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"Ranson," Fingal said solemnly as they crossed the bailey. "When our father died and he became laird, he came down to the village to speak to me. He acknowledged me as his half brother and offered me a position among his warriors." He smiled wryly. "But as I mentioned I was no good with the sword. He offered to train me himself, but I'd been training with the blacksmith since a boy and I liked it, so . . ." He shrugged.
"Ranson was the one who started the weekly game nights with the four of us," Eoghann announced. "Sometimes we took turns at playing Merels, other times we played cards. 'Twas the four o' us then. Derek's father had already passed on."
"Mostly we drank and laughed and just had a good time," Fingal informed her. " 'Twas a sad day indeed when we lost him."
"Aye," Eoghann sighed. "We considered inviting Ross to take his place in the game nights, but then this business with Derek happened and idiots that we were, we did no' explain to him that we did no' really want his title ere naming our claims to it. As ye can imagine, our stepping up did no' please him."
"We did no' think he'd welcome the invitation after that," Fingal added dryly. "So we decided to just let him be for a bit."
"And then Ainsley died," Eoghann said on a sigh.
"Aye." Fingal nodded solemnly and they all fell silent as they crossed the last few feet to the gate.
Ross had given the order that no one was to enter the bailey without good cause after the attack in the field of bluebells here in Scotland. Only villagers or visitors who were expected or had business at MacKay were to be allowed past the drawbridge. All others were to be held there until he, or in this case, Annabel, said it was all right.
Annabel didn't at first see anyone waiting at the gate until she had nearly reached it, and then a woman in tattered clothes, her face and hair dirty, stepped from the shadows near the wall of the barbican and into the light.
"It's no' Miriam," Fingal said with disappointment.
"Nay. Too young and pretty under all that dirt," Eoghann agreed and then informed her, "Miriam was a beauty when she was young, but grew into a bitter old sour-faced crone." Glancing to Annabel he lectured, "That's what greed, envy and bitterness does to a woman. Bear that in mind and keep envy from yer heart, lass, and ye'll be as lovely when yer old as ye are today."
"Thank you, I shall remember that," Annabel murmured, trying to ignore the blush she knew was creeping up her cheeks at the compliment. She was not used to being thought lovely. Ross was the first person who had claimed she was. It seemed the men in his family agreed. All she could think was that liking plump women was a family trait.
"Annabel?"
She turned back just as the woman tried to rush forward only to have the man who had kept her at the gate hold out a hand to stop her. The stranger peered down at the arm in front of her chest and then turned desperate eyes to Annabel.
"Annabel, do you not recognize me?" she asked in an English accent, and sounding close to tears. " 'Tis me. Kate."
"Kate?" Annabel said with amazement, her eyes narrowing on her face. She wanted to recognize her sister, but it had been fourteen years, and they'd both been children when she'd last seen her.
"Belly," she said pleadingly, and Annabel recognized the nickname Kate had called her when they were children.
"Let her in. She is my sister," Annabel said at once.
The moment the guard lowered his arm Kate rushed forward. Annabel started to raise her hands to take hers in greeting, but never got the chance. Kate threw herself at her like a child and burst into loud, heart-wrenching sobs.
Annabel stiffened briefly in surprise, but then patted her back and murmured soothingly. She also tried very hard not to wrinkle her nose or shrink away from the stench coming off of her. Kate needed a bath desperately.
She was not the only one to note this. The men who had surrounded her all the way to the gate, almost crowding her in their determination to keep her safe, had all suddenly taken several quick steps away. Annabel scowled at them for it and then eased the woman to her side. Circling her back with her arm, she then began to urge her toward the keep, murmuring there, there's and 'tis all right now's, though she hadn't a clue what she was comforting her over. Had her lover died? Abandoned her? Or perhaps he was abusive and Kate had fled him. Whatever it was, it seemed to have utterly destroyed her sister. And it must have happened soon after she'd left with him. It had only been little more than a week since Kate had run off with her lover. By the looks of her, she hadn't bathed or changed once since then and had been living in rough circumstances.
Annabel knew the men were following them. Despite Kate's continuous and loud sobs, she could just hear their mumbling amongst themselves as they trailed them back across the bailey and into the keep. That didn't surprise her; what did was the fact that they then also trailed them upstairs when Annabel herded Kate that way.
"There, there," Annabel repeated as she ushered Kate into the empty bedchamber next to the master bedchamber. "I shall order you a bath and some food. You shall feel much better after that and we can talk."
"A bath and food?" Eoghann asked with dismay from the door. "But she's English."
Annabel ignored him and urged Kate to the bed. Once she had removed her clinging hands and seated her on the bed, she patted her shoulder and said, "I shall go roust some servants to bring you a bath and food. I'll be right back. You just rest."
Turning then, she started for the door where the four men were huddled watching her.
"Lass, ye can no' waste food and trouble the servants on this," Eoghann told her solemnly. "She's English."
Annabel paused in the door and scowled. "Sir, in case my accent had escaped you, I am English."
"Nay, yer a MacKay," he countered.
"Aye, but I am also English," she insisted with exasperation.
"Nay," he said stubbornly. "Ye were raised English, but ye married a MacKay, so now yer a Scot."
Deciding this was a waste of time, Annabel waved the men out of the way with exasperation and moved past them to hurry to the stairs.
"I did no' ken she had a sister," Fingal commented as the men followed her.
"Aye. She ran off with the son o' Waverly's stable master," Marach said dryly. "Waverly disinherited and disowned her and presented the laird with Annabel as his eldest by contract."
"Which we're all grateful for. Our lady is a sweet nun--" Gilly's words died abruptly when Annabel whirled in horror.
"Giorsal told?"
"Giorsal?" Gilly asked with confusion. "Does she ken?"
"Nay, m'lady," Marach assured her. "I overheard the Waverly stable master and another man talking after we arrived there."
"Not that," Annabel waved impatiently. Ross had already told her about the conversation where it had been revealed she was the second daughter. "I meant did Giorsal tell you about my being raised at the abbey, intended to be a nun?"
Dead silence met her question, and then Gilly cleared his throat, and said, "Actually, I was no' saying ye were a nun. I was
saying ye were a sweet nun next to yer sister's loose ways," he explained, and then glanced to Marach in question as he added, "I do no' think any o' us kenned ye were a nun, did we?"
Marach shook his head silently, his gaze on Annabel with concern.
"I am not a nun," Annabel said quickly, mentally kicking herself for jumping the gun and revealing what she hadn't yet told her husband. Sighing, she admitted reluctantly, "I was an oblate."
There was a moment of silence and then Fingal asked, "An oblate? Isn't that a fledgling nun?"
"An oblate is a lass raised in the abbey, intended to be a nun, but without having taken any vows or signed contracts to that effect," Marach said quietly.
"Aye, a fledgling nun," Eoghann said.
"Well, nun or no', I'm thinkin' Ross got the better sister," Fingal muttered. "The other one is a fair mess."
Reminded of her intended task, Annabel turned away and continued down the stairs, muttering, "She merely needs a bath and change of clothes. By all accounts she is the beautiful one in the family."
Her mother had made that more than clear, and had moaned over Annabel's lack in comparison as she'd prepared her for the wedding.
"Nay," Fingal disagreed and then predicted, "Even cleaned up ye'll outshine her. Her face is too narrow, and her nose big, and she's too skinny. No meat on her bones to hold on to or cushion ye while ye--"
His words stopped abruptly and Annabel glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Eoghann remove his elbow from the man's stomach. Shaking her head, she faced forward again, sure they would change their minds once Kate was cleaned up. None of that really mattered though. Annabel had resigned herself to being the unattractive failure in the family. Besides, Ross seemed to like her just as she was. Although, she did wonder how he would feel when he woke up and met Kate. He may feel he had been cheated in the deal . . . especially once he heard that Annabel was an untrained ex-oblate. And while it was obvious the men hadn't known that part before, they did now, and she knew they would tell him when he woke. If he woke. Whether she lost him or not, Annabel hoped he would wake. The world would be a much sadder place if he didn't.
Chapter 13
"I made a terrible error," Kate said wearily, wiping tears from her face.
"You were in love," Annabel said sympathetically.
Kate had bathed and looked an entirely different person than the filthy waif she had first appeared at the gate. Her sister's hair was a fine golden color, her face slender, eyes big and wide apart, and nose straight. She was also quite slim. The abbess would have loved her, Annabel thought as she took in the gown Kate now wore. It was a pale yellow gown with white trim that she and Seonag had mended and altered, making the bustline bigger for Annabel. It had fit her like a glove when they'd finished, Annabel recalled unhappily, but it hung on Kate's much smaller frame like a sack.
