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Ronald folded his arms. “Aye? An’ I suppose ye’ve heard the rumors that are circlin’ about ye by now?”
Cicilia smiled thinly. “Some, but I’m nae naïve enough to dream that I’ve heard them all. A lassie movin’ into a castle, especially one in a position o’ wealth, is gonnae have rumors followin’ close behind. To which are ye referrin’?”
“The one where ye’re usin’ yer womanly ways to manipulate our selfish Laird,” Ronald replied in a hard, unapologetic voice. “I ken he’s never cared much for his people, but it’s beyond the pale that he’d favor a lass just because—”
“Gallagher came to me farm to check out discrepancies between the money we made an’ the trade we report
ed,” Cicilia interrupted.
She was furious now. The accusation itself hadn’t made her angry—she had expected to be accused of a meretricious role or worse—but she was outraged that this man would say such things about Alexander.
“Aye, an’ then?” Ronald asked, folding his arms.
“Ron, leave it,” Susan said. The woman was only a few years older than Cicilia, she guessed, and pretty enough—blonde hair, dark eyes, and a pleasantly plump figure. Her husband must be older by at least fifteen years, probably more if his graying hair was any indication. “The lass came into the shop to make a purchase.”
“I’m simply askin’ a question,” Ronald protested. “If she has nae got anythin’ to hide, she will nae have any problem answerin’.”
“I dinnae like him,” Annys said in a loud whisper.
“Dinnae be rude,” Cicilia said in a composed tone. “What happened next, Mr. Jacobs? Well, Me Laird arrived an’ discovered the death o’ me faither. He then considered takin’ me property from me, but before we could even discuss it, we faced yet another tragedy.”
“They killed our pet pig. His name was Bacon,” Jamie said sadly.
“Who killed yer pig?” Susan asked him.
Cicilia shook her head. “We dinnae ken. It was nae just the twins’ pet, all the sheep an’ pigs an’ goats went the same way. An’ then nae long after, our home—me faither’s home—burnt to the ground. We were left wi’ nothin’, and His Lairdship graciously stepped in to house us until the renovations are complete.”
“An’ in exchange…?” Ronald pressed.
“Ye’re a dirty old man!” Susan chided him. “Is it so far-fetched to ye that a man would help a woman an’ bairns in need without demandin’ into her bed?”
Cicilia shot the woman a grateful look. It was true that she had been sleeping with Alexander, yes, but it had nothing to do with how he’d acted. She liked him, and she was certain he liked her, too—or that he had, before her blunder the other day. He had never, not once, done anything that might be perceived as taking advantage of her or her situation.
“Aye, when the man is Alexander MacKinnon. His faither might have been generous, but he—” Ronald started.
“He bought us animals for our farm. He saved me siblings’ lives. He also funded yer kirk bein’ rebuilt after the lightnin’ storm a few years back, but he dinnae want anyone to ken about it,” Cicilia snapped.
“He rebuilt the kirk?” Susan asked, impressed. “Me da is the minister, an’ he’s been searchin’ for whoever left a’ that money this whole time.”
“Aye,” Cicilia said. “An’ nae just that. He’s the anonymous donor who keeps givin’ money to the orphanage. He’s the one who keeps the poorhouse in the next village stocked wi’ food. Ye can say whatever ye like about me, Mr. Jacobs. Think me the worst kind o’ slattern if ye will. But I will nae hear any more o’ this slander against the Laird, do ye hear me?”
Ronald looked stunned, but he narrowed his eyes again. “An’ if he’s done a’ these things, why is it I’m only now hearin’ o’ them, eh?”
She threw her hands in the air angrily. “Because he’s a good Laird, an’ a better man! He dinnae do any o’ this for fame or glory! He dinnae do it to buy yer love! He cares for his people, each an’ every single one o’ us, an’ it’s bafflin’ to me that ye let the insecurities o’ a lad o’ ten-and-six, who had just lost his parents, cloud the image ye have o’ him as a man fully grown.”
Ronald folded his arms, saying nothing, his lips pursed.
Frustrated, Cicilia turned on her heel. “Come on,” she said to the twins, and they scurried to her side without argument, clearly recognizing how angry she was.
If this was the first, how bad are the rest o’ the villagers gonnae be? This might be an impossible task that I’ve set meself.
But she had to try anyway. She strode out of the bakery, one twin in each hand, her head held high.
She’d only gone a few steps when she heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Susan following close behind. “Cicilia!” the woman called.
“Susan,” Cicilia replied, surprised. “What—?”
“I brought these for the bairns,” Susan said, taking a couple of sweet buns from her apron and handing one each to the children.
