Highland Courage(41)

“Oh, aye. As a matter of fact, I was planning to pay a visit to the chandler today.”

“Were ye?”

“Aye. We also need to replenish stores of salted meat, flour, ale, and wine.”

“Perhaps ye would let me go with ye so I can learn more about the clan?”

“I suppose ye can if ye’d like to.”

The offer was made somewhat grudgingly, and she had the feeling she was the last person Oren wanted trailing after him. Still it was exactly what she wanted to do. “That would be wonderful. I truly appreciate it, ye are very kind.”

She supposed after having called him “very kind” it must have encouraged him to rise to her positive assessment. As she went with him to meet the various craftspeople, she couldn’t actually say he was particularly warm, but he no longer treated her with the antagonism he had originally. She also found when she was with Oren, the clansmen and women generally regarded her with a bit more warmth and less hostility.

In truth, over the next few weeks she believed Oren himself was developing a grudging respect for her abilities. Although pleased she seemed to be making some small headway with him, the lack of open hostility from the rest of the clan was a far cry from warmth or kinship. She still felt very much alone. She rarely had the opportunity to speak to Flan during the day and, while he did take his meals at the laird’s table again, he seemed preoccupied and was unusually quiet. He generally disappeared soon after meals were over.

It embarrassed her to admit this, even to herself, but she wanted her mother. Mama would know what to do. She always knows what is happening among the MacKenzies. But how? Mairead tried to remember the things her mother did. Images of her mother as she went through the day came to her. It finally dawned on her. Her mother talked to everyone, from the elderly to the very young, about the smallest details of their lives. But I’m not good at talking to people. She thought more about how her mother did this. It wasn’t that she just chatted with people. In fact, her mother didn’t actually do most of the talking. She gave people the opportunity to talk to her. She asked general questions, truly listened to the answers, and made an effort to remember details. She remembered to follow up on everything from a child’s skinned knee to a new mother’s anxiety.

I have been worried about what to say, but I don’t really need to talk much at all. I just need to listen. With her mother as an example, Mairead made the effort to speak with everyone she met, even if just to ask after their health. Initially she received short, curt answers but she persisted and soon many members of her new clan began to open up and chat. Each new victory bolstered her self-confidence, and she became more and more comfortable talking to members of the clan whom she hadn’t met yet.

One afternoon she was on her way to the kitchen to get a basket of food to take to Eilis, who had been feeling poorly. When she entered the kitchen, a young woman, perhaps a few years younger than herself, sat at the table drinking a herbal tisane with Ide. The lass jumped up from her seat when Mairead entered. She looked embarrassed. “I’ll be going, Ide. Thank ye for the tisane. Good afternoon, my lady.” The flustered lass started toward the door.

Mairead stopped her. “Oh, ye needn’t go on my account. I’ll only be a minute. By the way, I don’t believe I have met ye.”

“I’m called Caitlin, my lady, and I really must be getting back.”

“Are ye Oren’s daughter, Caitlin?”

“Aye, my lady.”

“Well, if ye are going home, I am on my way to visit Eilis. I would enjoy company on the walk. Would ye wait for me a moment while Ide fixes a basket for her?”

Caitlin seemed pleased but still a bit flustered. “Certainly, my lady.”

When Mairead had the basket of victuals over her arm, they walked toward the village.

“I’m surprised we haven’t met before now,” said Mairead.

“I’m not at the keep often. My mother prefers for me to stay at home. She is a weaver and she is trying to teach me the craft.” Caitlin blushed, looking almost ashamed. Caitlin’s embarrassment confused Mairead. The emphasis Caitlin but on the word “trying” also puzzled her. “Trying? Is it not going well?”

“Truthfully, my lady, nay. My mother is an excellent weaver. Her cloth is among the finest made here.”

“Ye sound proud of her.”

“I am, but she has tried to teach me for years. It’s just that I can’t quite get the hang of it and she is not extremely patient.”

“Do ye like weaving, Caitlin?”

Caitlin stopped walking and looked at Mairead with an almost stunned expression. “No one has ever asked me if I liked weaving before.”