Chapter 18

The next day, I snapped and shook out sheets as I changed bed linens throughout the castle. Eager for anything to keep me warm, distracted, and busy, I begged the laundress to give me a task. The day was bitingly cold and I would have frozen to death at my desk tabulating figures. Despite the drop in temperature, bright sunshine taunted me through the wide windows as I freshened up the guest rooms.

"Good morning, my lady," Calum said, looking in on me as I stripped a bed.

I jumped with surprise, "Oh! Hello." I placed my hand over my heart as it pounded.

Calum bowed to me, his face twisted in a knowing grin, before leaning against the doorframe casually. "When they told me the Mistress of the castle was preparing the guest rooms, changing linen is not what I envisioned."

"Let me guess, you thought I'd be laying sprigs of lavender on pillows or arranging becoming flower bouquets?" I said with a huff, brushing stray hair away from my face.

"Something like that," he chuckled.

"We all help here," I said plainly. "I see you were let into the castle at last. I hope a night in the courtyard was not too unbearable."

Calum shrugged, "I am a soldier, or I was. A night in icy mud is nothing. Your laundress, on the other hand..." he laughed, "I might need some time before my skin hardens up again. She inflicted a very harsh scrubbing."

Pulling open a clean, starched sheet, I laughed. "Yes, she has very exacting views on hygiene. Beware, sir, if she does not think the servants are collecting your laundry with enough regularity, she will skulk into your chambers and take them for a proper washing."

"I will be on my guard, lady."

I looked up, shaking my head. "Please, call me Eilean. I think you can tell by now that I do not stand on ceremony."

Calum surveyed the room, me in it, and the bedclothes in my hands. "I don't know what would have given me that impression," he said wryly. "But I will agree only if you call me Calum. Or High Lord of the Mountain Vistas, if you feel so inclined."

"Is that a proper family title?"

"No," Calum laughed, "I just wanted to see what I could get away with."

I jerked my chin, "Lift the corner of that mattress and I might let you get away with more than you ought."

With a scandalized look, Calum obliged. I tossed him a corner of the sheet and he tucked it in. "I came to thank you for the clothes, and your hospitality. These are the first new rags me or my men have had in over a year. It does something for my soul, having a clean, proper outfit."

Eyeing him up and down, I noted the clean clothes and brushed hair. Pulled from my brothers' closets, his garments were a touch too formal. No one had been so well dressed in Stormway in years. I looked down at my threadbare dress self-consciously. While I by no means missed the scratchy and restrictive gowns of the past, it would have been nice to have a dress cut from something other than lumpy, beet-dyed wool.

"I understand," I said quietly. After yesterday's courtyard introduction, I had combed and braided my hair properly for the first time in months. It felt... nice. Crossing the room, I picked up a few clean quilts from a basket. I laid them out across the bed.

"I told you yesterday that we could not shelter you for long. I must rudely ask you how long you intend to stay."

Calum grabbed the side of the quilt closest to him and smoothed it down. "Not too long, I do not want to be a burden. Forgive me for saying it is obvious you are struggling."

I looked up, meeting kindness in his eyes. I balked at it, the gentleness there.

"It is kind of you to let us recuperate here before heading North. The mountains can be difficult this time of year, it makes for dangerous travel. I only need to stay long enough to send word that my men and I require guides through the mountain pass."

I chewed on my bottom lip. A couple of weeks would mean stretching our rations even thinner than they were now, however; "Can your men hunt?" I asked.

"Put us to work, fair lady. My men and I will earn our keep."

Smiling, I thanked him. "Then your presence is welcome at Stormway."

Calum looked around the room, the light dancing in his dark eyes. "Is this to be my room, then?"

"Will it do?" I asked, placing my hands on my hips. I was a little out of breath from maneuvering the quilts after a breakfast of only weak willow bark tea but tried not to let it show. It was pleasant to have a new person to talk to. Calum's manner was so easy it was natural to relax in his presence. It would have been wiser to distrust him a touch more — he was still a stranger.

"I'd sleep in the stables so long as I was off the battlefield," he shrugged. A faraway look dimmed his eyes. His face fell into a slack, tortured expression that made me uneasy. Though he still stood in the same room with me, it was as if he had vanished.

I couldn't imagine the terrible things he might have seen or experienced at the front.

"Was it terrible?" I asked shyly. "I am sorry if that is an inappropriate question. You don't have to answer, of course, it's just... I haven't received a single letter from my family. You're the first person I've met that can give me any idea about what is going on."

Calum's focus snapped back to me and he smiled, though he still looked uneasy. After a few seconds, a glint came back to his eyes. It was incredible how swiftly he masked the emotions that had been so close to the surface.

"It was nothing," he said, his voice a touch too bright. "I spent most of my time standing around waiting for something to happen. Aside from a few tense moments in battle, most of my duties involved boredom."

"That sounds like a terrible waste of time," I said, fluffing a pillow. My tone was thin and cold.

"It is, and it isn't, depending on who you are talking to and what their priorities are. I think there could be honor found in this mess, but speaking honestly, I am inclined to agree with you. The conflict seems to have caused nothing but hardship." Again, an unspoken pain simmered under the surface. He frowned, his eyes went a little misty.

"Laird McKerran — " I started before being interrupted by his reminder to use his given name. With a small laugh, I obliged, "Calum," I scowled at him.

He beamed.

I looked at him sideways, still trying to remember a McKerran at Stormway. "Your father was pledged to mine, but I never saw him at a Standing or Gathering."

Calum leaned against the bedpost, nonchalant. "My father was a quiet, withdrawn man. He had little patience for parties or Gatherings. It would not have been in his nature to come visit. I remember him making the trip to Ellesmure once... about twenty years ago. That would have been around the time my grandfather passed. He came to pay fealty to your father."

I would have been unborn or an infant. "You claim to have no news of my family and yet you rode up to the castle gates with a note from my brother, a family ring, and asked for me by name."

"Is that a question?" Amusement chased away the lingering shadows of his grief.

"I'm not entirely sure," I said, chuckling. "How did you know about me? How did you acquire my brothers' possessions?"

Calum shot me a glance, false horror raising his brows as he chuckled, "Did you not learn the names and houses of your neighboring Lairds from your tutors?"

My face burned, old wounds of my ignorant upbringing resurfacing hot and shameful.

"I can name the last three generations of every family of noble Islanders, dear lady... though the war may have pruned family trees a bit."

Narrowing my eyes, I could hardly believe his brag. "We are a family of eight children. There are more than a hundred islands. What you claim is impossible."

Throwing up his hands in mock defeat, Calum grinned. "I admit it, then. I lied. Now, hear my confession, genteel lady. Your bright intellect and even more brilliant eyes have convinced me to tell the truth."

Laughing, I gathered the discarded linens from the floor, dumping them in a basket as he continued.

"For a time, I was camped alongside your father's forces. Your birth, madam, features prominently in Laird MacLeod's drinking stories. I think he means to make you into a mythology."

I sighed, not at all surprised. The humiliation of parties past made me angry. The rage flickering through me like a forgotten ember. I kicked the laundry basket.

"Ah, but you dislike the attention," Calum said, leveling his gaze at me.

Looking over my shoulder, feeling wild-eyed, I shook my head. "Everyone wants to talk about my birth, and yet no one wonders what happened at the conception. What witch did my parents invite into their lovemaking to curse them with a daughter?"

Calum laughed, "Oh, you are wicked." When I glowered at him, he held up his hands. "Fine, fine, I will not regale you with further reports of your father's stories. Well, story, he only tells the one."

I grumbled my confirmation.

"But you also made many appearances in the letters of a man who often shared our campfire. And these stories were... more varied."

That was surprising. I raised my eyebrows, "Who?"

"The man's name is Robert something-or-other... no, not your brother. His sister is in your employ. He read his sister's letters out loud for all of us. She was an exceptionally entertaining correspondent, and her tales of the misfortunes and triumphs at Ellesmure kept us enraptured."

I arched a brow and crossed my arms. Triumphs we had none of. They must have been an invention by the author. "I wouldn't have thought starvation and famine were entertaining."

"Perhaps some of it was exaggerated," Calum allowed with a bow of his head.

"What's the woman's name? Do you remember?"

"I shall never forget it! Murdina Munroe. Humble kitchenmaid to my lady."

I thought over the kitchen staff, running through their faces in my mind; eventually, picturing a robust woman with sleek brown hair and a most impressive talent for sweet cakes and ribald songs, I smiled. "Ah, yes, Murdina. And what, pray tell, did she say in her letters?"

"Hardships, chiefly." Calum scooped up a pile of discarded pillowcases and handed them to me. "We knew about the crop failures... both of them."

I grimaced.

"And we knew your father had decimated the pantries before leaving. She was tormented by that. A kitchen maid unable to feed the household that depended on her." He smiled sadly.

This time, when his gaze traveled up my body, I knew he took in the frailty, the obvious sharpness, and hollowness of my form — even under a wool dress.

"But mostly, Murdina wrote about you. I believe you were peculiar to her. The strange Lady MacLeod who worked herself to the bone, mending clothes and kneading bread. Harvesting what few crops could be saved from the fields. The Lady Laird she had never noticed before but was suddenly everywhere. The pale-faced girl who stayed up an entire night to nurse a sick child from the nearby village." Calum stared at me, his gaze like a brand. "Eilean, who dared legitimize the wedding between her brother and another kitchen girl. Who ripped up her own beautiful silk gowns for slings or bandages or binding firewood. Who scraped what she could off of her own plate so that a wailing child might have more food."

Calum's eyes were full of delight, his mouth slack with awe. He looked at me as if I were a fairy princess from a bedtime story. A mythology indeed. His gaze was too much, I looked down at the floor to escape it. My face burned, and it took all my concentration to stop the sudden tightness in my throat and the pressure of tears behind my eyes.

"This, I thought," he continued, his voice soft, reverent. A low baritone tremor, "Is a woman I must meet."

Breathless and flustered, I felt both proud and humiliated by what I had done to survive. I was unaware anyone had been paying attention. Daring to meet Calum's eyes, I raised my head. "We manage. I will not accept praise for everyone's hard work." I croaked. "But that doesn't tell me how came you to know Ian."

"That story is less interesting," Calum waved his hand. "I lost my leg a few months ago. And then my father took ill and died. Once I was healed up enough to walk, I thought it best to return home to Istimere. Unlike your brothers, I have no sibling to command the stronghold in my absence. And I will admit Murdina's letters made me anxious about what I might find there. As my father was pledged to yours, and our camps were so close, I went to the Laird's tent to offer myself as a messenger for any information he wished to send home. Instead of the Laird, I found Ian who gave me the letter and ring as means of introduction."

"Ian didn't mention... anything? There was no message to convey? I have dutifully sent monthly reports."

Calum noticed my agitation and smiled sympathetically, "War camps are hectic places. They move, and the people within them are rarely in the same place from day to day. It is not uncommon for letters to go missing. I only spoke with your brother for a few minutes. He was..." Calum's eyes misted over, the horror crept back into the looseness of his jaw. "Very distracted. There was a rumor of a large battle coming. I only managed to intercept your brother while he was grabbing maps to review with the generals."

I shook my head, and then, before I could stop myself, said, "No one ever wants to admit that their family is cruel. Though I suppose I have enough proof to do so." The feeling that washed over me was full of despair. A too-familiar void eddied out my thoughts, feeling and sensing nothing. I looked up, blinking back tears. Not of sadness, but of stark realization. That I had, and perhaps always would lack the essential necessity of affection.

"I'm sorry," Calum said, ducking his head.

"No, it's not you." I took a moment to compose my thoughts, to reach through the emptiness, and articulate what I felt. "Every day I am confronted with the truth that my father would rather risk the lives of all of his children than forget this... foolishness. I had seven brothers. Now I have only four. That's strange. They're... gone. And here I am, forgotten and starving... I could be saved, and my brothers still living, but my father would be king. What does he have to show for his ambition but ruined bodies and lives cut short?"

I bit the inside of my cheek and picked up the basket of linens. I inhaled a shaky breath, needing to change the subject, to get out of this room and away from the taunting sunlight. "I hope you don't mind eating in the kitchen with the servants. We don't dine formally here. Not anymore. The great hall is... out of use."

Calum nodded, the cold, faraway pain covering his features again.

Looking around the room, I was further reminded of my shortcomings as a lady and hostess. The walls were bare, the blankets patched and faded, the pillows on the bed saggy and flat. "I'm so... I'm so... ashamed," I said, meeting Calum's crestfallen face. "Stormway used to be... so much more."

Opening his mouth to speak, I shook my head, "If you will excuse me." I hurried out of the room before emotion could overwhelm me.