Page 33 of Defy the Highlander

With that, he slipped from the stable, leaving Tynan to run after him, stopping at the stable entry only to watch Brody as he flew across the stable yard, staying out of sight until he managed to slip from the postern gate. The boy watched him with the naked admiration that only a child could give, admiring a man he’d not known long, but someone who had left a mark on him. Kindness to a young boy who’d not known much of it in his short life.

Tynan found himself wishing that when Brody took Lilia away, he’d take him away, too.

CHAPTER TEN

“M’laird? I am sorry tae disturb ye, but Lady Currie has asked me tae come tae ye.”

Lilia stood at the door of Laird Currie’s solar, enormous oak doors that had been carved into figures from Celtic mythology. Fantastic dogs and creatures were on the panels along with exaggerated warriors. The doors were quite legendary in Edinburgh and scholars came from all over to get a look at the detail.

Greer Gordon McCulloch Currie was a man of great learning. He came from a long line of warriors who had discovered the lust of money and had become importers of fine goods from the continent. They were high-end goods and there was no merchant stall in Edinburgh to ply their wares; all business was conducted out of the manse and there was no shortage of customers. Laird Currie could sell an ancient crystal bowl to a wealthy lord and make enough money to sustain Hawkhill for an entire year.

Wealth was something the House of Currie had.

When Laird Currie saw Lilia standing at the doors to his solar, he set aside the book in his hand and waved her in.

“Ah,” he said. “’Tis Colm’s little lass. Come in, child.”

Lilia did. She genuinely liked the somewhat eccentric Laird Currie and she smiled as she came into the chamber.

“Forgive me for disturbing ye, m’laird,” she said. “Lady Currie has asked me tae look at one of yer Roman vases. She wants me tae make her a gown like the ancients wore.”

Laird Currie was out of his chair, very interested in showing her what she sought. As he moved towards a rack of shelves against the wall, he reached into his pocket and pulled forth a big, gray rat, putting the little beastie on a nearby table and giving him a crumb to eat from the remnants of the meal there.

“This,” he said as he reached up to grasp a vase. “This will show ye what the Roman women wore. Magnificent, is it not?”

He handed it to Lilia, who took it timidly. In truth, she was still eyeing the rat that the man had pulled from his pocket as the creature ate breadcrumbs on the tabletop. That wasn’t unusual when it came to Laird Currie; he was known to walk around with rats in every pocket. Pet rats that all had names like Achilles and Diogenes and Clyde.

Laird Currie and his rat army was well-known.

But she pushed the thoughts of rats aside to focus on the vase. It was a beautiful piece, about a foot long, with scenes depicting women all around it. The colors were white and brown and a faded red, showing women lounging and eating. More importantly, it showed their dress and she looked at it closely.

“Aye, m’laird, ’tis,” she said. “May I ask how old?”

Laird Currie was beaming proudly at the vase as one would beam at a first-born son. “Two thousand years, I should think,” he said. “These garments were only worn by the noble women, ye know. See the embroidery around the edges?”

Lilia nodded as he pointed it out. “Was it white?”

He shook his head. “Nay, lass,” he said. “Gold. The gown itself must be white, mind ye. A very fine white fabric and ye embroider the edges in gold. My wife asked for this, did she?”

Lilia nodded. “She did, m’laird,” she said. “I must go tae the fabric merchant and purchase it specially for her.”

The old man nodded, his movements thoughtful as he took the vase from her and carefully set it on the shelf. Another rat slithered out of his robe pocket and fell to the floor, scurrying away as he moved to another small bowl nearby and picked it up, returning to Lilia so she could take a look at it.

“She will look very fine in it,” he said, stepping away as Lilia looked over the bottom of the bowl where women in fine clothing were painted. “She will look like a goddess.”

Lilia sensed something wistful in that statement. Everyone knew that Laird Currie stayed to his solar all day and all night, rarely leaving. He slept here most of the time in the company of his rats, over on a leather couch that was gouged and worn. It was his sanctuary and, Lilia’s father had said, also his prison.

Laird Currie was a lonely man.

“When it’s finished, I’m sure she’ll be proud tae show it tae ye, m’laird,” she said. “She asked specifically for a Roman dress. I’m sure it was tae please ye.”

Laird Currie smiled, but it was without humor. “It isna tae please me, Lilia,” he said. “But it is nice for ye tae say so. I’m sure she wants a new dress tae wear tae The Cal. And why should she not want one? Everyone shows off their finery there.”

Lilia couldn’t dispute him but she wasn’t comfortable with the turn of the conversation. Surely the man knew where his wife went nightly; how could he not? Everyone else knew, so why not he?

But that was the first time she’d heard him speak of it.

“My… my da was very fond of ye,” she said to change the subject; any subject. “He used tae speak so warmly of ye. I never had the chance tae thank ye for what ye did for him before he died. Ye did all ye could tae heal him.”