A Wife for the Highlander

Fianna Ceannaideach tended her garden as she softly hummed a hymn to herself. Even after five years of marriage to Boadhagh she was still a woman of the earth. She smiled as she picked the plants, placing the fruits of her labor in a wide woven basket. The nip of approaching fall was becoming more noticeable each evening, and the production of her garden was slowing, with only late season vegetables still available for harvesting. Soon, perhaps within weeks, her harvests would stop for the season and they'd be eating only porridge and dried fruit and beans, but for now, the earth was still giving. Boadhagh MacNobaill was a good man, wise in the ways of the sea and fishing, but he was hopeless for all but the most basic tasks in the garden. He would till as she directed, complaining bitterly as he toiled, but he ate the bounty of her garden eagerly enough.

She rose, brushing dirt from her knees, her kale, carrots, leeks, and peas neatly arranged in her basket for cleaning and preparation. Before returning to the manor she paused to gaze upon Loch Nobaill and the sea beyond, the blue water and rugged coastline below the cliff filling her with peace. She was low born, living as a peasant in Cyulkein while she apprenticed under her father, a wool merchant that barely eked out a living for his family. Then her views were of bales of fleece and the rough herders who brought their wool to market, not this amazing vista she could enjoy any time by simply opening the wooden shutters of her home.

Turning from the view, she made her way to the manor with her basket, stepping over or around rocks that had been too large to easily move when she'd laid out the plot for her garden. Being married to a noble she wasn't required to tend the garden, and while she allowed the servants to care for the animals, fields, and the manor's much larger garden, her garden was her domain. She willingly shared its abundance, but she guarded it's care fiercely.

She'd never forgotten her former position and made it a point to treat her maids, and the rest of the servants, with respect and kindness. It was the same reason she'd insisted that Boadhagh help her with her garden's first tilling each spring. He'd first refused, assigning as many men as she wanted to aid her, but she'd rejected their help and began laboriously breaking the soil herself while making her displeasure with him clear. Within a few days he'd relented, and after a full day of hard labor, and constant complaints and oaths, she'd rewarded him well that evening. Having the lord of the manor working the soil for his food, slight though it was, had endeared him to the rest of the staff, and the maids in particular. Now he did it every spring, despite his complaints, because it pleased her and gained the respect of his servants.

She entered the kitchen, sat her basket beside the bucket of water, and began cleaning the vegetables. She enjoyed keeping her hands busy and listening to the gossip from both her manor and those in the surrounding countryside, laughing and talking with her maids as if equal in rank. Boadhagh wouldn't tolerate such informality in public, but in the privacy of her chambers or the kitchen, he didn't have to know.

He didn't treat those under his care as equals, and she hadn't wanted him too, but she'd insisted that those who cared for him and his lands deserved some amount of respect and kindness for serving him. The low born had been suspicious of her kindness and the change in Boadhagh at first, as she'd been suspicious of him when he began courting her after the death of his first wife, but after a time the staff accepted that her concern and kindness, and their Lord's gradual change to something resembling a benevolent parent, wasn't a cruel trick or deception. Over the years he and Fianna became loved by all those under their care in a way he'd never experienced before. Each person working his fishing boats, or tending his lands and flocks, seemed willing to give their all to win their Lord and Lady's approval.

It'd been five months since Boadhagh left to help push the English back to protect what was rightfully Scottish land. Soon he'd return to her arms, and her thighs, and they'd try again for an heir. As Fianna's nimble fingers stripped the peas from their pod, she saw that Donella was beginning to show with child, and once again feared she was barren. She tried not to worry, but sometimes she thought of Boadhagh's first wife. Reaghan MacLendan had been a noble woman who'd died of the bloody flux so soon after their marriage she hadn't had a chance to bear him a child, and she wondered if he pined for her, and the children she would have bore him if she'd lived. Boadhagh was six years older than her twenty-three years, and if she wasn't with child soon, they'd have to accept she wasn't capable of producing children. She wouldn't enjoy sharing Boadhagh with one of her maids, but if he wouldn't cast her out for another, she'd accept the sacrifice if it produced him an heir. She glanced about the kitchen, wondering which of the maidens Boadhagh might favor... or perhaps it would be one of the chambermaids that caught his fancy. She forcefully shoved the thought away and focused on her peas. A faint smile danced over her lips. After his long absence, her garden should be fertile for the planting of his seed... and then then he'd have an heir. She could feel it in her thighs.

Fianna was still the lady of the manor, and her generosity and kindness only extended so far with the servants, so she was eating her evening meal alone in the central room when her handmaid burst in, paused as she lowered her head in deference, and then hurried to Fianna's side.

"My Lady," Nighean gushed, her face flushed with excitement, "men on horseback with an oxcart approach!"

Fianna leapt to her feet, her thoughts instantly going to her husband. "Have the men stand ready," she ordered, just in case the travelers weren't as innocent as they might first appear.

She hurried to the main door and stepped out to greet the travelers as the men gathered with pikes and knives. As the travelers approached, she squinted in the fading light before rushing forward when she recognized Keane MacNobaill, Boadhagh's cousin.

"Greetings Keane!" she called as she hurried toward the four riders. "What news of my Boadhagh?" The words were barely past her lips when she noticed the look on Keane's face. She pulled up short as her legs suddenly weakened. "No!" she screamed as her hands rose to her face, her agony clear in her voice.

Keane ground his teeth as he brought his mount to a halt, the oxcart and other three men stopping a respectful distance behind him. The entire trip back from that God forsaken battle at Carham on Tweed, he'd dreaded this moment, the moment when he'd have to tell Fianna that she was now a widow. He dismounted and took a step toward her.

"No!" she wailed again. "No! It can't be true! Boadhagh is undefeatable with sword and shield! No! He can't be dead!"

She rushed past Keane to peer into the cart. On the floor of the caisson was a body tightly wrapped in rope and white linen in the way of the MacNobaill's. She gripped the side of the cart fiercely, unable to accept that her Boadhagh had returned to her like this.

"It's a mistake! It must be! This can't be my Boadhagh! It can't! In the confusion of the battle, another man has been mistaken for him!" she cried, desperately looking from man to man, waiting, praying, that one of them would confirm her hope. Whimpering, she reached for the body, intending to rip away the linen and show these men the body wasn't Boadhagh's. When she began tugging on the rope and cloth wrapping the body, Keane took her gently, but firmly, by the shoulders and pulled her from the oxcart. "No!" she shrieked as he dragged her away. "It can't be him!"

He pulled her further from the cart and then turned her to face him. "Fianna! Listen to me!" Keane said, his voice kind but firm. "There's no mistake!" He paused as she seemed to wilt. "He died to protect the clan," he murmured, knowing his words were hollow comfort. "His sword and strong right arm are the reason that clan MacNobaill still exists. If it weren't for him, his clan would be no more."

She stood mute, the shock too great to bear. Taking a deep breath, she drew herself up, her face impassive. She was Boadhagh MacNobaill's wife, and she'd do her duty. Her tears would have to wait. She shrugged out of his Keane's grip and stepped away from him before motioning to Nighean.

"Have the men remove the body," she said, no emotion present on her face or in her voice. "We will bury Boadhagh tomorrow as befitting the chief of clan MacNobaill. Have the carpenters construct the funeral pyre and raft immediately. "She turned her attention back to Keane. "You and your men will stay with us tonight? You must be weary after so long a journey."

"I would be honored, my Lady," he murmured with a dip of his head.

After the battle, with the English bastards routed, he and his men had left the rest of their clan behind in a race to return Boadhagh home so that he could be laid to rest in the sea, as befitting his position, before he began to smell of death. In their four days on the road, they'd pushed themselves, their mounts, and the ox, to the limits of their endurance to achieve that goal.

She turned to her handmaid again. "See that Keane, his men, and their animals are well cared for," she said, her voice devoid of feeling.

"Yes, my Lady," Nighean murmured, her gaze held low in respect and sympathy for her lady.

Her duties as Lady of the manor discharged, she turned and entered the house, her head held high as she climbed the steps to her chamber. She was not seen again until the next morning, but her sobs were heard throughout the night.

The next morning Fianna called her handmaid to her. "What is the status of the burial raft?"

"The carpenters are working diligently to finish it, my Lady."

"I expect it to be completed by tonight. Tell them to use as many men as they need. This is the household's singular priority."

"Yes, my Lady."

As Nighean hurried away to carry out her wishes, Fianna found Keane sitting alone in the central room.

"Forgive me my Lord," she said, standing in the doorway with her head bowed.

"Fianna..." Keane said quietly as he rose from where was warming by the fire. "Do you hate me so much that you can't use my name?"

"I am but a guest in your manor, my Lord. With no heir, Boadhagh's lands and possessions pass to you."

Keane stared at Fianna, her head bowed in supplication. She'd always been so proud, so strong. Despite her low birth, she knew and respected the ways of clan MacNobaill, and his heart broke to see her this way.

"That's true, but this is your home until another takes you... or you join Boadhagh."

She lifted her eyes briefly before once again looking at the floor. "Why would you grant me this favor?"

"You are Boadhagh's wife. He and I were more than cousins, we were like brothers. He gave his life in battle so that I and the rest of our kin still lives. I will not dishonor his memory by turning his love out of their home."

"Did he... speak of me?" she asked after a long pause, her gaze still cast low.

"Fianna, look at me." When her gaze finally met his he continued. "He spoke of you often, telling any who would listen of your strength and beauty, and of his love for you." He paused as tears threatened, struggling to be strong for her. "His marriage to Reaghan was arranged, but you, Fianna, he chose. He loved you more than life itself."

She whimpered. "As I did him."

"When the English bastards broke through our line, our clan was attacked from the flank. I wanted to stand with him, we all did, but Boadhagh ordered us back to reform and hold the line." Keane paused, his eyes filled with pain and tears. "Instead of falling back with us, he stood, daring the English to meet him. I refused to go, but he..." He paused as he took a deep breath and cleared his throat, choking back the memories and the pain. "He told me... that I had to... to live... to care for you." He wiped his eyes furiously and loudly cleared his throat again. "By the time we pushed the English back, Boadhagh was dead, five of the filthy English bastards lifeless at his feet." He held her gaze for a long moment. "His last thought was of you, Fianna."

"So, the mighty clan MacNobaill abandoned one of their own on the field of battle," she murmured, her voice as cold as the winter wind,"leaving my Boadhagh to stand alone while the rest scurried away like children to hide behind their mothers." By right he could kill her for her impertinence, but she didn't care. If he struck her down, she'd be with Boadhagh.

His temper flared with the accusation, but he snuffed his rising anger. She was hurt and upset, as any wife would be. "No! I would have stood shoulder to shoulder with him until my last breath... save for his pleading that I return home and see to your wellbeing."

He looked down, unable to meet her glare, ashamed that in Fianna's eyes he'd abandoned his cousin and sealed his fate. Perhaps he had, but the fear in Boadhagh's eyes haunted him still. Not fear of death, but fear that Fianna would be turned out and left to fend for herself... or worse.

She considered his words. Perhaps she was being unfair to him. Boadhagh had always been fearless, certain in his own invincibility and afraid of nothing. It would be like him to stand alone to protect the others of his clan. And Keane, though younger, he reminded her so much of Boadhagh. Perhaps he would have stood with her love, but he hadn't, and she couldn't find it in her heart to forgive him for that transgression.

"And yet, here you stand while my Boadhagh does not."

He was stung by her words because they were true. "Even now, I would gladly trade my life for his," he murmured.

She stared at him. He looked miserable, almost broken, but his guilt changed nothing, and she turned away.

As the evening sun settled over Loch Nobaill, torches were lit along the shore. Boadhagh's body was reverently loaded onto the funeral raft. Eight large and heavy stones, four to a side, were chained to the body to ensure is sank before Keane rowed the craft to the center of the loch alone, refusing all offers of help, the single torch attached to the raft making him visible to those waiting on the shore.

As he rowed, his guilt for leaving Boadhagh behind during the battle was almost crippling. Despite Boadhagh's order, then begging when Keane refused to fall back with the rest of the clan, he should have stayed at his side even though he knew had he stayed he'd have died alongside his cousin. With both their deaths, clan MacNobaill had no clear line of succession, which would have likely led to bloodshed, violence, and perhaps Fianna's own death as she became a pawn in the power struggle. Boadhagh had feared for his love and begged to him protect Fianna and the clan, but that did little to lessen his guilt. He'd told Fianna the truth. He had no wife, and he'd be grateful if it were Boadhagh rowing his body to the center of the loch. He pulled hard at the oars, long practice making his strokes, powerful, smooth, and quiet. He'd abandoned Boadhagh at Carham, but in this task he would stand alone with him until the last moment... as he hadn't in battle.

Once in position, he stepped from his boat onto the raft and laboriously shoved two heavy stones tied to the raft with rope into the water to anchor it. He then ignited the pyre from the torch, cut his craft free, and began rowing toward the torchlight on the shore. He watched as the funeral pyre burned bright, announcing to the world that another MacNobaill nobleman's body and spirit were returning to the sea that had given them so much.

Fianna watched the pyre burn as tears rolled down her cheeks. Her Boadhagh was truly lost to her. Even through her grief, she worried what would become of Boadhagh's holdings. Keane was an honorable man, but without a lord to oversee the estate, even if she were allowed to stay, she didn't know how they'd survive.

By morning it'd be common knowledge that Boadhagh's spirit and body had returned to the sea. Soon after, they'd be tested by thieves... or worse. And what of her? Keane could take the servants into his own house, but who would want her? She was soiled and barren. Despite Keane's vow, tomorrow she'd begin preparing herself to be cast out when his generosity came to end.

It took nearly an hour for Keane to row to shore against the tide, guided home by the string of torches. As he approached, he could see Fianna lighted by the torches standing tall and proud. He'd go to her, and offer her what comfort he could, but as the hull of his boat crunched softly against the rocky shore, she turned and walked away.

With first light Keane woke, dressed, and quietly made his way down the steps. He needed to leave to check on his own estate. It was a two-hour ride and he wanted to get an early start. As he entered the central room, he was surprised to find Fianna there eating a bowl of porridge.

"Good morning, Fianna, he said softly. "Were you able to sleep last night?"

"Well enough, my Lord."

He pursed his lips. "Fianna, please, call me Keane. I am a guest in your house, not the other way around."

A faint, sad, smile touched her lips, barely visible in the early morning light. "For how much longer? How will I keep the manor and the lands with no husband? We'll be an easy target for thieves."

"You seemed to have managed in Boadhagh's absence."

"Only because those that would harm us feared Boadhagh's vengeance upon his return."

That gave Keane pause. "I have to leave, to check my own holdings, but I will put forth word that you are under my protection. To see it enforced, I will stay with you for a time, if you like, until my warrant of safety is understood."

She considered his offer. Having Keane here would make her feel safer until his protection was recognized by all those who would try to harm them. "Am I to share your bed as well?" she asked, her face impassive and her voice as cold as the waters of Loch Nobaill.

A small smiled touched his lips. As much as he'd welcome Fianna into his bed, she was still Boadhagh's wife in his mind. "Only if you feel that you need to be that close for protection."

A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips for a heartbeat before fading. "And what of your own estate? Who will manage that while you're here?" she asked, relieved that Keane wouldn't use his position to take advantage of her.

"I'll place Ewart in charge with instructions while I'm here. He practically runs the estate anyway."

She considered his proposal while wondering if he'd considered all the expenses and complications of his idea, and how long he'd be willing to divide his time and resources between the two manors, but she'd take the crumb now and hope for more later.

"I accept your generous offer. Thank you... Keane."

The first night Keane and his men were gone, thieves probed their defenses. It was only a couple of men, easily repelled, but it served to confirm Fianna's worries. Until Keane could extend his protection over them, they were going to have to be on their guard.

When Keane and two of his men returned the next day, Fianna greeted him as he dismounted his horse and handed the reins to one of the stable boys. "Fianna, what's wrong?"

"We were attacked last night. The mason and groom drove them away but..."

"Was anyone hurt?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as his face hardened.

"Only a chicken that was trampled. We'll be having roasted chicken tonight," she added with a small smile.