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Chapter 6
Quis Separabit?
Who Will Separate Us?
Cicilia had just bid her guests goodnight when she heard the sound of her buggy returnin
g and then raised voices from the kitchens below. She sighed, wiping her hands on the apron of her gown, then heading to the stairs. Her work was never done.
The Laird was given the biggest room in the house—her father’s old room, though of course, he couldn’t know that. It hurt Cicilia a little to put him in there, but she knew not what else to do. At least it was clean.
He seems a right strange man. Lookin’ at everythin’ like it scared him.
He had hardly spoken when they all ate together. Cicilia had his measure. He was proud, and despite the O’Donnel’s wealth, she guessed that he looked down on them for being only farmers.
His Man-at-arms, Nathair, was like day against Alexander’s night. Nathair had chatted brightly with them all, entertained the bairns until it was time to sleep, and just genuinely pleasant company. He might make a trustworthy friend, had Cicilia not known who he really was.
But the Laird! Well, he could take his pride and his nobility and drown in it, for all Cicilia cared.
It seemed awfully odd that a great Laird should travel all the way from the relative safety of the central clan and out to her farm with only one man for company. That thought alone was enough to put her on edge.
He’ll leave soon, an’ I will nae have to deal wi’ it. Just need to pretend Da’s away for a wee bit longer.
Still troubled, Cicilia pushed open the door to the kitchen, locating the source of the loud voices instantly. It wasn’t, as she’d initially suspected, an argument, but instead excited chatter.
Her housemaid, Katie, was sitting at the table loudly speculating about their visitors with Jeanie. Jeanie had apparently decided that it being so late should not mean she could not pay a visit.
“Katie, can ye go check on the bairns, please?” Cicilia asked pointedly.
The maid jumped and blushed. “Oh, Miss Cicilia, were we bein’ too loud? I’m sorry. I’ll be away now,” she said and hurried out of the room.
Cicilia waited until Katie’s footsteps retreated upstairs before taking a seat across from Jeanie. “Jean McCaul, why are ye here at such an hour?” she asked, though she didn’t even attempt to hide her smirk. Any time with her best friend was welcome.
“Och, dinnae ye pretend ye are nae happy to see me,” Jeanie grinned. Her long brown hair was carelessly thrown in a single large braid, and she’d clearly grabbed the first day gown she saw in order to travel. “As soon as I saw Grandda, I kent somethin’ was up. So I made me da bring me back in the buggy. The Laird is here? An’ the Chieftain an’ all?”
“Aye,” Cicilia sighed, slipping into the seat Katie had vacated. “Just what we needed. As if the stuck-up accomptant was nae visitor enough.”
“Cunningham, was it nae?” Jeanie chuckled. “I never even got to see him. Me mam tells me he lasted longer than usual, though, before the twin terrors ran him off.”
The farmer gave a small smile. “Aye. He was harder to break than the others. I have to admit, it was a wee bit fun tryin’ to run him off.” But then her smile faded, and she said, “I get the feelin’ it is nae gonnae be such wi’ these two, though.”
Jeanie gave her a skeptical look. “Wha’s the harm if they stay a wee bit longer?” She giggled. “Katie says they’re right handsome, the pair o’ them.”
Handsome! In what world?
Though, if she was honest, in this one. Very much. The Man-at-arms was perhaps the more conventional rugged type, with his wild hair and beard, and readiness to fight or jape just as easily as the other. His natural smile against the brightness of his hair and eyes made him light up a room with only a laugh.
But it was Alexander to whom her eyes were drawn—at least, it had been until she discovered how stuck-up his Lairdship seemed to be. His dark hair, those blue eyes—he reminded her of one of the heroes of ancient times, such as in the Latin and Greek tales her father had taught.
Hmph. Well, if Alexander is a creature o’ Classical myth, then I dub him Narcissus.
“They’re easy on the eye, but ye ken that means very little to their personalities,” Cicilia told her friend. “Dinnae ye go fallin’ in love wi’ the Laird, o’ all people! What kind o’ fool would ye have to be?”
Jeanie giggled. “A rich fool, to be sure,” she teased. “Even richer than ye are wi’ this farm an’ yer servants.”
Cicilia snorted. Her friend made everything in life a joke, but that did not mean she did not take it seriously. Honestly, Cicilia found her extremely helpful when she got too focused on work and forgot to simply enjoy life.
But Jeanie’s expression calmed a little as she said, “Ye dinnae think he’s gonnae take the farm away, do ye?”
