Page 4 of Sighs of the Highland Wind
She glanced up from her task of cleaning the counter and looked him up and down with an expression that suggested she had just smelled something noxious.
“Mutton stew an’ bannocks,” she replied offhandedly. “The price is fourpence, an’ sixpence wi’ the ale.”
“I only have five pence tae my name,” he said desperately. “Could ye no’ dae me a favor?”
The woman shook her head firmly. “If I did it for ye, I would have tae dae it for everybody, an’ I would be out o’ business in nay time.” She turned away, sniffing.
Maxwell’s heart sank. He could smell the mouthwatering aroma of the food wafting in from the kitchen. It was making his mouth water and his stomach growl, and he cursed himself for not ordering the food first since he could have easily done without the ale.
He finished the drink, then went to do something he had hoped never to do again. He had thought that the lowest he could go was begging, but now he was reduced to rifling through the middens.
Although he had done it before, it still made him feel wretched. He found some scraps of bread and cheese rinds, as well as a couple of half-rotten potatoes. He hastily stuffed them all in his mouth until there was nothing left, but he was still ravenous. As well as that, he felt sick, disgusted, and ashamed of himself. How had it come to this?
Sighing, he looked into the stables, but they were too small and too full of horses to be of any use to him. Anyone coming to retrieve his mount would spot him at once.
Then he raised his gaze to the hills above him until he saw Invercree Castle, and suddenly an idea occurred to him. It was extremely dangerous, but if it could be done, perhaps he could save himself.
He had to, or die trying, for he was a man with nothing left to lose.
2
Kenna’s earliest memory of riding a horse was the day a kind man in a uniform had lifted her onto one and they had ridden to the castle where she now lived. She knew that something bad had happened to her before then but had no memory of it. Yet it haunted her in her dreams sometimes. She always heard the sound of screaming, the noise of shouting—and then nothing. It was as though she had never lived before that day.
One good thing had come out of it, though. From that day on, she had loved horses, and although she was a servant, she had been taught to ride at the tender age of eight. This had happened because the two guards who had rescued her, whom she called Uncle Jack and Uncle Frankie, had taught her until she could ride a horse as well as they could.
One day Frankie had seen her patting his horse, Robbie, running the palm of her hand down his velvety nose, and he had at once given her an apple to feed him with. The horse took it eagerly and munched it with great relish, making her laugh in glee and clap her hands.
“This is the horse you brought me to the castle in, isn’t it, Uncle Frankie?” she asked.
Giggling, she stood on her tiptoes so that the animal could ruffle her hair with his nose. Of all the horses in the stables, she loved Robbie the best.
“Aye, hen, he is,” Frankie replied fondly.
Ever since he had brought the little girl back with him on that fateful day, he had loved her as if she was one of his own daughters and indulged her in every way he could.
“Would ye like tae learn tae ride him? He is very quiet unless I tell him tae get angry.” He growled and made a fierce face.
Kenna thought for a moment. “Aye, Uncle Frankie, that would be nice,” she said, smiling happily.
“Mind ye, when ye get a bit bigger, ye will have tae learn tae ride wi’ a ladies’ saddle,” he warned.
Kenna frowned. “Is that one of those silly sideways things?” she asked.
She had seen the ladies riding on their saddles, and she had always felt sorry for them. To her, they looked comical and undignified.
“Aye,” Frankie replied, sighing. “But ye wilnae need them for a while, an’ ye wilnae be able tae ride a big horse like this for a while either. Robbie is tae big, but there is a wee pony in the stables an’ I am sure the laird will let ye ride her.”
This was true. Kenna seemed to have the happy knack of making everyone who knew her fall in love with her, and Laird and Lady McDonald had been no different. Kenna had spent so much timewith both Laird and Lady McDonald that she had begun to lose her broad Scots brogue and speak in more of a “refined” manner.
This was something that had not worried Flora a bit since she wanted the best for her adopted daughter and knew that a polished accent and the ability to read and write would take her far in life.
Laird and Lady McDonald had only two children, both sons, and they had always longed for a daughter. However, the birth of twin sons had been such a difficult one that the midwife had informed Katrina McDonald that there would be no more children.
Accordingly, when Flora had gone to see them to ask if she could raise her as her own in the castle, they had taken such a shine to her that they had agreed at once.
“What is your name, lass?” the laird asked, smiling as he pulled her onto his lap.
“Kenna, M’Laird,” she said quietly.
