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Kenna scratched her head. ‘And Rory is…?’
Monnine smiled. ‘Rory is the best friend of Conall’s father, Duncan Campbell. In Duncan’s absence, Rory stands in his place, and so we call him Laird.’
‘Ah, I see. Conall did explain this to me, I think, but there was so much to take in when we arrived, I could not get my mind around it.’
‘I can explain it if you like.’
Kenna nodded, and Monnine came and sat on the edge of the bed. How lovely she was, with her red-blonde hair and luminous amber eyes. Kenna felt small and grubby in comparison. Monnine started talking in a gentle voice, and Kenna tried to concentrate.
‘Duncan Campbell, Conall’s father, is a powerful man and Laird of Clan Campbell here and Laird of Clan MacLeod over at Cailleach Castle. He trusts Rory like his own brother, and why wouldn’t he, for Rory is a very fine man in every way. Between them, they share the burden of ruling two clans. Duncan was away in London when Conall disappeared and has returned in great haste to search for him. Word will have been sent to Cailleach Castle, so I expect Duncan to arrive soon to be reunited with his son.’
‘I see,’ said Kenna, with a sinking heart. More fine family members to meet. It would be an ordeal, for Duncan Campbell sounded intimidating at the very least.
A log rolled on the fire, and Monnine turned to tend to it. ‘I am so glad Conall is returned to us. He was kind to me when I first came to Dunslair a few months ago. He and Rory stood up for me and kept me safe.’
‘Safe? From what?’
‘That is a long story and one I am not going to tell now, for today, my task is to look after you.’
‘I am braw. I don’t need looking after.’
Monnine’s stunning eyes bored into her. ‘I think that you do. I think that you are frightened and alone, that everything feels strange and uncertain. I know because, when I first came here, I felt the same. Kenna, I know what it is to be alone and not belong somewhere. Most of my life has been like that. But if you would allow me, I would be a friend for you here and, should you ever need comfort, you can call on me for it.’
‘That is very kind of you. Do you not have family here?’
‘No, I have no family…none that wants me, that is.’
Kenna struggled with what to say. This was an unsettling conversation to be having with a stranger. ‘Then we are the same Monnine, for I doubt my father cares less that I am gone, and he will not search long for me,’ she replied.
‘Then we are both orphans of sorts.’ Monnine smiled.
‘Aye, orphans together.’
‘If you feel better, we can go for a walk around Dunslair and the castle gardens. Some fresh air might make you feel better.’
***
Hours later, Kenna stood in the herb garden in cold sunshine as Monnine tore clumps of carrots and onions from the soil, brushing the dirt off and loading her basket, already groaning with vegetables hardy enough to have survived winter’s frosts.
‘I can help you with that,’ said Kenna, though how she’d manage to bend to do it, God knows.
‘No you can’t. You will get dirty,’ said Monnine, frowning.
For someone who had seemed timid at first sight, Monnine could be quite forceful. After several hours traipsing around the castle, Kenna had discovered that her new acquaintance was a good deal tougher and bossier than first impressions would suggest. Though she didn’t mind it as she was sure it was kindly meant.
What she did mind were the tight stays Monnine had forced her into, along with a lovely yellow dress which she was terrified of spilling something on. It was far too fine for her. She was not used to such things. Damn the stays. They cut into her ribs and waist. A body couldn’t breathe, for goodness sake. How on earth was she supposed to work or sit a horse all trussed up like this? And these shoes were not suited to a muddy garden, and they pinched her toes. Thankfully she had managed to fend Monnine off from styling her hair once they had washed it, though it had been subjected to a painful brushing. It now hung loosely down her shoulders, and it smelled of roses and lavender when the wind wafted it against her face. She pulled her plaid around her tighter. The sun was going down, and there was a nip in the air.
‘I feel useless, Monnine.’
‘You are not useless. You are resting. Come let’s get these to the kitchens,’ she said, looping her arm through Kenna’s.
‘Ladies!’ A warm voice shouted at them from across the garden. A tall, smiling man with hair the colour of wheat was approaching in a rush and with a slight limp. Kenna felt the grip on her arm tighten like a vice. She glanced at Monnine, who swallowed hard and looked a bit feverish.
‘This is Rory, our Laird,’ she whispered.
‘You must be Kenna, Conall’s rescuer,’ said the man. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Rory Mor Campbell, and I give you my hearty thanks for what you did for Conall. He is a good deal of trouble, but I am glad he is back with us.’
‘T’was nothing really.’
