Highland Courage(49)

“Well, Laird, we have this one little problem. I told ye there was more news. Father Keenan returned today.”

“Father Keenan won’t mind. I will welcome him home tomorrow.”

“He might not normally mind, but he will be leaving us tomorrow. His father died and he asked his superiors to assign him to a position closer to his home. Father Mungo, another priest in his order, accompanied him and will be staying on in his place. I invited them to dine at our table.”

Tadhg sighed heavily. “Ye are right. I can’t let Father Keenan go without a farewell.” He rose from the bed reluctantly. They dressed and descended to the great hall. At the outset of the meal Tadhg’s attention was on Father Keenan and Father Mungo. During a lull in the conversation, he looked around the table and his eyes rested on his squire’s bruised face. Leaning close to Mairead, Tadhg asked, “Was Flan in a fight?”

“Aye.” Mairead nodded but said no more.

“Do ye know what happened?”

“Generally.” Again she offered no details or explanation.

Tadhg’s brow furrowed and his voice contained more than a hint of frustration “Were ye going to tell me about it?”

“Nay.”

Tadhg arched an eyebrow at her questioningly.

Mairead sighed. “Ye are his laird and I think it isn’t always easy to be both the laird’s squire and my brother. If ye wish to ask him about the fight it is your right.”

“Mairead, I’m your laird too and I am asking ye about it.”

Before she could respond the resounding crack of wood breaking rent the air. Looking toward the sound, Mairead watched as one of Tadhg’s men retrieved something he had stepped on from under the rushes. She gasped when she recognized the crushed remains of her recorder in the large man’s hands. Marshaling her emotions, she made her way to the stunned warrior.

The room grew silent. She took the splintered wood from him, turning it slowly to assess the damage. Badly crushed, the instrument was beyond repair. Until this moment she had truly believed the Mathesons’ opinions about her were changing, and she ignored the occasional rebuff she still received. She was wrong, and the evidence lay in her hands. This had been done intentionally to hurt her. Hardening herself, she vowed not to let the clan see how badly it had.

The man looked confused. “My lady, I—I’m sorry. It was under the rushes.”

“Mairead, what is it?” asked Tadhg.

As Mairead turned to her husband, Flan, who was on his feet trembling with rage, started to answer, “It’s her—”

“Flan!” She cut him off sharply.

“But—”

“It’s nothing, Flan,” She gave him a warning look as she walked toward the hearth.

“Mairead, stop. I asked ye a question,” said Tadhg quietly.

She held the fragments up so he could see them. She responded with a controlled calm she didn’t feel. “It was an instrument. Now it is kindling.” She turned back to the hearth intent on tossing the splintered remains of her beloved recorder into the fire.

However, old Jock was in the hall for supper that night. He maneuvered himself between Mairead and the fire with remarkable agility. “Nay, lass.” He voice was gentle and he took the ruined instrument from her. The look of affection and sympathy in the old man’s eyes was her undoing. She needed to leave the hall or risk embarrassing herself with the tears that threatened.

“Where did ye leave it that it ended up under the rushes?”

Flan became indignant at the laird’s question. “Mairead never leaves her instruments just lying around.”

“Flan, watch your tone with me,” Tadhg warned. “Mairead, answer me. Where did ye leave it?”

Her back was still toward him, and she didn’t want to turn around. She didn’t think she could stand it if he looked at her with pity, or even worse, censure in his expression. “In the cabinet in my solar. Please excuse me.”

He ignored her request. “Mairead, if it was in the cabinet in your solar, how could it have ended up down here?”

His question seemed to imply that she was mistaken about having put the recorder away properly. However, he was wrong. She had put it away. She always put it away. She certainly didn’t leave it lying in the great hall. The only possible explanation was that someone removed it from her solar and placed it under the rushes intentionally. Telling him this, admitting his clan despised her so, was more than she could do and still maintain her composure. She could feel every eye in the room boring into her, waiting for her to respond.

She shook her head, defeated. “I don’t know. Please excuse me, Laird.” This time she left the great hall without waiting for his permission.