Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

“ G ood evenin’.”

Thora was the last to enter the great hall, though Cillian couldn’t claim she was late. As soon as she had been summoned, she had appeared, entering the grand room with a graceful stride and a soft smile on her lips, which he couldn’t help but find suspicious. Ever since their talk in the gardens, though, Thora had been uncharacteristically agreeable, doing nothing to embarrass him in front of his council or his men and showing no resistance. She mostly kept to herself, but in Cillian’s eyes, even that was a victory.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t prefer this Thora. Even if he managed to avoid this marriage just as he had always wanted, spending whatever time they had left until then in a tentative, peaceful truce was preferable than arguing constantly over every little thing. And if he didn’t manage to avoid the marriage, then a wife with a gentle disposition was all he could ask for.

He couldn’t help but wonder what had brought about the change, though. For all he knew, this was nothing more than a ploy, a way to lull him into a false sense of security, and he was loath to admit it was working. Like this, with her tender smiles and the lack of antagonism, Thora was almost charming.

“Lady MacLeod, welcome,” said Cillian as he gestured at everyone to head to the table. As usual, he took the seat at the head and watched as Thora hesitated for only a moment before she sat on the chair one of the servants pulled out for her—the one to his left, right across from Archibald. This time, she made no effort to sit somewhere else, far from Cillian. Just to have something to say to her, he asked, “How has yer day been?”

“Rather pleasant, thank ye,” Thora said, once again uncharacteristically non-confrontational. Cillian didn’t dare hope just yet, though. Something told him a storm was brewing and would come sooner or later in the form of an argument. “An’ yers? It seems like ye are workin’ even now.”

As Thora spoke, her gaze fell on Archibald, who was looking through a stack of papers even though they were all sitting around the dinner table. It was a far more casual affair than the formal dinner they had had, despite the presence of the elders, but even so, Cillian wished Archibald would have listened when he told him work could wait. He would be lying if he said he found the matter so important that it had to be done while he was trying to enjoy his dinner.

Archibald, of course had different ideas.

“We are beginnin’ tae prepare fer the Yule celebrations,” Cillian told Thora. “It is always a grand holiday fer the people o’ the clan.”

“The preparations are well underway,” said Archibald without looking up from his stack of papers. “Mrs. Selkirk is already workin’ with the maids on the decorations an’ decidin’ on the dinner.”

In the absence of a Lady of the Clan, Mrs. Selkirk had taken over the duties that would normally fall on the lady’s shoulders with the kind of practiced skill and easy confidence that came with years of being the head housekeeper of the castle.

“I’d like tae help,” said Thora cheerfully and Cillian couldn’t help but suspect this was the start of the storm. “If I am tae become the Lady o’ the Clan, then this will be one o’ me duties.”

“Perhaps next year,” said Cillian in the hopes that Thora would let the matter end there. Naturally, he wasn’t so lucky.

“Why?” she demanded, turning a curious gaze at him just as the servants began to bring the food out. “Dae ye doubt I am capable?”

Drumming his fingers against the table, Cillian ignored the warning look Archibald gave him and turned to face Thora instead. “Have ye ever organized a feast afore?”

“Aye,” said Thora indignantly. “Well… nae alone, but I work alongside me siblings whenever we have one.”

“Precisely,” said Cillian. “So perhaps it is best if ye see how Mrs. Selkirk daes it this year an’ then we can discuss next year.”

“But Mrs. Selkirk can help Lady MacLeod,” said Duncan from where he sat next to Archibald, ever the traitor. Cillian dragged his gaze over to him to find him smirking in amusement, as though seeing Cillian struggle like this pleased him immensely.

Next to him, Archibald was also smiling, but at least he had the decency to try and hide it behind a piece of paper.

“Surely, it cannae be so difficult if Archibald can dae it,” Duncan added and it was then that Archibald’s smile faded, quickly turning into a scowl. Were it not for the elders around them, Cillian was certain the two of them would have started a childish argument or, at the very least, some shoving, but as it were, Archibald only glared at Duncan while he gave him a teasing grin.

“Perhaps it would be good for Lady MacLeod tae become acquainted with the customs o’ the clan,” said one of the elders who had been following the conversation. “Duncan is right, Mrs. Selkirk can assist her if needed.”

Many of the elders expressed their assent through nods and hushed whispers. With the council in agreement, there was little Cillian could do to avoid handing over the reins to Thora, even though he was still suspicious of her. If anything, he wondered how the council wasn’t suspicious, considering her previous behavior. Shouldn’t they be wary of how much power they were handing her, he wondered? Or could it be that they were trying to give her a second chance to prove herself?

Maybe I am bein’ too harsh with her. What if she truly wishes tae help?

“Very well,” said Cillian, relenting. “If Miss MacLeod so wishes, she can assist with the feast an’ the plannin’.”

“Excellent,” said Thora in a tone that was a little too enthusiastic for Cillian’s liking, clapping her hands together in delight. “Fer me first request, I wish tae have a feast fer the common folk.”

All eyes, including Cillian’s, were drawn to her at those words. Before long, his councilmen were all talking over each other, all of them protesting the cost of such an endeavor and the impossibility of holding such a feast in the first place, chaos descending over the table. Cillian couldn’t say he was surprised, though; he had known something like this had been coming.

“Enough!” he called, the shouts around him slowly dying down until there was a relative silence over them all. “This isnae feasible. I’m sure ye understand that, me lady.”

“Why would it nae be feasible?” Thora asked, once again feigning ignorance. Cillian was certain by now that every time she seemed simple-minded, it was nothing but a ruse. The woman was much smarter than she wanted people to think. “There will be a hunt, will there nae? There is always a hunt fer Yule in me clan.”

“Aye, o’ course there will be a hunt,” said Cillian. “But I dinnae see how that is relevant.”

“How many animals are usually hunted, me laird?” Thora asked. “Dozens, surely, if all the nobles participate. Or is it perhaps that ye are nae as skilled in a hunt?”

Thora asked her question innocently, but that didn’t blunt the sharpness of her words. Cillian took it as the insult it was meant to be, his eyes narrowing as he faced her.

“I can assure ye I am perfectly skilled,” he said in a flat tone, doing his best to keep his anger at bay. She was simply trying to provoke him and the more enraged he allowed himself to become, the more satisfaction he would end up giving her. “I still dinnae see how this is relevant tae a feast fer the common folk.”

“What ye hunt can be distributed tae them as well,” Thora said simply, giving him a small shrug. “The castle has plenty o’ food fer the feast. Why should we nae share the spoils o’ the hunt with the people?”

“That is outrageous!” one of the elders said, going so far as to stand from his chair in protest. “Such a thing has never happened afore.”

“It could happen now fer the first time,” said Thora with a bright smile, as though the elder’s anger didn’t even register in her mind. “The people will surely be very pleased.”

“Are ye aware o’ how far MacDonald land extends, me lady?” the man asked. “Tae feed so many o’ the common folk would have unprecedented cost! How, precisely, dae ye suggest we ship the perishables tae the other isles?”

“Ach, I’m certain there are lesser nobles on each isle,” Thora said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Dae the nae have their own hunts fer Yule? If the hunts are bountiful, why would they nae share the spoils with the people?”

Cillian recalled what Thora had said the previous day about her desire to help people. It seemed that this was no different and though he could understand the logistic limitations of such a request better than anyone, he also couldn’t help but think it was a noble idea. He had expected to hear some frivolous request from her, something that would simply enrage him with its ostentatiousness, but instead a part of him thought it was not such a bad idea after all.

“I think it could be done,” Archibald said a little timidly, drawing the elder’s attention to himself. “We could send some letters, even arrange some small ships if needed?—”

“Surely, yer nae considerin’ this,” said the elder, before turning his gaze to Cillian. “Me laird, put an end tae this madness.”

Cillian gestured at the man to sit and then waited for him to do so, even though he was reluctant. For a while, he remained silent, pondering his response before finally saying, “Archibald, let us discuss this further later an’ see if we can find a way.”

Once again, there were whispers around the table, this time followed by gasps, but Cillian ignored them all—all but one. Thora, too, gasped in surprise, as though she had never expected him to agree; and perhaps she hadn’t. Her look of shock pleased him greatly, but it didn’t take long for her expression to harden and turn into something else entirely.

“An’ we need a large log tae burn,” she said. “The largest we can find, o’ course. We shall decorate the halls with holly an’ berries an’ many candles tae burn all night an’ day. I’ll have Mrs. Selkirk bring out all the gold so it shines in the candlelight.”

There it is, I kent she would soon turn unreasonable.

“There is nae need fer all this,” Cillian said. “The log will suffice. Some holly too, perhaps. Mrs. Selkrik will ken what tae dae.”

“I think it is absolutely necessary,” said Thora. “Dinnae ye wish fer a grand celebration?”

“It will be grand without ye bringin’ all the gold the castle has in its possession out,” Cillian said. “We would be askin’ tae be robbed.”

Thora turned her inquisitive gaze towards him and smiled curiously. “Are ye claimin’ there are thieves among us, me laird? Dae ye nae trust yer own people?”

Cillian’s gaze hardened as he stared at Thora. He could feel the blood rushing in his veins, sending pulses of white-hot fury through him at the accusation that had brought the entire table to a sudden silence. Everyone’s eyes were on him now as they waited for his response, and he didn’t know what he could say to make this sound any better.

“O’ course I trust them,” he said through gritted teeth. “There is nay question o’ that.”

“Then why did ye claim ye will be robbed?” Thora asked, insisting on the matter. “Dae ye truly think someone might take the gold?”

Under the table, Cillian’s hands curled into fists, his nails biting into his palm, but he hardly felt the pain. Each of his senses was numbed by the anger that threatened to bubble over in front of everyone else and even as he did his best to control himself, he was certain that his thoughts were written plainly on his face. There was no hiding how he felt. There was no hiding his fury or his embarrassment at being accused of such a thing, not with the way his entire face had heated.

“I dinnae think one o’ our people will take the gold,” he said in a measured tone.

“Then dae ye think there will be intruders?” Thora asked, quick as always. “Is the castle nae guarded tae avoid just that?”

“I think perhaps what our laird is tryin’ tae say is that there is nae reason tae risk anythin’ by flauntin’ the gold,” Duncan interrupted, coming to Cillian’s rescue—though a little too late. “There is a reason why every castle keeps the gold hidden, me lady. I’m certain yer braither would be equally reluctant tae show his wealth so brazenly.”

Thora turned a sweet smile towards Duncan, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I see… I think ye may be correct. Well, then there must be even more candles!”

Thora continued to list off all her demands one by one, even recruiting Archibald into noting everything down so that nothing she requested would be forgotten, and she did so without even offering Cillian an apology. After Duncan’s interruption, the rest of the table fell into comfortable conversation, the elders talking among themselves as they enjoyed their dinner. It was only Cillian who couldn’t enjoy any of it, mechanically bringing the food to his mouth and tasting none of it as he half-listened to Thora’s commands.

Each seemed more ridiculous than the last, from the kind of food that would be served at the feast— “We simply must have French dishes!” —to the clothes the soldiers would wear— “They must look as lovely as the nobles! Dress them in purple!”

The more Cillian heard, the more his hand tightened around his fork, until he was white-knuckled and sore. Thora was mocking him. She was trying to embarrass him and anger him and provoke him until he finally broke and caused a scene in front of all the elders and all the servants, but Cillian had decided from the start of the dinner that he would not give her the satisfaction.

Once dinner was over, though, he would have plenty of things to say to her.