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“Like who?” Blair whispered, but the man didn’t say anything as his body sluggishly laid back on the bed. His shoulders heaved while another bout of coughing took over.
“Let me get ye some tea.” Blair turned on her heel and went for the cabinets. “I’m sure something in here can help ye.” She grabbed a jar filled with herbs, not knowing exactly what lay inside, but knowing it was the jar Mamó had often chosen when Blair was sick as a little girl. She ladled out hot water into a mug and mixed the herbs with a spoon, hoping, at the very least, it would calm his nerves.
Blair handed him the tea, watching him guzzle it down quickly before setting it on the nightstand near him. She waited for him to say something or at least explain who she reminded him of, yet all he did was close his eyes. Within mere moments, his breathing became steady.
She watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest while he slept, unable to rest herself due to the storm raging outside and this strange old man in her bed. Wiping the sweat from his brow, she wondered how he knew her Mamó and why he would come after all these years.
* * *
Blair groaned, her hands clinging to the armrest. She had tried to remain awake the whole night, wanting to look after the elderly man residing under her roof to ensure his survival, yet sleep had claimed her. She blinked her eyes open, rubbing them while she looked around the room. The sun had already risen, and light peeked into the room through the small window near the bed.
Her gaze lowered, settling on the elderly man, who watched her with weary eyes from where he lay on the mattress. Concern was etched in his eyes and a sense of familiarity she couldn’t quite place. She recognized his gaze from somewhere, but she couldn’t recall where from. She shifted away from him in her seat, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. How long had he been watching her? she wondered uneasily. She wasn’t used to having guests under her roof, nor was she used to people watching her while she slept.
She slid out of her chair and pushed her tangled hair away from her eyes before grabbing her shawl resting on the table behind her. Swinging it over her shoulders, she asked softly, “How do ye feel, sir?” She did not know what to do with such a man or what she should say. It had been so long since she had the company of others; too long, in fact. Her fingers fidgeted with the fraying ends of the red fabric while she kept her head bowed and her back turned.
“Fine, thanks to ye,” came the elderly man’s rasp.
Blair nodded while edging towards the door. “I’m glad.” She slowly turned around, wondering what more she could do for the man now that he was better. She needed to get the horses out of the barn and into the pasture. She needed to look for any damage the storm may have caused to the cottage or the fields. There was too much to do in such little time, and there was a high likelihood she wouldn’t finish all her duties. This was always the case, making each day drag on and on.
At least she always had something to do, something to keep her from thinking of her pitiful life. It was when she stopped to think of her loneliness when the pain and despair took hold of her, making her crack and break into sobs no one would ever hear.
The man groaned, pushing his body up into a sitting position, and Blair found herself stepping towards him, grabbing his hands and helping him get comfortable. “Ye should take it easy,” she said while positioning the pillows behind his back. “Ye may be better, but I don’t think yer fully fit yet.”
The man chuckled, yet his laughter was short-lived as the coughing took over. Once again, Blair was reminded of her Mamó as she watched him press a hand against his mouth and wipe the spittle from his lips. She grabbed the cleanest towel near the pot at the fireplace, cringing at the dirt she found on the cloth, but it was the only thing she could offer him.
“Thank ye,” said the man while taking it and pressing it against his mouth. “Sadly, I don’t believe I will ever be fit again.”
Thinking of her Mamó reminded her of what the man said before, and she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “How did ye know my Mamó?”
The man sighed. “I didn’t quite know her. Only of her.” He lowered the towel into his lap and stared up at her, his mouth hanging open slightly as he searched for his next words. “It was yer mama I knew. Ye look,” the man paused, and Blair noticed his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Ye look so much like her.” He shook his head, running a trembling hand through his hair. “She used to be a maid at Castle Lachlan.”
“Is that where yer from?”
The man chuckled. “That’s where I live. I am the Laird Duncan MacBean.”
Blair’s eyes widened, and she quickly dropped into a low curtsy. “Laird MacBean,” she whispered harshly while bowing her head, feeling mortified that the laird was in her dismal cottage, and she had hardly provided him more than a simple cup of tea for his troubles. “My apologies, my laird. I did not know ye. I should have-“ She felt a hand on her head, halting her words as he patted her gently like he would a young lad.
“‘Tis fine, Child.”
Blair lifted her gaze, finding Laird MacBean smiling at her kindly. She slowly rose from her curtsy and straightened herself, suddenly feeling even more self-conscious of her person. Her hands smoothed her wrinkled skirts before running through her tangled hair. She inwardly cringed, knowing she probably looked more like a Bean-nighe than the ladies he was accustomed to meeting.
“Let me offer my genuine condolences for the loss of yer Mamó.” Laird MacBean sighed and wiped a hand over his face. “I did not know she had passed. If I had, I would have come sooner.”
Blair edged closer to his side. So many questions pestered her, taunting her. Why did he have need to come? She and her family were nothing more than peasant folk. Why did he have need to check up on her Mamó? How did he even know her name?
It was the one question she was desperate to ask.
Blair parted her lips, the words on the tip of her tongue, yet she couldn’t speak them no matter how much she tried. She hardly knew this man. He was several stations above her. How could she question him?
“It doesn’t matter now,” Laird MacBean said while reaching for his tartan on the floor. “I am here now, and that is what matters.” He forced a smile, tilting his head to the side. “Would ye like to come with me and live a better life in my castle?”
Blair’s mouth hung open. Startled, she stumbled backward into her chair, nearly toppling it over. She grabbed the back of it, partly to keep it stable and partly to stop the trembling in her hands. “Join ye?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. “How could ye ask such a thing? I am nothing more than a commoner. Ye hardly know me at all.”
Laird MacBean nodded his head. “Aye, yer right. ‘‘Tis a crazy thing to ask, and yet I ask it. Wouldn’t ye rather have a better life? Around others, learning to become a proper lady. Perhaps find someone to marry.” Laird MacBean looked around the room, his nose scrunching upwards as he took in the dusty beams and the cluttered pots. “I shan’t imagine ye would prefer to stay here of all places, but ‘‘tis yer choice to make.”
Blair’s brow furrowed as she watched the old laird tie his tartan awkwardly around his waist before removing the blanket from his body. He slowly rose, reaching for his shirt and pulling it over his freckled shoulders. “I still don’t know why ye would want me?” Blair found herself asking, her voice hardly above a whisper.
“Yer a good caretaker. It would be a waste to have yer skills go unused. I could use someone like ye to help me.” His gaze met hers, rooting her to the floorboards, and she found herself unable to look away from those familiar eyes. “I’ve been unwell for the past year. I only ask ye keep my ailment a secret. I don’t need any more prying eyes. I already have that enough as it is.” He grimaced. “The vultures keep swarming around me, wondering when I’ll die, so they can fight over the lairdship. My son, bless his soul, being one of them.”
Her hands grasped her skirts as she watched him reach for his boots, taking out his sgian-dubh for a moment. He looked over the knife before placing it back into his boot and stuffing his foot inside. Blair clenched her jaw as he stood, not knowing what to do. This was her Mamó’s home. It was once her mother’s home. How could she leave the only place that held such memories of joy and wisdom? She had chopped the vegetables with her Mamó at the table. She had stirred the pot. She had learned her letters, learned how to ride a horse in the pastures just outside her home.
And her Mamó had passed away on that very bed.
Truly, there was nothing for her here: nothing but pain and loneliness. If she were to stay, she would continue living out her days, wondering what could have come to pass. She straightened her back, jutting out her chin and hoping she appeared more refined in the laird’s eye.
“I will go with ye.”
