breathe, Kenna, or ye shall faint from lack of air,” the other girl said with amused exasperation as she moved forward.

Kenna rolled her eyes, and then grinned at Joan and said, “She’s always sayin’ that, but I’ve ne’er fainted yet, no’ once.”

“Oh, well that’s good,” Joan said weakly, her gaze moving between the two. With dark hair and rosy cheeks, both girls were versions of their mother at different stages in her life. At twelve, Kenna was the youngest of Annabel and Ross’s children, while Annella was the middle child at sixteen. Something else Joan had learned from Lady Annabel’s happy chatter during her bath.

“That dress looks much nicer on ye than it e’er did on me,” Annella commented, drawing her attention and Joan shook her head.

“Nay. I’m sure it doesn’t,” she said solemnly. “But thank you for letting me borrow it. I shall clean and return it soon as I’m able.”

“Ye’re welcome, but ye do no’ ha’e to give it back. It really does look better on ye than me,” Annella assured her.

“Thank you,” Joan murmured self-consciously.

“Well, I suppose we should go below stairs.” Annabel said and then smiling wryly, added, “What with rushing you up here to bathe and change, you never did get the chance to break your fast.”

“Oh, then ye have no’ tried Cook’s pastries,” Kenna said excitedly, catching Joan’s hand. “Ye must try them.”

“Nay, ye should no’,” Annella countered dryly, and confided, “They’re horrible.”

“Aye,” Kenna agreed, turning to her sister, “That’s why she must try them.” Turning back to Joan she added, “There is no’ a worse pastry cook in all o’ Scotland than our cook. Father says so and he’s always right.”

“Aye,” Annella agreed. “But he makes the finest stews and cakes, better e’en than our old cook.”

“But our old cook used to make the loveliest pastries,” Kenna said on a sigh and turned back to Joan to tell her, “I love pastries.”

“So do I,” Joan admitted with a smile.

“Oh no!” Kenna said with dismay. “Then ’tis a shame our old Cook died. He would have made fine pastries fer yer wedding.”

“Wedding?” Joan and Annabel asked as one, each sounding as amazed as the other.

“Aye,” Kenna said with surprise. “To Cam.”

“
Y
E DO NO’ THINK
THE GIRLS’LL SAY ANYTHING?”
Cam asked suddenly. The apples had been ripe for picking. Kenna and Annella had picked two baskets full, but when they’d delivered them to Cook in the kitchens, they’d overheard the servants talking excitedly about the wedding and the feast they were to prepare. The girls had come rushing out of the kitchens all atwitter, wanting to know who this Joan was that Cam was marrying and why he was marrying here rather than at Sinclair. So Ross had explained that she was their cousin. The girls had been so excited to learn they had a cousin, they’d forgotten their other questions and had rushed upstairs to meet Joan.