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Both her father, Cameron, and her mother, Lillian, had treated Cicilia as daughter and son both. They educated her in scholarly pursuits and taught her the running of the farm alongside the womanly arts. They taught her independence of the sort that was frowned upon even now amongst the upper classes, with whom their wealth found them rubbing shoulders often.
And me mammy never cared if I was nae as proper as a lass o’ me wealth should be.
One of Cicilia’s fondest memories of her mother was when Cicilia, aged six-and-ten, had announced that she was running away to wed a soldier, following the advice of her younger best friend, Jeanie. Cicilia had fancied herself in love with a young transfer from a neighboring clan. It helped that Jeanie was prone to falling in love with any boy who so much as smiled at her, and encouraged Cicilia to do the same.
Lillian told her only to remain safe. When Cicilia came crawling back in tears a week later, discovering her beloved had wed another, there was no judgment and no harsh words. Cicilia had buried her head in her mother’s chest and cried that her near-miss with the soldier would bring shame upon the household.
Her mother had shaken her head. “Ye’re barely a bairn, me love, and still a maiden,” Lillian assured her. “An’ while they’ll never admit it, plenty o’ noble ladies have given a lot more away for less. You an’ me, we have servants, we have money, but we’re farmers, Cil. All ye need is yer brain and yer good heart, and me and yer Daddy will always be proud.”
It had not comforted Cicilia much at the time, but as she grew older and wiser, the words had stayed with her. She’d abandoned the idea of men after that, focusing on her work and her duty at home.
This resolve had only grown stronger when she gained a new duty. Sadly, Lillian died just the next year with the unexpected birth of the twins, but caring for them only strengthened the love for Lillian in both Cicilia and Cameron’s hearts.
“It’s gonnae be hard without yer Mammy,” Cameron had told her when he introduced her to the babies. “But ye and I, mo laochain, we’ll manage it.”
Mo laochain. Me little hero. I loved it when he called me that.
It was a term for young boys, usually. Still, Cameron had used it with Cicilia throughout her whole life, and it filled her with warm contentment. That she was a girl did not matter to him nor her mother either; they simply saw her as their child and a success and source of pride.
Now, despite the odds being ever against her, Cicilia was determined not to let them or their memories down.
She had been bathing, but she dressed hurriedly in a pair of farmer’s trews and a loose blouse. She quickly made her way down the rickety stairs, heading toward the kitchen, where she knew Angelica would be playing the dutiful daughter and attending to Ewan.
Sure enough, the plump, motherly cook was there, along with her husband, Cicilia’s driver. They both looked up as Cicilia entered, moving away from the old man to give her some space.
“Ewan,” Cicilia greeted. “Ye look tired out yer mind. What on Earth brings ye here at this hour? Ye dinnae run all this way, did ye?”
He certainly looked like he had. For a man in his seventies, Ewan was very fit. His once-blond hair was now white as snow and his eyes a lighter brown, but other than that, he still looked fit and healthy. And he was, for the most part. But now his hair was slicked down to his scalp, and there was exhaustion making his lower jaw tremble.
Ewan raised a thin hand in greeting. “Och, dinnae worry yer pretty heid about this old man, Miss Cicilia. I had to run. Ye’ll never guess who I met on the road.”
“Who?” an excited voice asked from the corner. Cicilia glanced over to see the twins huddled together, obviously extremely excited by this unexpected visitor. She considered telling them off for not being in bed, but perhaps it was a good thing they weren’t yet.
“None other than our Laird o’ Gallagher himself,” Ewan said, shaking his head. “Abou’ two or three hour’s ride out, wi’ his Man-at-arms, Nathair Barcley. An’ they were askin’ after the farm, Cicilia. I sent them off in the wrong direction, but they’ll work it out soon enough.”
Cicilia froze in place. She could feel Angelica and George Humphries with their eyes o
n her and heard the twins gasp, but she focused only on Ewan. “Ye ran twenty miles? That must o’ taken ye near four hours, ye crazy old man!”
Ewan grinned. “I keep tellin’ ye I’ve still got life in me yet, lass. It was nae perhaps a full twenty, but aye. I imagine His Lairdship an’ his companion have discovered me wee trick by now. Ye’d better get ready.”
“Jeanie’s gonnae kill me when she finds out ye did this,” Cicilia sighed. “Can ye walk?”
Her best friend was Ewan’s granddaughter, the Humphries’ daughter. She lived with her grandfather in the village and tended the family market stall.
Her parents were quite happy with the arrangement, as it meant there was someone there at home with Angelica’s overly-energetic father. At the same time, they worked at the farm to bring home a good wage between them, and out of loyalty to the O’Donnel name.
Ewan wheezed out a cackling laugh. “Dinnae worry yerself, pet. I’ll survive.”
“Let George take ye home at least, Da,” Angelica entreated. She nudged her husband, who glanced at Cicilia.
“Aye, George will drive ye. Ye can take me wee buggy, I dinnae mind. I dinnae want ye here to face the Laird’s wrath for yer wee joke,” Cicilia told him. She turned to the twins. “Did ye hear all that?”
Both twins’ expressions had brightened considerably. “Ye mean we still get to? Even tho’ it’s the Laird?” Annys asked, hopefully.
Cicilia smirked. “Aye,” she said. “Nae only do ye get to, but I insist ye go all out. Ye think ye can handle it?”
“Aye!” Jamie and Annys both said simultaneously.
