The Chieftain by Caroline Martin Page A

nose with distaste.
    ‘That?’ she exclaimed. ‘What do you take me for?’
    All trace of good humour left him at her words.
    ‘May I tell you, madam,’ he said harshly, ‘that I think you deeply unworthy ever to wear the plaid. You, a Lowlander - an enemy of my race—!’ The final pause was more eloquent than any words.
    Isobel gazed at him wide-eyed, shocked by the hate - worse, by the contempt - in his tone and in his eyes. He had said the word ‘Lowlander’ as her mother would have said ‘Highlander’, with loathing and detestation. It gave her an odd sensation, chilling and repelling her.
    ‘Why...?’ she began. She found that she could scarcely speak. ‘Why then...?’
    ‘Why do I ask you to wear the plaid?’ he finished for her. ‘Because you are, nevertheless, my wife - and have you seen how you look?’
    She went to the mirror then, and studied herself. She had to admit that the last two days had left their mark upon her. Not only was she dirty and dishevelled, but her gown was torn and muddy, her cloak stained with salt water. Even a plaid might be better than that - at least in Hector’s eyes.
    She turned to him again.
    ‘If I am so much beneath your contempt,’ she asked in a low voice, ‘why then did you marry me?’ But even as she spoke she knew it was a foolish question, for she knew the answer and it could only hurt her more to hear him confirm it.
    He laughed faintly, with derision. ‘For your money, of course,’ he said. ‘What did you think?’
    She turned away, sick at heart, and wandered to the window.
    ‘What possible use can my money be to you here?’ she asked wearily. ‘There’s nothing to buy, and nothing to spend it on.’
    ‘There speaks all the comfortable ignorance of the wealthy,’ he mocked her. ‘Did you not see how my people are living? Can you not guess that they want sound roofs and good clothes and a doctor? And a school perhaps, and help to grow better crops and to keep their animals from sickness.’
    She gazed at him in astonishment. ‘You want my money for that!’
    ‘Is that so strange?’ he returned.
    She could think of no reply, except that Hector was still an enigma to her. And then she remembered her thoughts of a few moments ago. ‘But why do you need schools? I have seen no children—And why are there no women?’
    He smiled then, briefly, almost with pity. ‘I forget you know nothing of our way of life. They are at the shieling, the women and children together, with the animals. They will stay there until the autumn, while the men repair the houses before the storms, and the cattle grow fat on good grass. When you have eaten we shall ride there, so the women and children may see my bride.’
    ‘Are you not ashamed to show them a Lowlander?’ she asked sharply.
    ‘Ah, but they know what you bring with you,’ he said.
    ‘But I haven’t brought it with me - and you may never lay your hands on it,’ she retorted, with a little gleam of triumph.
    ‘You are my wife,’ he said simply, as though no other reply was necessary. And then he turned away to admit the man who brought warm water in a silver bowl, and a tray set with food and drink. ‘Make yourself ready quickly,’ he said. ‘I will return for you shortly.’
    Washing and eating presented no problem, though Isobel shivered in the chill of the room as she stripped off the soiled garments. There was no fire in the wide hearth, and the solid walls admitted little warmth from the summer day.
    Once she had eaten and washed, however, and replaced her petticoat, Isobel gazed at the plaid in perplexity. Where, she thought, does one begin with this vast expanse of cloth? She tried to wind it about her, first this way and then that, becoming only progressively more entangled and more dismayed. Hector had thought her unworthy even to wear this garment. What would he say if he knew she had no idea how to put it on?
    She was close to tears by the time he returned. He smiled