(Book Three: Mistress MacKenzie; Chapter Three: These Are the Days; 6: And Bright)
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Book Three; Chapter 3.6: And Bright
āCan I ask you something nosy and impertinent?ā
Letitiaās laugh came so fast it startled them both, and gave Leah the sneaking suspicion that Letitia was only surprised sheād asked permission first.
But she waved a hand, saying āgo on, then.ā
Leah took a breath. āDo you enjoy, um,ā being on display āall of the entertaining, and wrangling visitorās wives, and everything? You hardly take a night for yourself.ā
She hadnāt since before the Advent started, and even the worst extrovert had to need some time alone. But Letitia only shrugged minutely, as if she barely noticed. āIāll be glad for a rest, itās true,ā she said, ābut once the plans are laid, ātis no great matter to see them through.ā
Mrs. Fitz runs the tightest ship in the highlands, so that might be true enough. But Leah was beyond over it. Hogmanay guests had been arriving by the cartload for days now ā more than the wedding, more even than Michaelmas. The solar could hardly hold another set of skirts, and men from the lesser families were already bedding down in the Great Hall. And that wasnāt even counting the locals, whoād been wandering in and out since before Christmas.
The kitchen crew had been prepping enough food to stuff the hold of the Irish Rover, and Leah had a near-constant refrain of āfive million dogs, six million hogs, seven million barrels of porterā running in her head, and had started thinking wistfully of her early days at Leoch, when the most complicated thing she had to handle was a turnip (and her entire life turned upside-down by a rock, but whatever).
Still, helping to keep the chaos organized kept her mind from . . . anything else that might crop up around the holidays.
Theyāll take the tree down on New Yearās Day, while the black-eyed peas are simmering. I hope they put all the ornaments back in the right slots; Mom always gets impatient with it. Sheād spent days labeling the boxes with whoād given what to who when, going back decades like she was preparing, even then, for a time when no one would be left who remembered or cared.
She took sip of chai (Mrs. Fitz had taken to making it every few days ā Columās request) to hide the tiny wobble in her lip, and resolved to hunt down Janet-with-the-good-gossip once the MacKenzies of Coul arrived; sheād be good for a distracting load of chatter ā excuse you, family history ā and honestly, Leah ought to be writing that down. Someone would definitely want that, some day; some MacKenzie descendent, pouring over half-crumbled scraps of paper trying to compile a genealogy or something.
But she focused up enough to go over the dayās plans: the last of the cleaning and when to handle the ritual carrying-out of the hearth ashes, which guests hadnāt yet arrived, how many more pallets theyād need for the Hall, how many joints of which animals were roasting, and whether one million bags of the best Sligo rags would be enough for all the tenants whoād visit tomorrow.
Task One completed, she thought, mentally checking off her to-do list. Have a good breakfast and game-plan with Letitia.
Task Two: run through the guest chambers like my tailās on fire and help Mrs. Fitz make sure theyāre all ready for todayās arrivals. She dabbed at her mouth and set her napkin aside. āWell, Iām off to do the thing,ā she said, offering Letitia a little salute, which was accepted with the faintest of eyerolls.
Task Three: check on Eleanor and Margaret.
Leah paused in the corridor, peeking across the bustling Great Hall to check on the girls. Theyād been seconded to Mrs. Fitz, to oversee the placement of extra trestle tables for the eveningās feast, a job that Eleanor took to with a seriousness that surprised Leah until she realized that Apprentice Iain kept passing through the Hall, running messages for the steward. But hey, whatever got the job done. Itās not like sheād never tried the ālook at me; Iām very busy and importantātactic of attraction. It just never actually worked.Ā
It might have worked on Dougal, she thought, pausing mid-step. God knows I wasn't trying to attract him, but I guess some men like . . . efficient women who aren't interested in them? Who knows what weirdness lurks in the hearts of men?
The shadow knows.
She shook her head. Girl, you're no better. That man has committed felonies. Against you. And you like him.
Why shouldn't I? He keeps me warm. And what good would it do to hate him now, when I can't get away? I'll nurse my grievances in the dark until I can run again.
Just make sure you can run again. Don't forget who he is.
Apprentice Iain crossed the Hall again, and Eleanor offered him a bright smile that he completely failed to notice. You better hope he never does, baby girl; your father will string that young man up by his thumbs. Maybe the MacKenzies of Hilton would bring Young Alec again; that might distract Eleanor sufficiently from any unwise matches.
Margaret watched her sister with no small amount of amusement, as well, and Leah wondered if any young man had ever caught her eye. Or any person at all. She must expect to marry; sheād been trained well to running a household and liked children quite a lot, as far as Leah could tell ā she could always seem to spare a moment for Hamish, and once Leah had spotted her helping the boy slip away from his tutor, a mischievous little spark in her eyes that turned to mild panic when sheād realized she was caught.
Leah had pushed her glasses up on top of her head and blinked owlishly. āMy goodness, I canāt see a thing,ā she said, and caught the ghost of Margaretās smile as she walked on by.
But the longer Margaret took to show an interest in marriage, the better for her. Theyād need to get through the ā the everything that was coming, and see what was still standing, before she ought to even think about settling down.
She caught Eleanorās eye as the girl walked the length of the Hall, checking the space between tables meant to hold nearly double the usual number of diners. āYou could feed a small army here,ā Leah said.
āThe servants can pull out the middle row quick, when itās time for dancing,ā Eleanor responded quickly, as if sheād expected criticism. āAnd the men can push the rest against the walls like we do any other time.ā
āWell done,ā Leah said, watching Eleanorās chin come up and cheeks redden in reluctant pride as a pair of scullions came barreling past them, buckets in hand.
Task Four: stay out of the way of any servants, who were fighting dust like angels and demons at the last trumpet.
The maids had been scrubbing their hands raw since Yule; even the higher ranks were pitching in and trying to make whole castle shine like the top of the Chrysler Building. Sheād seen Ceana threatening some poor hall-boy within an inch of his life if any speck of dust were tracked onto the bedchamber rugs. Bridget had commandeered the kitchen lads to carry mop-water to all corners of the keep; she had them running up and down the stairs like a very small fire brigade. Mrs. Fitz held the center like the eye of a hurricane, and Leah got the feeling that she was taking careful notes on who to elevate next.
No one needed an early-modern PIP, as far as Leah could tell, except for Dougalās fighting men. They were already into the whisky, singing god-only-knew-what as they piled up dead branches just beyond the courtyard gates for the bonfire.
Girl, everyone except you knows what theyāre singing. With a whack fol-a-diddle and a thinly-veiled metaphor.
At least they had the sense ā or the lingering sobriety ā to stay off the not-veiled genre of songs, with guests and tenants and villagers all around.
And there was Donald with them, and Dougal, tossing branches with more enthusiasm than accuracy, and singing, too. Dougal could carry a tune, at least, although he ā like Angus ā seemed to prefer singing like a rusty cheese grater. Leah found herself smiling a little too fondly, and quickly turned away. The morning was getting on.
Task Five: Regroup with Letitia and entertain any early arrivals whoāve gotten up already.
That would include Elizabeth, cheerful as ever, chatting with Letitia when Leah returned to the solar. Now those were certainly two sides of the Highland-Lady coin ā Letitiaās silk-and-steel against Elizabethās brass ā but the pair of them had been young brides together and thick as thieves ever since.Ā
Almost ever since. āJust a slip of a thing, when she first came to Leoch,ā Elizabeth had said, sitting in the solar the night after Leahās wedding, after most of the guests had gone back home. āCome to wed our Colum and be the lady of the clan? Ye can be sure Ellen and I kept a close watch on her,ā she added, turning her laughing eyes on Letitia.
āAnd the twa of ye werenae as sly as ye thought,ā Letitia retorted with a tiny roll of her eyes. āYou and Ellen, heads together, whispering. Even Jocasta noted it, bless her, and she was noā much more than a child.ā
Elizabeth's laugh had almost been enough to jog Leah from her confused newlywedded misery. āEllen didnae mean to be sly; she wanted ye to ken her eye on ye. And God in His wisdom gave me no portion of subtlety.ā
āAnd we love ye all the better for it,ā Letitia laughed. āAch, Eilidh Ruadh, I do miss her now and again.āĀ
And now they were both old hands at ladyshipping; even if Elizabeth wasn't a capital-L. The two of them would make a good spy team, Elizabeth drawing the attention and Letitia slipping around behind. Or running cons, Leah thought with a private smile.
āHow fares Kilcoy?ā Leah asked, sliding into a chair by the fire. She debated pulling the lap-rug they kept on hand for old Mrs. MacBeolain over herself, at least before the rest of the ladies arrived, but Elizabeth would likely hoot at her.
āWell as can be,ā Elizabeth answered. āWe left young Colin there to see to the local feast, but many of our folk will take the crossing to Inverness.ā
āAnd leaving Colin in charge of the rest will keep him out of Inverness,ā Letitia murmured, glancing at Elizabeth out of the corner of her eye.
āAlways trouble to be found in town,ā Elizabeth answered blandly, āfor a young man who goes looking.ā Leah's ears perked up, wondering if there were shenanigans afoot at Kilcoy, but a rumble of hooves and a shout of greeting from the courtyard had them all turning toward the window.
Task Six: Feast.
Leah eyed Dougal with some suspicion as he claimed her hand once again. Three times he'd squired her around the dance floor in barely an hour; she'd hardly had the chance to dance with anyone else but Rupert and Donald. And the cadet MacKenzies cleaned up very well; she might have liked a dance with some of them
She'd hardly noticed before - some had come for Michaelmas and some for the wedding, but she'd been too unsettled by one man to notice any others. But Colin of Mountgerald had lovely manners and danced gracefully, and Alexander of Davochmaluag was handsome and courtly, and neither one of them had taken more than a step in her direction before her husband had taken her hand for another turn.
If I didn't have any sense, I'd think he was jealous. As if they had any interest in me ā Alex D has a perfectly nice wife, and I'm pretty sure that Colin isn't looking for a woman at all.
As if I had any interest in them, either! I've got my hands full enough with one man ā
Sometimes literally.
ā Yes, thank you, brain. With a man who's got more balls than sense sometimes. But we're doing ok. We're doing better than I thought we would. He's trying.
Well. He tries sometimes, if it doesn't cost him much effort and doesn't challenge him. And when he does, we could almost be happy.
You're in danger, thinking like that.
Bitch I said almost.
But she was happy, or at least content. They'd found a kind of equilibrium, the girls were adjusting (Margaret laughed, and even Eleanor had shared a mutual ācan you believe this shit?ā look with Leah once, when Mrs. MacVinish had said something particularly out of pocket), and the near future seemed very far away unless she thought about it.
And she didn't want to think about it. She wanted to think about dragging her husband into a dark corner and giving them both a happy new year.
So she did, when the dance spun them near the servant's door and came to an end. It was open, a pair of kitchen maids coming through with more trays, and when Dougal started to drop her hand she held tight and pulled him through, past the hall-boy manning the door, around to the servant's stair and up.
She didn't dare look at him; she'd lose her nerve before she found a suitable āĀ
There were voices coming down the stairs, so she found a landing and hauled him through the first door there.
Pitch-black it was, abandoned for the night, with a chill that said the fire had been banked hours ago. First to the left, she thought, just off the stairs, it was probably ā
āYe've pulled me into the steward's office for some purpose, have ye?ā
She turned toward him in the dark and felt her way ā up his arm to his shoulder, down the hard planes of his chest to a belly going only a little soft, and yanked at the waistband of his trews.
āI think we should ring in the new year properly, don't you?ā she murmured, hoping her voice sounded teasing enough in the dark.
She could hear his grin, even if she couldn't see the quick flash of teeth, and felt his hands run down her sides until they could gather fistfuls of her skirts. Leah waved her free hand behind her, in the vicinity of where she thought James's desk was, and made a disgruntled noise when she found nothing.
āKeep hold of my hand,ā she said, reaching down to grab his, āand see if you can crack the door just a bit. He keeps a lot of stuff on his desk, and I don't want to sit on his damned paper-spike.ā
Dougal snorted, but his free hand dropped her skirts and she felt him flail for a second before he found the door-handle, and a sliver of flickering torchlight gave enough light to see the edge of the desk and the gleam of his smile.
āI do like to look on ye,ā he murmured, his voice . . . not so rough as usual, as if the shadows were dark enough that he didn't have to be.
He reached out, brushing his hand against her cheek, and he must have felt the beginnings of a smile under his fingers, because he closed the distance and claimed her mouth. She leaned into the kiss, into him, squeezing his other hand tightly and clutching at his coat.Ā
He made a noise deep in his chest, and she gasped as his mouth left hers to trace along her jaw, the length of her neck, to latch onto the swelling of her breast and bite just enough, just enough to make her whine and know she'd need a fichu before she returned to the feast.
āMo dĆ¹n,ā she breathed, aiming for husband and very likely missing, and she felt him freeze for an instant, then come alive all at once. The backs of her thighs hit the desk, the cold air rushing under her skirts as he pushed them up with an unexpected urgency.
āMo bhean,ā he answered, breathing into her, lifting her onto the desk and stepping between her legs, hand fumbling between them.
Well. That worked.
āNot ready,ā she gasped, and his other hand rose to tug at the neck of her gown. She inhaled sharply when his mouth closed over one peak, suckling and nipping - not overmuch; he'd learned she had a limit - then darted back to her mouth to hush her cries when they got too loud. Her thighs trembled as he teased close, close, but not there, and she writhed on the desk until he had mercy on her and stroked until she was boneless and panting against his mouth.
She hadn't the breath to object when he slid her off the desk onto shaking legs, turning her until she could press her heated cheek to the cool surface. She was so wet he slid in with no resistance, pressing himself deep until the heat of his body blocked the chill of the room. His hand slid down her back as if he were soothing an animal, some wild thing about to bolt; she had to cover her own mouth when he tangled a hand into her hair and pulled her up into a perfect arch, breasts shaking with every juddering thrust.
She couldnāt hear her own voice, could only taste his name in her mouth, and he wrapped both arms around her waist and held her to him, growling something unintelligible against her ear as she broke apart, legs shaking as they dangled against his. He said something else when he pressed her back down, his breath hot on her cheek as he bent over her, driving, driving deeper than sheād known he could. He said something about burning, she thought, one of the first words sheād learned there in the kitchens, burning me, he said, and she burned too with the heat of him spilling so deep.
āMo cheneh,ā he breathed, lips against her shoulder, and if she could parse the word fire; the rest of it was lost on her, the word that sounded like fieoich, and another that sounded like the word for ale, whispered when he pressed his lips to her skin.
It probably was ale, she thought, coming back into herself. Weāre both dehydrated as hell after that.
She made a disgruntled noise when he stepped back, letting her skirts fall down before he pulled her upright again, more gently than before. She sighed and leaned against him, letting him hold her there as the chill crept back into ā
Oh my god, poor James. I donāt even know what weāve done to his office. The sliver of light from the cracked door revealed no more than some papers scattered on the floor, and if she didnāt look any closer then she wouldnāt have to think about it.
āYou can have your ale after you help me put my hair back in place,ā she mumbled against Dougalās coat.
She couldnāt see his face, but she felt him snort. āIām noā a ladyās maid,ā he grumbled, huffing when she swatted at his backside.
āYou break it, you mend it,ā she muttered, then forced herself upright to help his big clumsy fingers with her hair. āTwo hours ātil midnight; then Iām sleeping for days.ā
Chapter 3.7: The Daft Days drops on Sunday, August 2!
mri accident is literally one of my biggest anxiety freakouts. i dont care about being in the tiny loud tube, im so scared of a secret piece of metal i dont know about in my body will tear through me like a knife through butter. what if i ate a quarter in my sleep
TIME TO POST ONE OF MY ALL TIME FAVORITE IMAGES!!!!
Back when I worked at the hospital, I had to take MRI training and it was my favorite thing every time. It was only like 10 minutes long and went a little something like this:
Hey. The MRI is basically a really big magnet and by basically I mean it is and we literally never turn it off. It's like really big. Really really big and powerful and The Magnet is always on. We don't turn it off Ever, for any reason. We mean it bro, The Magnet is literally always on. It's crazy strong and will definitely kill you. So don't bring any metal into the MRI room, man. You will fuck up the machine (because The Magnet is always on) and then you will die (again, because The Magnet is always on). Here's some fun questions for you to test your understanding!
1) The ______ is always on.
2) The Magnet is ______ on.
3) How often is The Magnet on?
4) The Magnet is always __.
5) The Magnet is always on. T/F
6) The Magnet is usually on but we know to turn it off for you because you're a very special boy :) T/F
7) My weak fleshy body can survive the wrath of The Magnet. T/F
8) Look at this 500 lbs steel hospital bed, which The Magnet has crumpled into an origami crane. Imagine if that was you.
9) Is The Magnet ever off?
10) Sometimes we turn The Magnet off. T/F
Thank you for taking MRI training. We hope you learned that The Magnet is always on, because it is. It's on Right Now and it will be on every time you come to the MRI. Have fun and remember: The Magnet is always on!
(Book Three: Mistress MacKenzie; Chapter Three: These Are the Days; 5: Merry)
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Book Three, Chapter 3.5: Merry
He held up bravely for the first kneeling, but heād made a little noise deep in his chest as they rose from the second. Leah watched him out of the corner of her eye. She ought to have finished his kneepads and made sure he had them for the Christmas mass.
If heāll even use them. Stubborn ox might take it as an insult.
Whatever; sheād give them anyway, and he could use them or not.
Father Bain was droning extra slowly, as if his voice carried such weight he could hardly shove it out of his chest. Was he like that every Christmas? Was he milking the midnight mass, since he only got the one? Heād gotten to bless the animals earlier in the day, or yesterday, but they probably didnāt appreciate it as much as heād like. Horses were known heretics.
That is the longest fucking kyrie Iāve ever heard. Itās only got three syllables, dude; itās not supposed to take a full minute to get out of your mouth.
At least she mostly understood the Latin bits; her Gaelic was still too limited to grasp much. She could tell the priest had started freestyling on the theme of darkness, at least. Dorachadus an hoo-hee, or however it was spelled. Something about wicked men, she thought. Dark wickedness and wicked darkness and come on, itās Christmas. Gaudete, the running of the deer, the boarās head in hand bear I.
Although when she thought about it (she had plenty of time to think about it), some of the old carols were a bit wicked-y and darkness-y themselves. Wounds bleeding day and night; Adam lay ybounden, bounden in a bond ā but at least that one ended in a Deo Gratia, even if it wasnāt much of a hooray.
At least Leoch had benches to sit on while they got homilized at.
Then they knelt for the last time, and she made a little noise herself when they rose, her carefully-stuffed wool no match for Leochās stones and Father Bainās drones. She could see little Hamish starting to flag; he half-slumped against his mother when they sat, though her slightest nudge had him straightening up again. Eleanor looked like sheād fully dissociated, or figured out how to sleep with her eyes open.
Margaret . . . she was tired; they all were, but if she were feigning interest in the mass she at least made a good show of it, not even a little weakness in her shoulders. Thereās a great comfort in it, if you believe, Leah thought, watching her with weary fondness. Some people can find it, and the rest of us just muddle through. It was Margaret that Eleanor leaned against, so minutely that Leah only noticed the crush of one girlās sleeve against the otherās.
And if even Margaret swayed a little, when it was all over, who could blame her? Leah took her hand from Dougalās arm and gave him a nudge. āTheyāre asleep on their feet,ā she murmured, when he frowned down at her. āLet them have their fatherās arm.ā
And if he made that face, that impatient one where he didnāt quite roll his eyes, he did at least step forward and take his daughters by the elbows, steadying them on the way up the stairs to blissful slumber.
Two hours of blissful slumber.
It was probably more, by the clock, but the clock could fuck itself when Ceana tapped at the door and brought in the pitchers of water and ale. Poor girl; sheād have had even less rest than Leah, and Leah was currently yanking a pillow over her head and making enraged badger noises as Dougal pulled back the bedcurtains and rose.
āI am not,ā she finally got herself together enough to say. āI am not getting up. This is inhuman.ā But her face was still buried in the pillow, so Dougal heard little more than āNuh. āM nuh gāup. Sānhmn.ā
āYeāll noā sleep through the Yuletide breakfast, lass,ā he said, entirely too awake for her liking. āOr Mrs. Fitz will drag the new Beaton up herself to tend ye.ā
Leah had glanced at his book of remedies; the thought of woodlice brought anywhere near her had her up and moving.
Well, it had her upright.
Mostly upright.
āIād sell my soul for a coffee,ā she muttered. āCuban espresso directly into my veins.ā
If her words were at all intelligible, Dougal either didnāt hear or chose to ignore them, pouring them each a cup of water.
āLetitia will have tea, wonāt she?ā Leah asked with desperate hope.
Dougal gave her a look that said he never once considered his sister-in-lawās beverage choices, and Leah flopped back down, drawing the blanket back up over her head ā
ā and whining loudly when Dougal ripped it away. āMake yourself seen, mo bhean,ā he ordered, grabbing an ankle and giving it a tug. āThen ye can rest again until midday.ā
She kicked half-heartedly and he pulled again, sliding her down the bed with little effort. The cold air hit her backside as her nightshift rucked up to her waist, and she felt him pause, hand still wrapped around her ankle.
āIf I have to be seen,ā she muttered, reaching for her glasses as he gave her a speculative look, āthen Iād better get dressed. In layers and layers.ā
āAye,ā he agreed, running a hand up her calf.
She leveled a Look at him. āIf I stay in this bed, Iām going back to sleep.ā
His eyes flicked toward the table, but she was already moving, yanking her leg out of his grasp and hopping across the cold stone toward the dressing screen. At least the shock was enough to wake her fully.
Someone ought to turn them onto the idea of brunch, Leah thought, trying not to down the scalding tea in a single gulp. A very civilized practice. Much better suited to a midnight holiday.
Colum was taking his breakfast alone again; Leah could hardly blame him for it. Even Hamish was only picking at his food, when heād usually wolf it down and then try not to wriggle until his mother turned him loose for the day (well, turn him loose to go with his tutor until he could escape out to the stables or something). Letitia took pity on him much earlier than usual, and he slumped off about ten minutes before she excused herself.
There was no work today besides that necessary for living (and feasting), no ledgers or planning (sheād been informed of that very strictly by Annie); theyād taken small baskets to the local tenants on Christmas Eve and given alms on the last Sunday of Advent; until the midday feast there was little required of them, except ā
Shit; I forgot the apples!
But Dougal was drawing the little bundles from his coat pocket and setting them before the girlsā plates, real casual-like.
āHere,ā he said, voice gruff as he nodded at the bundles. āYour mother always made sure ye had these at Christmas; best ye have them this year, too.ā
Leah just stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Well, shit ā letās not make it sentimental or anything. Letās not make them think you care about them.
But Margaretās face softened, her lips curving as she untied hers and saw the mix of apples and nuts. āThank ye, Father,ā she said quietly, her fingers brushing the red edge of an apple.
Eleanor hesitated, her gaze flicking between Leah and Dougal. āYe remembered it?ā she asked, more cautious than challenging.
Leah found an intense interest in the bottom of her teapcup, and missed whether Dougal had any type of look on his face.
āI did,ā he said, and at least he didnāt sound offended.
Well. He remembered that Iād reminded him. And I guess thatās better than I did, anyway.
Leah watched Eleanor pick up a bundle out of the corner of her eye. āThank ye,ā she said quietly, almost grudgingly, her eyes darting back to Dougal before settling on the little present.
āMother would have appreciated it,ā Margaret added softly, and Eleanor opened hers at last, her mouth curving just the slightest bit.
āYeāll want this, too,ā Dougal said, pulling out a clever little brass nutcracker with a flat screw that could press the nut into the solid base until it snapped. Big enough for the walnuts, too, Leah noticed; she hadnāt even thought of that. But Eleanorās eyes brightened when her father held it out to her, and as she set about destroying the first of her treats, Leah brushed her little finger against Dougalās and smiled.
If Leah thought Eleanorās eyes had sparkled at the nutcracker, they were shining bright as a harvest moon as she danced with the stewardās apprentice ā well, technically she was dancing with him, but with the way a country dance worked, sheād only held his hands about a quarter of the time. Heād crossed hands with Annie more often.
Now that young lady had come into her own. Leah watched her affectionately, Annieās shy little voice darting through her memory. Sheād been so curious, the first of the maids to speak to Leah at all, the first to ask her anything (she could hardly remember what Annie had asked, too nerve-wracked and lost to pay much attention), the first to offer advice. A very soft wing to be taken under.
A little less soft, now, Leah thought wryly, sipping her wine. A little more willing to just straight-up say āNo, Mistress MacKenzie, ye cannae do thatā (hide in the library, skip the Advent masses, wear seven layers of cloaks inside, tell Mrs. MacVinish to jump in the well). More willing to laugh without looking like she expected a scolding ā although in fairness, they were almost always in Leahās chamber or drawing room; itās not like they had an audience. But still, more confident, more purposeful, more grown.
And now the apprentice ā she ought to learn his name, at some point ā was bowing to Annie directly, and Eleanor had clasped hands with one of the tacksmanās sons, and there was Margaret dancing, too. All her ducks in a row.
Those are not your ducks. They have their own . . . what are mama ducks called? Daisys? No, she was just an aunt.
Wait. Were Daisy and Donald married?
Be less weird, Leah.
She heard a crack of male laughter from her left ā Dougal was there, and Colum, holding up better than she might have expected, with Ned and a half-dozen or so tacksmen and Leoch hangers-on. Colum was bearing up well; his voice strong at the midday toast and his shoulders only a little slumped, only one degree off their usual rigid straightness. He had a glass of brandy in his hand now; a bit early in the day for that, but it was a holiday.
Hell, we used to get hammered watching Hallmark Christmas movies. Drink when someone gets stranded. Drink if thereās a tree-buying scene. Drink for every interrupted kiss.
She eyed her husband thoughtfully, relaxed and laughing and a bit tipsy ā loose, at least ā and felt something warm spread through her chest.
Thatās a fine braw man. That is my fine braw man.
Ok, maybe Iām a bit tipsy. She turned back to the ladiesā conversation and tried to put him from her mind.
She was watching the dancers, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight like jasper sparked against steel. Theyād opened the dancing, hands clasped in the first reel, and heād felt a moment of regret that she didnāt fall into him like she had the first time, on the green at Kilcoy. But heād had to send her off to bed alone that night, himself angry at the redcoatsā interruption and half-aching for her, though he could hardly admit it then. She might move with more confidence now, but heād dance her right beneath him this night and sheād come to him with a smile. It fueled a manās pride, to have a wife so wanting of him.
And if she were still a bit unsteady on her feet, best that Rupert take the stomping, Dougal thought, watching his friend cross to her and nod, holding out his hand to pull her into the dancing. He turned back to Colum, listening to him managing a pair of tacksmen whoād inherited a horn-locked grudge from their grandfathers, their sons bound to take up the fight after them. At least they had the sense not to draw blood by their lairdās hearth, although Colum might draw some from them both, if they couldnāt settle themselves.
He heard her laugh, a canty wee sound cutting through the din, and found himself scowling at Rupert as if the man had wronged him. Foolishness.
Still. Heād have her next dance.
Sheād never danced so much in her life than at Leoch.
The club, to no oneās shock, hadnāt been her milieu. School dances were worse; she could still feel the cold terror of a sixth-grade dance where the DJ called out for all the girls to pick a partner, and it took about two seconds to realize sheād be better off sidling into the shadows than subject herself to a miniature Sadie Hawkins humiliation conga.
She might have carried that memory a little too long.
But sheād run out of breath before she ran out of partners at Leoch, and if some were men currying favor with Dougal, and some were trying to clasp hands with a girl already on the floor, and some were just glad to dance with a wedded woman instead of a young lass everyone would expect them to court, she could hardly mind.
And when a hand pulled hers from Iainās (that was the apprenticeās name), whoād danced a set with her after Bryce (of the missing-sheep scandal months ago) whoād taken over from Rupert (and she hadnāt stepped on him even once), and she looked up (and up) to see her husbandās eyes and his infuriating little smirk, well. She might as well run out of breath with him.
[Image ID: The Destiel confession meme edited so that Dean answers 'JK Rowling posted upskirt photos of a woman on Twitter' to Cas 'I love you'. /End ID]
No one doing this should be allowed to call themselves a feminist.
The wealthy author escalated a social media spat that resulted in posting a photo from a 2023 event at the Institute of Economic Affairs in
Let's not beat around the bush: Children's author JK Rowling sexually harassed someone. In some jurisdictions, this would count as sexual abuse. JK Rowling has committed a sex crime against a woman and fell back on the old rape apologist standby of "she was asking for it".
A new king has entered the chat! Our first glimpse of Richard in his Palladium dressing room in the initial stage of "becoming" King Herod for his appearance in Jesus Christ Superstar tonight.
(Book Three: Mistress MacKenzie; Chapter Three: These Are the Days; 4: Reflection)
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Book Three, Chapter 3.4: Reflection
āYouāre not allowed to leave again until it warms up,ā Leah said, voice hazy and content, a woman well-pleased with her man. āYou can ride all over creation once it stops freezing at night.ā
Dougal snorted, his chest shaking against her back. āThat all ye need of me?ā he asked, amused.
āI canāt imagine what else Iād need you for,ā she answered, trying to bite back a moan as he shifted inside her.
āCan ye noā?ā Dougal nipped at her shoulder, rolling his hips deep. Christ, that tone in her voice could make him stand all over again. Heād been gone only four nights, yet the thought of her had him soft in the head. Heād had half a mind to ride ahead, ride fast back to her, and leave the carts behind with the guards, but managed to steady himself. He was a man grown, not a randy lad; heād give no woman the power to make him foolish.
Heād learned that lesson too late, but heād learned it well.
Still. He was home, and he was comfortable enough, his body wrapped around hers and hers around his ā In any case, there was no need to move just yet; no one would miss them at midday, and supper was hours away.
There was time yet to tease a bit.
āWeāll be late to supper,ā Leah murmured, nuzzling into his shoulder, heart racing in time with his.
Dougal let her leg drop from around his waist, and she made a disgruntled noise as she slid down the wall to sway on the floor. āYouāre dressed already, mo nighean,ā he said, missing her warmth already. āāTwill be no matter to set ye to rights.ā
She sighed, hitching up her skirts as she disappeared behind her dressing-screen. āI ought to put on a fresh shift,ā she muttered, and he heard the splash of the washing-water hitting the basin. āI can hardly look the laundry maids in the eye as it is. What on earth got into you?ā
He huffed a laugh, pouring himself a cup of ale while he waited for her to ready herself again.
Sheād gotten into him. Sheād looked at him, sitting there at the looking-glass; sheād looked at him over her shoulder with her cat-green eyes and her half-smile, and heād been away for four nights; what man wouldnāt be tempted?
Sheād gotten into him, before heād gotten into her.
He cast an eye around the chamber ā no sign of their most recent coupling, there against the wall by the door. The bedlinens were rumpled and pillows askew, but the chambermaid would be back soon to bank the fire; she could change them out quickly enough, and his wife could rest herself in a clean bed again. He smirked at the state of things ā sheād curled her hands into the sheets so tightly sheād pulled them half-off the bed ā keep your mind off it, man, or youāll not make it to supper, and she can tear a strip off a man when sheās hungry ā and even the mattress had shifted on its ropes.
Well. Beitrice would sort it before they returned from supper.
And sort it again tomorrow, if he had his way.
The small bundles of apples and nuts sat on the table, carefully wrapped up in cloth and tied with a bit of red ribbon. Sheād spent a solid chunk of the morning carefully going through the dried apples, selecting the nicest slices to pair with the hazelnuts (lots) and walnuts (some) that sheād confiscated from the dry stores.
It couldnāt come from her; that really would be overstepping, and the ice was too thin for that. The girlsā mother was sacred territory, not for Leah to tread on, but if it came from their father . . .? If they hated it, sheād take the blame; if it made them happy, sheād let Dougal have the win.
Theyāll have the tree up by now, she thought, imagining her own motherās house. I bought that extra ornament for Jordan last year; I wonder if anyoneās gone through my apartment and found it. They hid ornaments on the tree for each other every year, her mother and grandmother, then the girls when they were old enough, and finally her niece ā the Wilson tree had so many now, they couldnāt fit all at once. They still hung the little porcelain bells from her grandmother at the front of the tree, and the little book of Christmas traditions that Leahās mother had given her when she was small, and Jenās first ballerina, and the crocheted mailbox where they used to put their letters for Santa, folded up tight to fit.
No one young enough for that anymore, until Jordan gets ā
A wave of grief swept over her so hard she leaned on the table to catch her breath.
āMistress MacKenzie? Are ye well?ā Mairi appeared at Leahās elbow. āMrs. Fitz!ā
āIām alright, Iām alright.ā Leah pushed herself upright, blanching at the stares. āJust felt strange for a moment.ā
āSit ye down, lass,ā Mrs. Fitz said as she bustled over, snapping her fingers at one of the kitchen maids. She laid a hand against Leahās forehead. āYe were ill not two days ago; Iām noā surprised if yeāre still weak.ā
Leah bit her tongue as she plopped down onto the stool the maid shoved under her. Better they think she was sick and not . . . whatever she was. Sad and lonely? And a little stuffy from all of the smoke sheād inhaled in the last . . . almost nine months, really?
Almost a year gone.
āI am fine, really,ā she said, to no one. A pair of girls at the hearth exchanged sidelong glances.
Thatās what I get for hiding out with my little hurt fee-fees. Now theyāre all going to think Iāve got the smallpox. Still, she sat for a while nibbling an oatcake and letting the bustle of the kitchen distract her.
He was sitting by the fire, a damp cloth steaming over his sore knee (heād ridden too hard the last few days and pulled something; it could happen to any man), when his wife came back to dress for dinner.
āPut these away, in a box with a lid or something airtight,ā she told him, dropping a pair of linen-wrapped bundles into his hand without so much as a greeting.
He set them onto his lap and untied the first, hands stilling over the treasure inside. Apples and nuts, always at the table next to each of the girlsā places when they came down for Christmas breakfast.
Leah shifted, her voice quieter. āThe girls said their mother āā
āAlways made sure there were apples.ā He looked down at the neat, dried slices, hazelnuts and walnuts tumbling around them. Thereād been a bad winter, five years or so ago; the freeze came early and stayed late. But Maura held onto the apples ātil Christmas. Was that the last year with all of them at Beannachd? No, Molly hadnāt married until ā hadnāt she married the year before Tibby? And Tib was wed the spring before Maura ā
It might have been.
His fingers brushed one of the apple slices. In better years, theyād drank cider with it. Molly cut up her apples and dropped them into her cup, let them soak up the liquid and soften again. Had done it since she was a wee thing. Tibby hadnāt the patience for it, and the young lasses . . . ach, he couldnāt remember, or heād never noticed, how they took theirs. Heād spent less time at the estate then, mind on the Rising, on ā
āWhat am I meant to do with it?ā he asked gruffly.
His wife made a short, sharp noise. āYouāre meant to give it to your daughters at Christmas, so they know their motherās traditions still matter.ā
He must have moved, must have made some gesture that she didnāt like, because her voice went firm. āAnd it has to come from you. It matters more from you.ā
Foolishness, he thought. Iāve no time to coddle a pair of grown lasses. But sometimes the smoother path was the wiser, or so his brother would have him believe, so he tied the bundle back together and stood, ignoring the cloth hitting the floor with a wet fwap, and shoved them both into a box in his clothespress. āSafe enough there,ā he muttered, turning to see Leah scooping the cloth from the floor.
āGetting old, are you?ā she asked, then raised up enough to kiss his cheek while he scowled. āDonāt tell them it was me, pleaseā she murmured. āI donāt want them to think Iām trying to take her place.ā
And if he made some disgruntled noise then, sheād ignored it until her maid came to get her ready for supper. She rested her hand on his arm, coming down the stairs ā for a woman grown, she still struggled with her skirts ā and heād waved her on into the Hall when Mrs. Fitz met them at the bottom, asking for a moment of his time.
āNow ā ow; thatās a little too tight ā now tell me why Beitrice was reassigned?ā Annie relaxed the tie on Leahās skirts a fraction of an inch, and Leah tested the minute amount of extra give. The stays werenāt made for tight-lacing, but damn, those skirts could cinch up.
Annie paused for a moment before answering, biting her lip as she retrieved Leahās striped shortgown. āYe ken that Beitrice wants to be a housekeeper herself someday? Mrs. Fitz thought sheād do well to ā to see more of the keep than just the family chambers.ā She paused again, watching Leahās face in the looking-glass. āThatās alright, is it noā? I thought yeād be glad to have Ceana back; ye seemed to like her well enough before.ā
āNo, I do like Ceana,ā Leah answered. Mrs. Fitzās . . . niece? probably? was assigned to the guest chambers when Leah was new at Leoch. She was nice enough, efficient, which almost everyone seemed to be, and she didnāt seem to gossip like so many of the maids. Or at least she had the sense to do it where Leah couldnāt overhear. āI just . . . will it look bad, since sheās related to Mrs. Fitz? I didnāt really mind Beitrice.ā She ran her damned mouth a little too much, but sheās not the only one.
āBeitrice oughtae smarten up, before she thinks to run a household,ā Annie said, sharper than Leah had ever heard her. She turned Leah around and began pinning the shortgown closed.
Something in Annieās voice made Leah look up, eyes narrowing. āDid Beitrice do something? Is that why Mrs. Fitz stopped Dougal before supper last night?ā
Annie shook her head. āIt was only to say she was making the change,ā she said firmly. āSheād been up here for some time; Mrs. Fitz thought it polite to tell him.ā
It made sense, Leah thought, inspecting herself in the looking-glass. It mostly made sense. And anyway, what did she know about running a highland castle? Maybe the servants played musical jobs all the time.
Youāve been here for nine months; have you seen anyone else moved around before this?
In fairness, I wasnāt paying that much attention. Probably ought to.
But she did like Ceana, and if Mrs. Fitz was elevating her own relative at someone elseās expense, that was her business. And Letitiaās probably, but definitely not Leahās.
I have enough to deal with. Personnel issues arenāt in my job description.
Just husbands and stepdaughters.
Father Bain was pressed as hell.
Or at least thatās what Leah assumed, from the rumblings around the keep and the fact that the priest looked about one step from a tantrum at the final mass of Advent (she had to go to all of them. All of them. Dougal skipped the first with no good excuse, then got to bugger off for the third one, on his trip out to Loch a'Bhraoin). Sheād put her meager sewing skills to use making kneepads, at least, so the kneely bits could suck it).
(She ought to make some for Dougal, actually, if theyād fit under his trews. There was still time before Hogmanay.)
The problem was Christmas. Or, no, the problem was that celebrating Christmas was technically extremely illegal ā but so was Catholic worship in general, and the local MacKenzies never seemed to care about that. Apparently the whole liturgical thing involved three masses ā midnight, dawn, and midmorning ā and Colum ā under whose auspices Father Bain operated, and the only reason why the priest still had his head ā thought it would be like shooting up a flare for the Protestant authorities to track to hold them all.
So the problem might actually be Dougal, or his politics; Jacobitish whispers had the authorities stirred up like a hornetās nest, ready to sting anyone who gave off a whiff of rebellion.
Theyād risk one mass, at midnight, in the Great Hall at Leoch, then everyone would stay home and theyād have a nice hunt and a light feast at noon ā celebratory, but not worshipful. Some tenants would visit, or come for the mass and sleep in the Hall.
And eat a yule-loaf, obviously, because you couldnāt have a holiday without bread.
She was just glad she didnāt have to traipse a mile and a half through the frigid darkness to the church in Cranesmuir, slipping on frozen puddles and hanging onto Dougal for dear life. No, she just had to stay up a little later than usual, stay awake through the droning, and then trot off to her nice warm bed.
āYouāre taking this much better than I expected,ā she said to Dougal one night, a day or two before the holiday, and he had the gall to look surprised and annoyed.
āIāve no great urge to spend hours listening to Father Bainās blethering,ā he replied, sharpening his knife on a strip of leather. āNor do you, my lass.ā
āAnd yet I have to do it anyway,ā she muttered. āAnd I donāt even āā She stopped herself, and studied him for a long moment.
āYouāve a look about ye, lass,ā he said, narrowing his own eyes. āThinking of new ways to devil me?ā
āDo you actually believe?ā she asked. āSorry,ā she added, but leaned forward anyway. āBut you suffer through mass under duress, and Iāve never seen you pray when youāre not told to, and you donāt seem to care that youāre not getting the full Christmas . . . you know, shebang, so.ā
He looked at her, silent, like the question short-circuited his brain.
āI know you believe in magic,ā she mused, ābecause you dragged me down to the bowels of the earth to make me drink from that spring, but āā
He found his voice then, and she didnāt like it. āDāye take me for a heathen?ā he growled, and the firelight flickering made his eyes look dark and deep and ā
Sheād heard that tone before, just once, crumpled on the grass by Craigh Na Dun, when he shook her like a rag doll and promised that sheād tell him everything.
I didnāt, though, she reminded herself, watching him with sudden wariness. I won that one. āWonā was overstating it; sheād been too shattered to think with any speed, let alone speak. Sheād sat by the fire, half-aware that the men were crossing themselves and not looking at her, until Ned shook her enough to get a word from her.
āI do not,ā she answered at last, carefully.
He watched her with his hooded eyes, unblinking, as if searching for a lie.
āThis world holds more than what a priest says over a pulpit,ā he said at last. āIāve seen enough to ken that much. That doesnae make me godless.ā
Oh. Not a lie, then, an accusation. As if she might stand up and holler, āI saw Goodman MacKenzie with the devil!ā or something.
He turned back to his blade, running it over the leather again. āWeāll have our Mass at midnight,ā he said, and his voice was . . . it wasnāt back to normal, but it wasnāt John-Proctor-screaming-about-his-name dark anymore, either. āIāll bow my head same as always. If it satisfies the priest, let it satisfy you.ā
She said something, probably, something inane like āof course,ā and then left him by the fire and went to bed, turning away from the light to stare into the sheets and wonder. Sheād irritated him before. Sheād angered him, and pricked his pride, and criticized him, and run from him. But sheād hit something new, some injury sheād never seen before. Had he been accused ā no, they didnāt do that anymore. Did they? Wasnāt it, like, illegal to accuse people of witchcraft, or claim to be a witch; isnāt that what stopped the witch trials? When was that?
Maybe not yet.
It wasnāt so long after Salem, when she thought about it; that must have been right around the time Dougal was born, even if it was a world away. She half-turned to ask him, but thought better of it, and then burrowed down and tried to sleep.
She couldnāt have known, he thought, staring into the flames. She was half a heathen herself, or at least a protestant, and that was hardly better. Suffer under duress, do I? When sheād not gone even once to mass until sheād been made to.
Sheād not said it to prod his guilt; she couldnāt have known. None but Colum knew, and Ned, although an honest man would acknowledge that Rupert and Angus likely had a thought or two. She couldnāt know that heād lain with the devilās whore, and been so bewitched she could have led him all the way to hell, panting and groaning for her. That heād been too blinded to see that sheād done murder, until sheād been taken as a witch and confessed to it.
And confessed it again, with his hand at her throat and her belly swollen with his child.
His, she said.
His, she said, and threatened to tell the priest and the Examiners, all the highlands and God himself, as if He didnāt already ken it, unless heād save her from the pyre and spirit her away to practice her dark arts in safety.
On other men, and other wives.
Christ.
He counted it no great sin for a man to take his pleasure where he would, no failing so long as a manās wife was kept well and provided for, no business of the Lordās so long as her honor was spared by keeping it from her door.
But when the rot crept in under the door, and fevered his wife, and stole her life away ā
Heād never wanted Maura. But heād sworn to her, and her death was his failing.
And Dougal, in his weakness, had freed the witch to save his own name, his own honor. And the clan, yes ā to save the MacKenzie honor as well, but his first thought, his first thought, had been that the Prince would want no devil-tainted whoreson by his side.
That God would not allow it.
And she asked if he believed.
The midnight bell rang, once. Heād banked the fire himself, sent away the new maid ā what was her name? ā the one theyād sent up when Beitrice made too free with her tongue, about his wife.
Not in cruelty, at least, or heād have whipped the skin off her; only whispers that Mistress MacKenzie hadnāt bled since the wedding; she stayed under her husband so, it was no wonder sheād caught already. Heād thought on it himself, but hadnāt Leah said herself that she couldnāt? Heād welcome a bairn if it came, a son he could claim, but by God no one would make his wife into a whisper.
She was sleeping when he pulled back the covers, curling in on herself when the chill hit. Sheād lain so still when she first went to bed that heād known she was awake, and fretting in her way; a sleeping Leah twitched about unless his arms were around her.
He put them around her then, pulled her in close. She couldnāt have known.
My spouse and I just had one of those āwait your brain works HOW?ā exchanges, and now I am BURNING TO KNOW HOW IT WORKS FOR OTHER PEOPLE:
Fellow speakers of this feral bastard language (English), rb and tell me in the tags: what is the delineation for you, if any, between evening and night?
"next time, log in faster with fingerprint/face/iris recognition!" how about i keep typing my password like i have for the past 25 years and you fuck off
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