Surrender to the Highlander(11)

When Niels looked to her, Edith nodded solemnly. “It is what he’s always done.”

Niels pursed his lips and then asked Tormod, “So which is true? Did he argue you should let us in or keep us out?”

“Both,” Tormod said with a scowl. “That is the hell of it. He never truly lies, he just . . .” He hesitated and then explained, “When ye first got here he argued we’d best no’ let ye in, and reminded me Lady Victoria had said we were to let no one in. And then when ye mentioned yer brother was a healer and might save her, he argued I should let you in. But the moment I agreed, he began to argue that we should not.”

Niels shook his head and asked with bewilderment, “Why is he the second here?”

“Because he is my father’s half brother and he wanted to take care of him,” Edith said quietly.

Niels eyebrows rose at the bald announcement, and then he asked, “Half brother?”

“’Tis a sad story,” Tormod warned him, and then told it so that Edith didn’t have to. “Ye see, the old bastard laird, Edith’s grandfather, had banished Cawley and his mother when Cawley was but a lad. But Edith’s father knew about it, and when the old man died he wanted to make up fer his behavior. He found Cawley, brought him here and made him his second, but then he made sure we all understood that it was in name only. When we say Cawley is special, we mean he’s no’ quite right in the head.”

“My grandfather did no’ just banish Cawley and his mother,” Edith explained. “As a young boy Cawley somehow found out that my grandfather was his father. He approached him and told him he knew. I do no’ ken what he was hoping to achieve. He probably just wanted a father, he was just a boy, no older than Ronson at the time, but Grandfather was enraged. He beat him horribly . . . nearly to death. And then he banished them both. Cawley’s mother carried him away and did the best she could, but while his body healed, his mind was never the same again.” She shrugged helplessly. “My father used to take them food and coins to try to help them get by, but could do little more than that until his father died.”

“I see,” Niels said quietly.

“The problem is that Cawley likes to be the center o’ attention,” Tormod said quietly. “If he is no’ kept busy he will insinuate himself into everything and tends to cause confusion and strife.”

“So, ye keep him busy,” Niels said with understanding.

“Aye, and usually in the kitchens,” Tormod said with a wry smile. “Because the one thing he likes best in the world is his food. In fact the minute he’s in the kitchen he’ll forget everything I told him and simply concentrate on eating.”

“We think it is because he and his mother were nearly starving for so long,” Edith said softly. “Now he eats all he can fer fear there will be no more tomorrow.”

“Aye,” Tormod said sadly. “Fortunately, Cook is a good-natured sort and simply sits him in a corner with bowl after bowl of food and lets him jabber away.”

“So ye did no’ mean it when ye said Cook had best make and bring out Edith’s food himself and—”

“Oh, aye, I meant it,” Tormod interrupted with a grim smile. “But it does no’ matter if Cawley tells him, because I told Cook that meself last night, and again this morning.”

“Ah,” Niels said relaxing and even managing a smile. Then he glanced to Edith. “Is yer uncle Cawley the reason ye took in Ronson and his grandmother?”

“Nay,” Edith said with surprise. “I took them in because they needed a home. Everyone should have a place to call home.”

Niels stared at Edith and wondered if she realized just how much she’d said with those words. She had given Ronson and his grandmother a place where they could feel they belonged and that they could call home. She was giving them what she herself didn’t have. Her place here was temporary. Edith would lose the only home she’d ever known and the rest of her family along with it, all the soldiers and servants she’d grown up with and considered her family, friends and charges. She would even lose her damned dog since he didn’t think the Abbey would allow her to bring the huge beast with her.

It was heartbreaking to him, and so unfair. Edith was a good woman, a kind woman. She deserved better.

“M’lady.”

Niels glanced around even as Edith did, his eyes narrowing as he saw the skinny little man standing behind Edith with a metal platter with pastries on it.

“I made yer favorite,” the man said. “Pastry stuffed with sweetened cherries.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Edith said smiling at the man. “Thank ye, Jaimie.”

“’Twas me pleasure,” he assured her, beaming. “We are all verra happy to see ye up and about again, m’lady. And I promise ye, I did no’ take me eyes off these pastries from start to finish. I even stood and watched ’em cook. No one got near them. So you enjoy ’em. They’re safe.”

“Thank ye, Jaimie,” Edith said again, and when the man leaned past her to set them on the table in front of her, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek of gratitude that had the man flushed and flustered. Bobbing his head repeatedly, he backed away from the table and then turned and rushed back to the kitchens as red as the cherries in his pastries.

Niels eyed the pastries on the platter and caught her hand when she went to grab one. “Mayhap I should try one first in case they’re poisoned.”

Edith blinked at him with surprise. “Ye heard Jaimie, he watched them from start to finish. They are fine.”

“But what if he is the one who poisoned the wine and stew?” he pointed out.

“What? He would no’ . . .” Pausing, she narrowed her eyes. “Ye’re just after me cherry pastries, m’lord.”

“I am not, I—” he began to protest, but paused when she took a pastry off the platter and offered it to him.

“Try it then. They’re very good.”

Niels accepted the pastry, his mouth already watering. He was biting into it even before she turned to offer the platter to the other man.

“You too, Tormod,” Edith said. “I can no’ possibly eat all o’ these by meself.”

“Ah, ye’re a fine woman, Lady Edith. A heart o’ gold is what ye have,” Tormod said, taking a pastry as well.

Niels saw Edith shake her head with amusement at the man’s flattery, but he was busy trying not to moan at how good the pastry he’d just bitten into was. Dear God, if the cook at Buchanan made anything even near as good as this, he and his brothers would not be happily wandering far and wide making coin. They’d all be stuck at home, as big as Cawley and just as complacent.

“Pastries?” Ronson cried, rushing up to the table with Laddie on his heels.

“Aye. Cherry,” Edith said and held the platter out to the boy. When he took one, she said, “Take two and sit next to Niels to eat. No sharing with Laddie though, ye ken they make him sick.”

“I ken,” Ronson said. “Thank ye, m’lady.” Taking his booty, he climbed up onto the bench next to Niels and set to work at scarfing down the cherry delights.

“Well?”

Mouth full of pastry, Niels raised an eyebrow in question at Edith’s question.

“Is it poisoned?” she asked dryly.

Chewing, he merely shook his head and Edith snorted and picked up three more pastries and set them in front of him, saying, “Enjoy.”

It was in that moment that Niels Buchanan decided that Edith Drummond was one of the finest women he’d ever met.

“So, what are yer plans fer today?” Tormod asked.

Niels knew he was asking Edith but when she opened her mouth to answer, he quickly swallowed the pastry and said firmly, “Bed.”

“What?” Edith turned on him with shock. “I am no’ going back to bed. I just got up.”

“Ye have to take this slowly. Ye’ve been ill fer weeks. Ye need—”

“I was poisoned, not ill,” she reminded him grimly. “And I am fine now.”

“Ye must no’ overdo it. Ye’re still weak,” he argued.

“Aye, I am,” she acknowledged. “But I’m no’ going to get stronger lounging about in bed. Besides, there is much to do around here.”

“Nonsense,” Niels said at once.

“Oh really?” she asked with disbelief. “So ye did no’ notice the horrid moldy stench to the rush mat ye slept on last night? Because I notice ye now carry that stink with ye, as do Ronson and Laddie.”

Frowning, Niels sniffed himself and grimaced. He had indeed noticed the smell when he’d first laid down last night, but so many hours with it in his nose had apparently made him immune to the scent. Now that she mentioned it though, he did carry the smell with him and it was quite putting him off his cherry pastries.

Scowling, he asked, “What has to happen to make the rushes smell better?”

“I shall have the women remove and burn the old rush mats and then I shall have to take the children down to the river to collect fresh rushes.” She paused and then added, “And then the women will have to weave fresh mats to replace the old and we’ll put them down and sprinkle dried flowers to make them smell nice.”