2
Keira McTavish hated mealtimes when her father was there. He loved to air his latest grievances, which were always centered around himself. Frequent problems happened around any large estate, especially one the size of Craigmar, but Laird McTavish interpreted each one as a personal slight.
He assumed that everything that went wrong, no matter how slight, was part of a plan to embarrass him and make him look weak, and he always had a scapegoat, usually one of his poorest workers who was least able to stand up for himself. However, Keira had found, with the weariness of long experience, that it was better to keep his whiskey glass full and let him exhaust himself.
It was actually quite pleasant to be around the table once he had drunk himself into a stupor. Then Keira could talk to her stepmother, Adaira, in peace and quiet, with no threat of interruption.
Adaira, a petite beauty with dark hair and deep brown eyes, had been born to an Italian mother and a Scottish father but considered herself wholly Scottish. Her parents had been penniless since her mother was a contessa in her home country who had been expelled by her family for rejecting the wealthy suitor they had chosen for her. She had been cut off without a penny, and the family was left almost destitute. When these facts were called to Laird McTavish’s attention, he had wanted to examine her thoroughly as if she was a broodmare he was thinking of buying.
Having seen her for himself, Laird McTavish had been only too glad to marry young Adaira since it gave him another chance to father a son. She looked fertile and infinitely desirable. She had been seventeen then and looked full of promise, but now she was twenty and there was no sign of a baby, no matter how many times the laird bedded her. She was a failure, and Laird McTavish had begun to despise her. It had never occurred to him that he might be the one who was at fault since a riding accident had resulted in an injury to his testicles just after Keira was born. He could still perform as a man should, but there had been no more children since then.
Between Keira’s mother, Marion, and Adaira, there had been another wife, whose name was Catherine, a short, motherly lady who had adored Keira. Unfortunately, she too had died tragically after three years of marriage when her horse fell and rolled over her, crushing her. She died instantly, although strangely, a wound was found on her skull. This was blamed on her striking a sharp stone when she fell, but even as a child, Keira had not been sure of that. Keira was devastated because she had loved her for her kindness and still missed her.
Adaira and Keira were exactly the same age and rubbed along together very well, and they usually sat chatting after the laird had passed out. Tonight, however, he seemed to have acquired an extra burst of energy.
“Damn them!” he spat, thumping his hands on the table. “Damn them all to hell! What right do they have to damage my property?”
“You have no proof that it was on purpose,” Adaira remarked. “Perhaps it is better to calm down and see how things work out, Archie. You might find that the people who did this will give themselves away in time. They may try again.”
The laird looked at Adaira as if she were something that had crawled out from under a stone. “And what do you know about this, Wife? Out of all of us, you are the least qualified to express an opinion. Why the hell did I let your pretty face take me in? Why did I marry you at all? You are utterly useless! You have not even borne me a son, and we have been married these three years.”
Adaira stood up and left abruptly, but Keira saw the glitter of tears in her eyes. She despised this bully of a man who took pleasure in hurting others, especially those who could not fight back. Adaira had not wished to marry Keira’s father but had done so because she had no other choice, and Keira was infinitely sorry for her.
Keira would not stand for this.
“Father,” she said, “Adaira was only trying to help you.” She took his glass from him and poured a little more whiskey into it, wishing she could put in some hemlock too. “If whoever did this is still in the castle, they will show themselves eventually. In the meantime, put a guard in front of the stores and only admit those who absolutely need to go in.”
The laird’s eyelids were beginning to look droopy. He was fighting a losing battle with sleep. Keira watched him, pushing her food around on her plate and smiling. In a moment he would be asleep.
Thank God,she thought. Then it occurred to her that her father was annoyed for another reason. The whole situation was out of his control, for the first time ever, and his pride had taken a terrible beating. For the first time, he was not the one who was in charge and who was able to give orders. Whoever had burnt down the grain stores had done it entirely independently, and that gave Keira a strange satisfaction. It had been totally out of the laird’s control. She did not realize that she had been smiling until she heard her father’s voice.
“What are you laughing at?” he barked, scowling.
Keira abruptly softened her expression, then leaned forward to look into his eyes. “Father,” she replied, “it would not hurt us to give the tenants a little more from the storerooms. There is still plenty left, even with the losses we suffered. Some of them are beginning to look very skinny, and I am sure that there are others who are on the brink of starvation. If you do not want to do it, then I will.”
The laird growled and looked at Keira with a blaze of anger in his eyes. “Oh, another bloody female who wants to give her elders and betters advice?” He curled his lip at her in disgust. “You are as soft as the mud under my feet. Get away from me. Oh, you are your mother’s daughter, all right—nothing between your ears but fresh air! I don’t know why I have even let you live so long. Go on, get out!”
“With pleasure,” Keira muttered under her breath.
As soon as she had gone, the laird’s head thumped onto the table, and he fell into a drink-induced stupor, for which he would suffer in the morning, Keira was sure. However, she would lose no sleep over it.
* * *
“I cannot live here with him anymore,” Adaira said wearily. “At first he was affectionate, although not considerate in the bedroom, but as the months went on, he became less and less loving and more and more angry.”
She shook her head and buried her face in her hands, then began to weep in earnest. Keira put her arms around the slight figure of her stepmother and rocked her back and forth, making soothing noises as if she were a baby.
The situation would have been funny if it were not so tragic, Keira thought. Adaira was actually younger than she was by a month, and her father had married her because she was young and, he hoped, fertile. She was his father’s third wife, and he was not becoming any younger, so time was running out for him, but to be honest, Keira was concerned for her stepmother’s safety.
“I understand,” she said as she let the young woman go and looked into her eyes. “I know what he is like. I have had to live with him my whole life, remember?”
Adaira nodded, then stood up and paced restlessly to the window. “Will you really help me?” she asked as she turned her dark eyes on Keira.
“I will,” Keira replied firmly. “But we need to have a plan, a way to make it happen. Give me a few days, Adaira. We will work something out, I promise.”
Adaira smiled as she walked over to Keira and hugged her. “It is really strange to think that I am your stepmother,” she observed, laughing softly. “You are much more like the sister I never had.”
“I feel the same way,” Keira concurred, smiling as she brushed Adaira’s long dark hair away from her face. “I don’t think he is in any state to bother you tonight, but be alert. That way, if he does come to annoy you, you will have time to hide.”