Chapter 9

"Are ye sure we need to pack all this?" Florie asked unhappily as she peered over the stack of dresses piled up next to the

chests.

"Those are not the gowns I'm taking with me," Annella admitted solemnly. "That pile is the gowns that are too frayed or worn

to take to MacKay."

Florie's eyebrows rose, and then her gaze slid to the one dress lying by itself. "Ye're no' thinkin' to take the blue one

with ye, are ye? 'Tis stained."

Annella rolled her eyes at the reminder. As if she could forget that. The sky-blue gown had been her favorite of all the new

gowns she'd brought with her to her wedding and new life. But the first time she'd worn it, Lady Eschina had "accidentally"

knocked over a goblet and spilled wine all over her. Sitting back on her heels now, Annella frowned and admitted, "I was going

to try again to get the stain out."

"I've tried, ye've tried, and even old Maggie tried to remove the wine stain directly after it happened," Florie reminded

her gently. "'Twill no' come out."

"Right," Annella muttered with defeat, and then shook her head unhappily. "None o' me gowns is suitable fer wearin' in company."

"Nay," Florie agreed, and couldn't resist adding, "As I've told ye repeatedly, ye need to ha'e new gowns made."

"Aye," Annella agreed miserably. That would mean a delay to her being able to visit her family, but she simply couldn't arrive

at MacKay with naught but rags on her back.

"Are ye sayin' ye're willin' to ha'e new gowns made?" Florie asked carefully, obviously having trouble believing it. Annella

could hardly blame her. The maid had been trying to convince her to get new gowns made for at least the last three years of

her six-year marriage without result.

Annella's gaze slid over the old, worn gowns in a pile and she sighed dejectedly. She didn't want to show up to her childhood

home looking like a beggar. Her parents would be outraged and blame Eschina and Gaufrid, and while neither of them had been

particularly welcoming since William's leaving—all right, Eschina had been positively awful—the point was, they were not at

fault for the state of her wardrobe. At least not directly. She had been in charge of the coffers and their contents these

last six years. She could have spent the coin and made the time to repair her wardrobe with a dress here or there. But she

hadn't, and now it was a problem. Annella wanted to visit her mother for advice, but would be ashamed to arrive in any of

the gowns she owned. She needed gowns befitting a lady before she would go.

"Aye," Annella said finally, and Florie fairly leaped to her feet, suddenly buzzing with excitement.

"This is wondrous!" her lady's maid exclaimed, hurrying for the door. "News came yesterday that the travelin' cloth merchant

was at Sutherland. I'll send a lad with a message to him, requestin' he stop here fer some trade. Oh, this is grand!"

Annella watched her go with some amusement. The maid was so excited you'd think she was the one getting new gowns. Her gaze

moved to the stack of old gowns again and she grimaced slightly. She really had let her wardrobe go these last years. But

she simply hadn't had time to bother about new gowns. Now, she supposed she did. In fact, she had become so efficient at running

things when she'd been burdened down with the chores of chatelaine, laird and healer, that now that the tasks of the laird

had been taken off her hands, Annella found herself with a little too much time. Not a lot, but enough that she didn't need

to rush about so much and had a moment here and there to herself. But time to herself meant time for unwanted thoughts to

creep in. Like worries about her new marriage, new husband and the new feelings he inspired in her.

Unfortunately, those feelings were lust and fury. The lust she didn't mind so much. Passion was about the only thing she was

enjoying about marriage. The fury though... Annella stood to move to the window.

Leaning against the deep ledge, she closed her eyes and tipped her face up to let that day's breeze brush over her cheeks. It cooled her skin. Unfortunately, it did not do much for the sudden fit of temper she was suffering. Her husband was a dolt. She had run Gunn for six years and had done it so successfully that she'd earned the respect of her new people. Unfortunately, her husband couldn't show her the same respect. Two days later she was still fuming over the fact that when she'd pointed out to Graeme that he should have spoken to someone before simply believing Dauid and going after the Morgans, he'd agreed and said, Aye, he should have spoken to Angus. Angus! Not her, but her previous, and now his, first.

She'd wanted to throttle him. Instead, she'd turned her horse and ridden away for fear of doing him some injury in front of

their men.

Sighing, Annella turned her head so that her cheek rested against the cool stone framing the window. She had decided at the

feast following their wedding that she should travel home to visit her family. She missed them and had only realized how much

when she'd thought she would soon be home with them. But now she had a secondary reason for the trip. Annella needed advice

from her mother on how to deal with a husband who obviously didn't respect her intelligence or abilities. Her mother, Annabel

MacKay, was the smartest woman she knew. She also managed Annella's big, strong, terse father with a deft hand. The two never

argued that she saw, yet her mother always seemed to get her way. Annella wanted her to teach her how she did it. She wanted

a marriage as happy and satisfying as the one her parents shared.

"Have ye spoken to Nella about her planned visit to MacKay?"

Graeme scowled at that question from his brother-in-law, mostly because he had not had the conversation. It had been four days since the interaction with Morgan where he'd learned that she planned on traveling

home to MacKay for a visit. He had intended to confront her on the matter, but somehow, every time he got around his wife,

every thought in his head tumbled out, and he found himself doing his best to get them both out of their clothes for a different

tumbling. The damned woman had bewitched him or something. That was the only explanation he could see for why he found himself

following his cock whenever near her.

Rather than admit any of that, Graeme growled, "Why are ye still here, Payton? I thought by now ye'd ha'e headed home to give

yer parents the news o' me brother's death, and yer sister marryin' me."

Payton shrugged that away without concern. "I gave one o' the men who traveled from MacKay with me a message while we were

on the ship to Dundee and ordered him to carry it to MacKay once we landed. He was one of the first to disembark when we came

ashore. No doubt he reached MacKay around the same time as we reached Gunn."

Pursing his lips he added, "O' course, that message only said that William was dead. I did no' ken ye'd be marrying Annella

at the time. Still, by now, my parents have probably packed up half the castle and are traveling here to tend to Annella."

Eyeing him sideways he continued, "No doubt they expect to carry her away with them. I'm no' sure what they'll think when

I tell them that ye compromised Nella and I had to force the two o' ye to wed."

"Ye did no' ha'e to force me to do aught," Graeme snapped. "It was yer sister ye had to order to it."

"I still can no' believe she fought marryin' ye like she did," Teague commented, sounding more amused than disbelieving.

Graeme scowled at the taunt. It was a bit of a sore spot for him. He'd wanted the lass on first seeing her, or perhaps it

was fairer to say, on first hearing her bellowing at Raynard. 'Twas of no consequence, he thought. The point was, he'd decided

pretty quickly he wanted her to wife. She, on the other hand, had had to be dragged to the altar kicking and screaming. Not

literally, of course. She'd walked there silent and grim on her brother's arm. But it had been more than obvious to one and

all that she wasn't overjoyed to be marrying him. It was then he'd determined to woo her.

The fact that he had the horse behind the cart on this didn't bother Graeme. Most men barely met their future wives before

the wedding and had to do their wooing after the ceremony if they wanted a happy, cooperative wife. So, woo her he would.

The problem was, he had no better idea how to do that with Annella than he would with more delicate and fragile women. How

did most husbands woo their wives?

Sadly, none of the three men around him could answer that question. None of them were married. Mayhap he should have a chat with his father, Graeme considered, but then shook his head. His father had obviously done a piss-poor job of the matter himself after marrying Graeme's mother. At least, that was his guess based on the fact that his mother had loathed his father as far back as he could recall. Although, honestly, it did seem a mutual feeling. His father had never seemed to much like his wife either.

"Aye," Symon said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. "After years o' watchin' women throw themselves at yer feet at every

turn, Lady Annella's reticence was somewhat o' a surprise."

"Women did no' throw themselves at me feet," Graeme growled with irritation. "At least no more than they did fer you two,

and that was jest because they kenned we were successful and had the coin to pay them."

"Ah," Symon cried out, clutching his chest. "Stop! Ye wound me with yer words. I believed all those lasses with their claims o' undyin' devotion and love."

Graeme snorted at the words and opened his mouth to give a sharp retort, but paused as he spotted the wagon being led into

the bailey. "Is that the cloth merchant?"

The other three men turned to look where his attention was fixed.

"Looks like it," Teague said with a shrug.

"Aye. The bolts o' fabric sticking out the back rather give it away," Payton said dryly.

"Aye," Graeme agreed, thoughtfully.

"What are ye thinkin'?" Symon asked, amusement tinging his voice. "Ye got that ‘I've a fine idea' look to yer face."

"I'm thinkin' I should buy Annella some cloth," he admitted, and then added, "As lady, she should be dressed in the finest

raiment, yet every gown she wears appears to be fit fer nothin' but the rag pile."

"I had noticed," Payton said solemnly.

"Hmm," Teague murmured, and then said, "However, I think yer wife beat ye to it. I was in the great hall a couple o' days ago when yer lady wife's maid came down to send one o' the lads to Sutherland to ask the cloth merchant to stop in once done his commerce there."

Graeme stiffened at the words and then straightened his shoulders and thrust his chest out. "Well, she'll no' be buyin' anything.

I shall do it fer her. In fact, I'll buy e'ery last bit o' cloth the man has. She'll ne'er again wear frayed or worn gowns.

That should please her."

Positive he'd found a way to woo his new bride, Graeme headed for the merchant.

"'Twas verra kind o' yer husband to buy ye all this cloth," Florie said tentatively. "I'm sure he was tryin' to be thoughtful."

Annella merely grunted at Florie's comment, afraid to open her mouth lest she reveal her true opinion of her idiot husband and the asinine idea he'd had the day before of buying every stitch of cloth the cloth merchant possessed. Every time she looked at the stacks of cloth he'd had the men pile up in their bedchamber, Annella wanted to gnash her teeth. In her mind, all she saw was the coin they must have cost. Coin she and the people of Gunn had worked tirelessly to build up over the last six years. Coin wasted, since she couldn't use half of the cloth purchased. Not just because there was so much of it, but because half of the fabrics were not colors she would ever wear. Some because, with her complexion, they would make her look sallow and sickly, and others because they were just plain ugly.

"It was kind," Florie insisted, apparently unhappy with her lack of enthusiasm.

Mouth tightening, Annella set her sewing aside and stood to cross the room and open the shutters of a window to let some fresh

air in. She didn't know if it was the cloth or the room itself, but something smelled displeasing to her.

Probably the rush mats, she decided as she inhaled the fresh air now pouring into the room. It had been a while since she'd

had the rush mats removed and fresh ones made to replace them, Annella realized as she moved to open the second window. She

supposed she'd have to see to that soon, she thought as she pulled the shutters open on this window. Annella froze with the

shutter not quite fully open when something large flashed past outside. She blinked, both surprised and bewildered, but then

the sounds of shouts and screams had her leaning to peer out the window.

Annella's eyes widened incredulously as she took in the scene below. Her husband and brother were lying just inches from a large stone that hadn't been in the bailey the last time she'd looked, and everyone else in the courtyard appeared to be rushing toward them with concern. Biting her lip, Annella peered over the two men, but when they began to move and she was assured they were fine, she turned her attention back to the stone. It was the size of a small cow, but probably weighed twice what a cow would. Recalling that something large had flown past the window as she'd opened the shutters, she decided it must be a merlon from the battlements and leaned out to peer upward.

Her eyes widened incredulously as she spotted someone hanging from the wall where the merlon used to be. It took a moment

before she recognized that it was Dauid dangling there, legs kicking, hollering his head off. Cursing, Annella withdrew from

the window even as the people below began to exclaim with alarm at the precarious position her brother-in-law was in.

Ignoring Florie's questions as to what was happening, Annella pushed away from the ledge and rushed from the bedchamber.

The stairs at the end of the hall led up to the battlements, and she hurried to them. Annella had no idea what she would do

once on the wall. She knew there was no way she would be able to pull Dauid back up onto the battlements by herself, so was

relieved when she pushed through the door at the top of the stairs and saw that two soldiers had already reached him and were

pulling him back up onto the parapet.

Sighing with relief, she crossed to the men as they set Dauid on his feet, holding him by each arm to be sure he was steady

and wouldn't tumble off the battlements again.

"Oh, Nellie," Dauid cried on spotting her. "Thank goodness ye're here. I nearly fell to me death. 'Twas awful."

"Aye, I saw," Annella said quietly, her gaze sliding over his flushed face and then taking in the fact that he appeared a

little shaky on his feet. Not a surprise after the shock he'd had, she supposed. "What are ye doin' out here, Dauid? And what

happened?"

"Oh." He sighed the word miserably. "I woke up feelin' a bit better this afternoon and thought some fresh air might speed me healin' along, so came up to walk the wall. But I guess I overestimated me strength. I'd no' gone far when a dizzy spell came o'er me. I leaned against the wall to steady meself, but then it suddenly was just no' there and I was tumblin'. Fortunately, I managed to catch hold o' the edge and hang on until help came." He smiled with gratitude at the two soldiers still on either side of him, and then frowned slightly and said, "I hope no one was hurt by the fallin' bit o' wall."

Annella almost snorted at that description. The boulder that had fallen had been more than a "bit o' wall." But before she

could respond, Ludan, the man on Dauid's left, said, "Nay. Laird Graeme would ha'e been. Fortunately, Payton MacKay saw the

boulder falling and managed to push our laird out o' the way."

"Aye," Johnne, the soldier on Dauid's right, agreed. "Yer brother saved yer husband's life and that's certain, m'lady."

Annella's eyes widened at this news. While she'd seen the two men lying on the ground close to the boulder, she hadn't really

put together what that meant. Especially once she'd spotted Dauid hanging from the wall and in immediate peril. She was now

a little confused at the sudden cacophony of emotions rioting within her at the realization that her dolt of a husband had

nearly been killed.

"Husband?"

Annella forced her emotions aside at that weakly spoken word from Dauid and glanced to him. Seeing the wounded expression in his eyes, she sighed inwardly. She'd known the lad had feelings for her. He'd pretty much followed her around like a puppy for the last six years. He'd even professed his love a time or two until she'd told him it was improper. She was a married woman. His sister-in-law. It was a sin for him to say such things to her, to even think them, and he should never mention such again. That had prevented his repeating the words, but hadn't stopped his calf eyes following her all the damned time. She'd begun finding tasks and chores for him to perform just to get him out from under her feet.

Now, she eyed the younger man and thought a bit resentfully that this news was something her husband should have imparted

to his brother. And why hadn't he? she wondered with irritation. It had been near a week since they'd wed. Just as Annella

thought that, Graeme's voice sounded behind her.

"We married four days ago, Dauid. I meant to tell ye, and jest forgot."

"We married five days ago," Annella corrected a bit sharply, not even bothering to look at the man. Forcing a smile for Dauid's

benefit, she added, "The day after ye arrived home."

She stepped around Dauid then to move over to the spot where the section of wall had fallen away, and frowned as she took

it in. The missing portion of wall was huge. It was hard to believe the mere weight of a man leaning against it could dislodge

such a large chunk of the merlon, until she noticed the grooves in the mortar where the stone had rested. The merlon hadn't

just loosened on its own over time; someone had helped it along.

"How the devil did this happen?" Graeme asked suddenly, stepping up beside her and taking her arm as if afraid she might tumble out through the opening and fall to her death. Before Annella could respond, Johnne said, "Yer brother said he came out fer air, overexerted himself, leaned against the wall to rest and it suddenly just gave way."

In the next moment, Graeme urged her back a step or two and then released her and bent to examine the grooves she'd noticed.

"He's lucky we got to him quick as we did, m'laird. God's truth he was hangin' on by the tips o' his fingers and those were

slippin' when we grabbed him."

Grunting, Graeme stood and glanced around, then shifted his gaze to Johnne in question. The other soldier and Dauid were now

gone.

"Ludan thought he'd best see yer brother back to his room ere he fainted," Johnne explained. "The lad was shaken up and swayin'

on his feet."

The word brother made Annella wonder where hers was. He'd been with Graeme below, and knowing him, she would have expected him to accompany

her husband up to see what had happened. The fact that he hadn't had her suddenly worrying. "Where's Payton?"

"Probably on his bed by now," Graeme said with a faint amusement she only understood when he added, "Last I saw, Teague was

carryin' him there while Symon went in search o' you."

"Carrying him?" Annella asked with alarm. "What—?"

"He's fine. He just twisted his ankle, or set it wrong as he propelled us both out o' the way o' the boulder. He could no' set weight on it when we went to get up. But—"

Annella didn't hear anything else. She was already hurrying for the door back into the keep to find her brother.

"Leg up," Annella said firmly as she returned to the solar where Florie and her brother were. They'd all three been in there

since the accident that had injured her brother's ankle just after the nooning. Keeping Payton from trying to join the other

men outside was hard enough, but keeping him in a chair with his leg resting on the small table she'd put in front of him

was even worse. However, he'd done some serious damage to his ankle. It was presently twice the size it normally was and obviously

pained him.

"The edge o' the table's cutting into the back o' me leg," Payton complained with irritation, though he did set his leg back

on the table.

Changing direction, Annella moved to the rolls of material that had been stacked against the wall. She picked one that was

yellow and purple that she found particularly ugly and quickly unrolled a good bit of it. She cut off the long length of cloth,

then folded it over and over and set it under her brother's leg for him. "Better?"

"Aye," he grumbled reluctantly, and then frowned at her and said, "Yer face looked like a dog's arse when ye came in. Is there

a problem?"

Annella's mouth immediately tightened with the same agitation she'd been feeling since visiting her father-in-law's room and finding poor Bea tending to her father-in-law. Alone. It seemed that Graeme had carried through with his threat to remove his mother from the castle. Lady Eschina and her maid, Agnes, had been moved to a cottage in the village.

Unfortunately, her husband hadn't fully considered the effects of such a move. Lady Eschina and Agnes had done more than just

torture the poor man. They'd also tended to everything from feeding to bathing him, including seeing to his privy needs. Mind

you, they'd used those tasks as other ways to torture the man, by withholding food when annoyed with him, or refusing to let

him use the glazed earthenware bedpan Annella had had made for him until it was extremely uncomfortable for him and so on.

At least they had before she'd assigned Bea to stay in the chamber with them to help. They'd known the maid would report their

misdeeds to her should they pull anything like that in her presence, so had tempered such behaviors. At least when Bea was

there.

Annella had used the excuse that she worried that they must be exhausted and would welcome aid in helping to tend to her father-in-law

to account for Bea's presence. But she could hardly order Bea or any other maid to remain in the bedchamber at night with

the couple. What need was there for a third pair of hands when the couple was sleeping?

Speaking of Bea, as Graeme had removed his mother and her maid from the chamber, he'd ordered Bea to continue tending to his father's needs. Unfortunately, he hadn't thought to arrange for more than the one maid. One woman could not do it all on her own. Even Eschina and Agnes had frequently needed aid; another maid to run the meals, medicinals and other items up for the three of them, as well as strong older lads to help get him from the bed to the bath while they changed the bedding. Even turning him onto one side or the other to help prevent bedsores was almost impossible for one person to accomplish on their own. But Bea wasn't in a position to ask for help from the other servants. She'd been trying to do everything by herself, poor thing.

Annella had felt horrible when she realized the situation and had immediately arranged for a second maid to join her, and

two more to replace them in the evenings. She'd also given them permission to send for a couple of men to help when there

was actual lifting and moving needed.

Annella was still annoyed that Graeme hadn't thought of that, or at least spoken to her so that she could think of it for

him. The man just stomped about doing one thing after another without considering the consequences, or finding out what was

needed by those who did know. She supposed that was a warrior's trait: riding into battle and cutting down one enemy after

another with little concern or thought. He appeared to handle the things that came up at Gunn in the same way, which was damned

annoying when it caused issues.

"Is there?" Payton asked.

When Annella pulled herself from her thoughts and turned a blank expression his way, her brother repeated his earlier question.

"Is there a problem to explain your sour mood?"

Sighing, she forced the memory and her angry thoughts away and simply said, "Nay."

It was a bald-faced lie, and she knew her brother would recognize that, but he didn't push the matter and simply shifted restlessly

in his seat as he asked, "How long am I goin' to have to rest me ankle?"

"Until the swelling goes down and ye can put weight on it without it paining ye," Annella said mildly as she reclaimed her

seat.

"Well, how long will that be?" Payton asked impatiently.

Annella shrugged and picked up her sewing. "Two or three days or more."

She tried to hide her amusement when the answer made her brother curse. Honestly, men were the worst when it came to any kind

of ailment or injury. Half the time they acted like wee bairns, and the other half they were impatient to be up and about

and prolonging their issues. She'd take a sick woman over a sick man any day.

"Is it no' nearly time fer the sup?" Payton asked irritably.

"Nearly," she agreed, and then glanced at him and raised her eyebrows. "Would ye rather we bring food up to ye, or for one

o' the men to carry ye below?"

"He'll be carried and like it."

Annella glanced around sharply at those words to see her husband crossing the room with purposeful strides. He didn't even

slow, but walked straight to her brother and scooped him up as if he weighed nothing.

"Shut it," he said sharply when Payton began to squawk in protest. "Ye hurt yerself savin' me life. 'Tis only fair I be yer

legs til yer back on yer own."

When Payton reluctantly fell silent, Annella stood and hurried to the door to open it. Graeme hadn't closed it, but he'd opened it with enough energy that it had hit the wall and then bounced back so that it was only ajar a few inches. Annella pulled it wide for her husband to carry her brother through and then gestured for Florie to follow and the two of them trailed after her husband to the stairs and down them.

One glance at the great hall told Annella that she'd misjudged the hour when she'd said it was nearly time for the sup. It

was obviously past time for the meal. Teague, Symon, Angus and Dauid were already at the high table. It seemed her brother-in-law

was feeling better after his near fall, Annella thought, as she let her gaze slide over the other tables in the large room.

Every single one appeared full. Thinking Florie would have some trouble finding space to sit for the meal, she slowed and

glanced back to cast the maid an apologetic look.

Florie merely smiled and waved away her concern. "Ne'er fear, m'lady, I'll squeeze in somewhere."

Relaxing a little, Annella nodded and continued down the stairs. Graeme was moving quickly though, and the brief delay had

her arriving at the table after he'd already settled her brother and taken his own seat. Despite the irritation that claimed

her on seeing Dauid there, Annella managed a smile of greeting for her brother-in-law as she took up position between him

and her husband, but her gaze was moving along the table in search of Florie. When she saw that the maid had found a spot

to squeeze into between two of her friends, she relaxed a little and finally addressed Dauid.

"'Tis good ye feel well enough to join us at table," she murmured, not adding that it wasn't a surprise. His wound was healing nicely with a scab already formed. Although, she supposed he wasn't fully healed if weakness had claimed him on the battlements. That thought brought concern to her face and she commented, "I hope ye had a servant walk ye below, Dauid. It would no' be good did ye grow weak or dizzy on the stairs and take a tumble."

Annella didn't really hear his response. She'd picked up her goblet as she spoke and brought it to her lips, but the scent

of it made her pause and raise it to her nose instead to inhale more deeply. The moment she did, she felt her blood run cold.

"This ale tastes off."

Graeme's words had her head turning sharply and then she snatched his mug from him and lifted it to her nose. Cursing, she

set both drinks on the table and barked, "Poison," as she launched to her feet and turned on him.

Graeme's eyes widened in shock, though she suspected more from the way she suddenly caught his head, tipped it back and began

to try to push her fingers to the back of his tongue.

"Wife, what the hell," he muttered, catching her by the wrists to move her hands away from his face.

"Ye must purge," Annella said, not bothering to hide her panic. "Our drinks were poisoned. We must make ye toss up what ye

drank or it'll kill ye."

Graeme met her gaze briefly, and then cursed, released her and turned away to stick his own fingers down his throat.