A Maxwell Maligned (Laird of Lochandee) Read Online Free Page A

the box bed at one side of the fire. Surely mother could have waited for us, he thought wearily. He was tired, cold and hungry. He needed to attend to the pony, but how could he leave an exhausted young stranger alone in a dark and silent house?
    Meg must have been listening for them. Seconds later she appeared in her flannel night gown with a large knitted shawl pulled around her shoulders.
    ‘I told you to get to your bed, girl!’ Her mother’s stern voice came from the dark depths of the alcove. So! His mother had not been asleep, he thought indignantly, but she had not uttered a word of welcome.
    ‘They must be cold and hungry, Mother,’ Meg protested and for once she turned her back defiantly. ‘You must be Rachel.’ She gave an encouraging smile and drew the forlorn figure towards the rag rug in front of the hearth. ‘I made some gruel earlier,’ she added looking at Ross. ‘Or there is broth left in the pot. I’ll poke up the fire and hook it on the sway to heat. It will be ready by the time you have bedded the pony.’
    ‘I’m ready for it, and I’m sure Miss O’Brian must need something to warm her. Thank you, Meg.’ Ross’s eyes met hers, expressing his gratitude. She gave him a wry smile. They both knew their mother was going to need a great deal of humouring. Even so they were taken aback when Gertie hauled herself up on her elbow and spoke with the icy tones Ross knew so well.
    ‘You girl! Your room is through there.’ She pointed to a darkened corner of the kitchen, next to the larder. Meg gasped, but her mother went on remorselessly. ‘Be out at the byre by five o’clock tomorrow morning. Don’t be late for the milking.’
    ‘Mother! She canna sleep in there! My bed is plenty big enough for two …’ Meg protested.
    ‘That’s where she’ll sleep if she stays here.’
    ‘Th-thank you ma’am,’ Rachel stammered, but she could not suppress a shudder. Where was the kindly welcome her father had assured her she would receive?
    ‘I shall be all right,’ she whispered in a choked voice as her eyes met Meg’s. She looked and sounded so young and dejected that Meg almost wept. The room her mother had prepared had once been a larder for storing salt meat because it was the coldest corner in the house. It had a single pane of glass, no more than nine inches square. It was bare and damp.
    ‘Let… lassie sleep with … Meg.’ Cameron’s voice, slurred with drug induced sleep, rumbled from somewhere behind his wife.
    ‘I’ve told her where she’s to sleep.’
    ‘Tomorrow … soon enough …’ Cameron muttered with a great effort. Ross, on his way to the door to see to the pony, turned, remembering.
    ‘I met a man named Jim MacDonald at the funeral. He reckons he’s a distant relation.’ He was astonished when such a trivial bit of news effectively diverted their mother’s attention.
    ‘Jim MacDonald?’ Gertie stared. ‘What was he doing at Connor O’Brian’s funeral?’
    Ross moved back to the alcove, jerking his head towards the stairs. Meg needed no further prompting. She took Rachel’s hand and led her up to her own attic bedroom above the kitchen.
    ‘I will bring you something hot on a tray,’ she whispered. ‘You climb into bed and get yourself warm.’
    Downstairs Gertie had not even noticed as Ross went on,
    ‘He plans to call on us.’
    ‘What was Jim MacDonald doing up here?’ she repeated. ‘His parents moved to a farm near Lockerbie in Dumfriesshire.’
    ‘He came up to Ayrshire to attend another funeral – his aunt, or great-aunt, I believe.’ Ross frowned, trying to recall the brief meeting, little realising the importance it would play in his own life.
    ‘My father and Jim MacDonald’s father were cousins,’ Gertrude mused aloud, her mind concentrating on the family connections.
    ‘The old lady was ninety-two.’ Ross supplied obligingly. ‘He’s staying with friends on the other side of the glen, so that he can catch the milk train to