As she walked away, the hall began to fill up but he ate quickly. All he noticed was that the food was hot. It would take a miracle if he could tell anyone how it tasted. Soon, he was off to the stables and on his horse.
* * *
The roads of the village were busy mostly with men, going to the fields with farming tools slung over their shoulders and others roping animals to the pastures. They greeted him but few had time to talk. He had not expected that anyway as they could not give him what he wanted. For that, he needed the village leader, Angus Wallace.
He headed to the far end of the village, where the leader’s house was. While most of the villagers’ houses were made of wood, Angus’ was a mix of dark basalt rock for the foundation, red brick, and wood.
If Leith knew the man as well as he thought he did, Angus would be up and about, probably puttering about in the smokehouse he had or his little carpentry shack. He arrived at the house and hopped off the horse. Making sure to call out first, he opened the gate and led his horse in.
Grass brushed his ankles as he led the horse to a hitching post. Securing him, he went to circle the house to the smokehouse and sure enough, smoke was coming from it. Shaking his head at how the man was a creature of habit, he rapped quickly on the door.
“Enter, Young Lenichton,” a deep voice called through the door.
Slipping inside, he entered and had a lungful of smoked beef, spiked with peppercorn and pimento. His mouth began to water immediately but he reached out to offer his hand. “Ye saw me, eh?”
Angus shook his head as he deboned a leg, “Nay, but I ken yer knock. It's impatient.”
Glancing around he noted the half carcass hanging from the rafter, with seasoned wood jabbed into the flesh. “How have ye been, Wallace?”
“Middling,” Angus said as he wiped his hand. “Things are fair enough. At least we’re nay at war anymore. And the village is peaceful.”
“That’s what I came to ask ye about,” Leith asked. “The villagers. What do they need? I cannae imagine they dinnae need anything as nay one had paid much attention to them from the day Faither got ill.”
Angus frowned deeply. “What do ye mean nay one? Hasnae anyone told ye?”
“About what?” Leith asked. “Did ye swear allegiance to another Laird in six months?”
“Ye might say that,” Angus said as he gestured for Leith to go outside. The sun was getting warmer as they got to the wide back porch. Now, Leith was getting anxious. What did Angus mean by his statement?
“Sir,” Angus said as they sat, “when the Laird fell ill and ye were busy, Mister Cooper took control of the village. He negotiates all the deals for cloth, medicine, ironworks, and all ye can ken of the people need. I haven’t had any part in doing anythin’ in five months. It’s all him.”
Leith’s jaw nearly dropped. “Cooper? As in Nicolas Cooper? Me war chief?”
“Aye,” Angus nodded, his greying auburn hair bobbing with him as his brown eyes went sober. “To be honest, yer going to have a warm time winning the people back from him. When ye had gone to Edinburgh to seek the healer for yer Faither, a band of ousted scoundrels from the north set to attack the village. Cooper got wind of it and ambushed the ambushers instead. Put two hundred of them to the sword without remorse…” Leith was gritting his teeth by the time Angus delivered the last blow. “The villagers take him for the Laird, Sir, nay yer Faither…nor ye.”
17
Trembling with anxiety, Mary carried the tray to the doorway of Laird Lenichton’s room. She had feared this but Lady Lenichton had begged her to do it the other night. She swallowed as one of the men, built like a brick house opened the door for her.
“Easy lass,” the man smiled. “He’s nay dangerous now.”
Sucking a deep breath, Mary entered the room. The man she now knew as Laird Lenichton, Leith’s father, was sitting on a chair and staring out a window. She made to say something but caught herself.
“Ye can put the tray on the bed, lass,” the man said without even looking at her. “Yer the new one, arenae ye, the one who cannae talk.”
He was not looking at her so he did not see her nod. Or, that was what she thought. This time, he did look at her and Mary was stuck staring at a pair of gray eyes that looked too much like Leith’s for her comfort. His gaze was piercing and her breath halted in her chest when his stare went on.
When he finally freed her from his look his eyes flitted to the tray he sighed. “Me wife made that, dinnae she?”
With no other way to answer, Mary nodded.
“No disrespect to me wife lass,” the Laird huffed, “but take this …mush back to the kitchens and get me some real food. Meat, or fish, something filling. I despise porridge.”
Relieved that he had not done anything to make her uncomfortable—nothing like that blue-eyed man, Nicolas Cooper, the man in charge of the troops—she took the tray and turned only to hear him call over his shoulder. “Yer welcome here as long as ye want to stay lass.”
She looked back, but he was facing the window again, and she left back to the kitchens. The head cook met her and shook her head. “I kent he’d nay like that. Thank God, me followed me mind.” Without a pause, she produced a trencher of roasted meats.
As Mary went to take it, the woman shook her head, “I’ll have someone take
