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Even as she spoke, however, she could not help but remember that there was no real family left for them there…or anywhere for that matter.
She and Florence were truly on their own.
***
A week after she and Florence had arrived at Duncan Keep, Elspeth found herself sitting on the same old boulder that had been her favorite spot by the loch where she and William had first met. She had been visiting the spot nearly every day, using the excuse that she just needed to get away from the tense atmosphere of the keep.
After that first awkward dinner, Roger had apologized for his behavior, but Elspeth could tell he was still wary of her and Florence. He and Ellen also made it no secret that they would support a marriage between Florence and their son, but Elspeth was in no way going to force that burden on her daughter after everything she had already been through.
It was not just the current residences of her old home that had her anxious and eager to escape. Word had quickly spread of her return, and they had clansmen visiting every day, wishing to confirm if the rumors about her were true. She felt like a spectacle, and it did not help that some members of the clan were openly hostile toward her about Ruthven’s murder.
It was almost too much for her to take. The loch had become her safe haven. A quiet place for her to sit and think.
That was the only reason she came to that particular spot, she told herself. There was no other reason. None at all.
At least, none that she would ever admit to.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Florence
F
ury burned through her. Florence stood in the great hall of the keep, surrounded by Duncans who had all gathered to discuss the future of their clan. She and her mother had been summoned there that morning under the guise that Roger wished to discuss their plans for their stay. When they had walked into the grand space and found it packed with clansmen, Florence had realized they had been tricked. Her mother’s return had caused more of an uproar than she had intended, and Roger and others were demanding she address them all and explain her intentions.
Florence was starting to understand why her mother had left these people seventeen years ago. She kept catching them giving her rude looks and when they whispered and murmured behind their hands, she knew they were talking about her and her mother.
Her mother stood in the middle of the hall, as though she were on some sort of trial, and Roger and a few other men stood before her as though preparing to pass judgment on her.
“Lady Duncan,” Roger began. “There are a few matters that must be before the clan welcomes ye back fully.”
Florence could tell her mother was furious, but she maintained her composure as she replied, “Whit matters might those be?”
“First is yer daughter,” Roger stated. “She was raised as an McIntewar, but she was never one o’ them. She is a Duncan, at least half so, and her place wi’ in the clan must be secured.”
“And how would ye suggest that happen?” her mother growled. Florence clenched her hands into fists at her sides and fought not to let her temper explode.
“Marriage is the most assured way tae handle such matters,” Roger answered. “If yer daughter were tae marry ma son, Angus, it would ease the minds o’ those who question yer return.”
“And the fact that it would ensure ye were no’ expelled from this keep is just a convenient consequence I suppose?” her mother drily said.
Roger scowled. “I dinnae ken how yer capable of such arrogance, m’lady. After all that ye have done tae put this clan in jeopardy…”
“How have I done that?” Elspeth challenged him. Florence could not help but be impressed by her mother’s boldness as she faced down a room of men attempting to tear her confidence and pride from her.
Silence met her question at first, and it was quickly clear that no one wanted to voice the accusations they threw at her behind her back.
However, someone seemed to gain a spine and shouted out, “Ye murdered Ruthven!”
Emboldened by that one voice, others rose up to join him until the whole room seemed to be shouting at her mother, accusing her of killing the man in cold blood, ruining their clan’s future, and shaming the Duncan name. Her mother stood with a stoic expression, seeming unaffected by their cruel words, but Florence could not contain her own anger quite so well.
She rushed forward to her mother’s side and shouted, “Aye! She killed him! But he deserved it. Have ye all so quickly forgotten that the man murdered yer Laird, ma grandad? Where is yer pride as a clan?”
When she met her mother’s sharp gaze, Florene realized too late that she had just confirmed what might have been only suspicions for some by confirming her mother had indeed killed Ruthven. The hall broke out into a roar as the men in the crowd around them began shouting one over the other.
One man broke away from the crowd to face Florence with a furious glare. He was tall and broad shouldered with a mop of blonde hair and a cleanshaven face.
He pointed a finger at her mother and roared, “We cannae trust this Jezebel or her bastard! She was pregnant before she even lay wi’ Ruthven. She is nothing but a whore, and her daughter is likely nae different!”
