by Mia Pride
Chapter Seven
The scents of rosemary, garlic, and onions floated on the breeze as Elizabeth kneeled into the soil, determined to remove all the weeds that threatened to consume her new garden. At Castle Dunnottar, her garden was the very best place to escape and find some peace, and Drum’s garden had quickly become the same.
The feeling of the cool earth in her hands soothed her soul, which she needed now more than ever as she waited for any news of the battle. It had been a sennight, not so very long where battles were concerned, except that it was only twenty miles away. Already, she had made it her goal to learn the names of all the staff, find her way around the castle, and had been given a hearty blessing by Mary to take over the herbs, fruits, and vegetables, a task she was not as keen on as Elizabeth.
“Ye have worked wonders in here!” Startled, Elizabeth gasped and dropped her trowel, looking over her shoulder to see Mary hovering over her with a smile. Her red hair flowed freely and she truly was glowing like an angel.
“Och, ye scared me,” Elizabeth laughed and stood up, wiping the dirt off the knees of her tattered blue work dress. “Ye look happier than I’ve seen ye in days. How’s our wee bairn doing?” Elizabeth placed her hand on Mary’s slightly rounded belly and smiled. “Has he quickened yet?”
Mary sighed and put one hand on her belly, as well. “Nay, not quite. The midwife says he may in a moon or so, and that it will feel like wee butterflies in my stomach. Seems surreal and I cannae wait. But, aye, I am happy. My sickness has abated and I heard news that the men were seen approaching from the distance.” A sadness fell over her face and she looked up at the bright blue sky overheard. “Though I suppose we await the same man.”
“Mary. Ye ken I only await news that everyone is well and that the enemy has been chased away. Aye, we await the same man, but not in the same way. I will say my public greeting to him, and ye may say whatever it is ye wish to say to him in private. Ye ken I dinnae mind. Ye carry his bairn after all.”
“How does that not bother ye?” Mary looked at her oddly, tilting her head. “Ye say it so casually. I would be blinded by jealousy if another woman carried my husband’s child.”
Elizabeth snorted and waved Mary away. “Because ye are in love with him. I suppose I would care if I had feelings beyond duty toward the man. Nay, it doesnae bother me, except that I feel responsible for keeping ye apart. I truly did try to change our fates.”
“Ye did? How?”
Chewing her lower lip, Elizabeth sighed and wondered if she was saying more than she should. Offering herself to Robert and being rejected was not her finest moment in life. “After ye told me about the bairn and I found out my marriage was to happen immediately, I was atop the battlements, sobbing like a wee child. Robert found me and comforted me. It had crossed my mind that if I were to marry Robert, ye could be with Alex and I would still fulfill the peace between our clans. Only, he informed me it wasnae possible. The marriage contract was already signed, and I was meant to marry the laird, not the second brother, not that such a detail would matter to me. Furthermore. I felt like I was replacing ye as acting lady of the castle. I like ye, Mary. Ye and Robert are my only friends here at Drum and I cannae stand that my arrival has ruined yer life.”
Mary’s bonnie lips turned downward as she listened to Elizabeth and before she knew what was happening, her new companion had her locked in a stronger embrace than she could have expected from such a wee lass. “Ye are a good woman, Elizabeth. Ye havenae ruined my life. I ken that Alex and I could never have married. We wanted to run away to be together but he is the heir. It is an impossible position and if he didnae marry ye, he would have married another. I am only glad it was ye, because ye make this tolerable for me.”
Shouts rang out and the sound of horse hooves traveled through the air. “The men are back!” Mary gasped and released Elizabeth. A sinking feeling gripped at Elizabeth, almost as if she were drowning from a sudden lack of air. Gripping her rosary, she prayed all the men returned safely, though she knew it was an impossibility. Picking up her soiled skirts, Elizabeth ran toward the commotion, just as anxious to greet the men and hear the news as all the others in the castle and surrounding village. All work ceased as the crowd formed in the outer bailey, the tension palpable.
The horses kicked dirt up into the air creating clouds of brown dust that surrounded her. Covering her nose, Elizabeth fanned the air in front of her, trying to see through the crowd, getting on her tiptoes to watch as dozens of horses came to a stop.
“Let the Lady of Drum through so she can greet the laird!” an older woman’s voice rang out and Elizabeth almost forgot who she was. As the lady, she should be in the front, awaiting her laird and husband. People parted for her, making a walkway that somehow made her feel uncomfortable and more visible than she wished to be.
Hands gripping the fabric of her skirts so nobody could see them shaking, Elizabeth watched as the men came to a stop. She needed to see her brother. Never had she suffered more than she had this past sennight, praying nightly for the souls of her kin, for the Irvine brothers, but especially for her brother. Life simply would cease to matter if he was no longer alive.
Spotting him upon his horse near the front, there was no way to control the relief coursing through her mind. “William!” Everything else faded away as she shouted for him, running toward his horse as he dismounted and put out his arms before wrapping her in his warm, familiar embrace. He was covered in a layer of dirt, but he was alive and whole. “Oh, my brother! How I feared for ye!”
She felt his breath heavy against her ear, out of breath it would seem, and when he did not relent on his grip, the frigid fingers of dread climbed up the nape of her neck. “What is wrong? What is it?”
Pushing away from him, she looked at the men, so many fewer than had left a sennight ago. Her stomach sank when she saw the crestfallen faces all around. This was not the look of victory. Was the enemy approaching to burn them down as promised?
Mind in a whirl, she registered Robert and Reginald’s faces, briefly wondering where Alex was, assuming he may have stayed back with some men to hold off the enemy. “Where is my husband, William?” Looking over her shoulder, she saw Mary behind her frantically scanning the crowd, wringing her hands together nervously. Women had begun spotting their loved ones and racing over to them while many stood around in angst, looking for men who left but had not returned. Never had a sadness fallen over Mary so heavily as it did watching tears fall from the faces of lovers and widows, watching the moment their entire lives changed forever.
“He fell, Sister,” he whispered, not wanting anyone else to hear him.
Gooseflesh rose over every inch of her body and her hands instinctively moved to the rosary around her neck. “What? N-nay. That cannae be.” Tears slid down her cheeks and anguish slashed at her heart. She may not have loved her husband, but she knew a lass who did, and Alex was a fine man and would have been a fair husband.
“He saved many of us, Lizzie. Ye would have been proud of yer husband.” She fought the frown attempting to form on her face and did her best to keep her composure, if only so the others awaiting news could not fully read her features.
Robert stepped forward and walked past her, as stiff as a statue come to life. He did not acknowledge her whatsoever as he addressed the crowd. “It was a long, bloody battle.” His voice was monotone and emotionless, drained of all energy. “We have lost many good men. By the end of the day, there was no clear victor, but on the morning after, The Donald’s army had retreated. Victory is ours.”
The crowd cheered, but so may wept for the faces missing in the crowd and whispers began to circulate as everyone wondered where their laird was. Robert held up his hand to ask for silence, and all the voices died down. “Aye, we have won, but at a great price. We lost our laird, my brother.”
The crowd gasped and a few wails filled the air, but none more painful than the one she knew came from the woman carrying his bairn.
T
urning around, Elizabeth saw Mary frantically pushing through the crowd, desperate to escape while terrible wails of grief were wrenched from her body. Not knowing what to do, Elizabeth followed, determined to help in any way she could.
Now that she was a widow, she would likely be sent back to Dunnottar and await instructions to marry once more to some other laird of some other clan in need of an alliance with the Keiths. But all she could think about now was consoling her friend as they wept over the same man and what his loss meant to each of them.
We lost our laird, my brother. Those were not words Robert had every wished, or expected, to have ever said. Arriving without Alexander felt like arriving without one of his limbs. He was whole by all appearances but, inside, he felt a gaping void of emptiness. He was laird now, not an honor he ever wanted, for the only way it would have ever come to pass was in the face of such tragedy. He would usually ask his elder brother for advice, but now he was the elder. Once more, his stomach recoiled and he stormed off into the keep, not ready to discuss anything more than he had said. It was only midday and he had only just arrived but, already, he felt overwhelmed by all that must be done and his lack of will to do it. He knew Drum inside and out, as he did the village and its people. He was certain of his abilities. Yet, he was unsure of his current emotional state.
In the distance, he saw Elizabeth turn and run off, pushing through the crowd with tears in her eyes. She seemed truly distraught over the loss of her husband. Did she realize she was to marry Robert in his stead? He assumed she must be aware, for it was apparently written in the agreement. But, there was too much to be done and Robert had no time to worry about having to marry his brother’s widow. The contract stated that he would become known as Alexander, as well. Taking his brother’s name, title, wife… everything. He would lose all that he was, everything he ever wanted, because of a cursed contract.
Where did one go after arriving home from battle without his brother? What did one do? Feeling lost and destitute, Robert decided nothing would get done properly until he rested. Most certainly, there were missives awaiting the laird in the solar, but they could wait one more day. All Robert wanted was a hot bath and a few hours of sleep before the evening meal, where he was sure to be expected to comfort his people.
Walking up the stairs to the second floor, Robert walked past Elizabeth’s chamber door, pausing when he heard voices from within. Pressing his ear to the door, he strained to hear, only picking up a few words that made little sense to his already addled mind.
“What to do… the bairn… nay father…” High-pitched wails hit his ears and he cringed at the pain in her voice. A bairn? Could Elizabeth already be with child and somehow know within a sennight’s time? He knew naught of such womanly things, but it appeared to be the case. No wonder she was so distressed about his passing. Of course, she was a kindhearted lass and would cry for her husband regardless, of that, he was certain. But being with child and finding out the father had died would make any woman hysterical.
Raising his fist to the door, he contemplated knocking, but he would be of little use to her when he could hardly function himself. He smelled like sweat despite a quick dip in a loch on his journey home, and his legs threatened to give way beneath him. Though he was whole, he had suffered many bruises and more than one minor wound that would need to be tended to by a healer as soon as he was washed up.
“Will be well… figure it out,” clips from another voice said. He assumed the other woman was her maid, Matilda, trying to comfort Elizabeth as best as one could at such a time. Deciding there was naught more he could do for the lass, he decided to continue walking the few steps past the laird’s chamber, which would, cruelly, be his soon enough, and down two more doors to his own chamber.
Throwing his door open, the draft of the room hit him hard, having not been used or heated in a sennight. He could not care. He was too tired to complain. He was even too tired to call for a maid to prepare him a bath. Pulling his sodden, ripped tunic over his head, he looked down at the slash wound across his chest, angry and red with infection. Touching it, he flinched and hissed in pain.
A sudden knock on the door caught him off guard and he stumbled toward it, unsure who would be visiting at this moment other than Reginald who would never bother to knock. Mary stood before him with her puffy red-rimmed eyes and his heart sank to his toes. In his own grief, he had selfishly not thought of how this news would affect her. She deserved to have found out before the crowd. “I am so sorry, Mary.”
Nodding, she lowered her head and sniffled, wiping a tear from her eye. “I am sorry, too, Robert. I lost the love of my life, but ye lost yer brother.”
“Aye.” It was all he could bring himself to say and, thankfully, she did not seem to expect much more. “Can I help ye with anything?”
“Oh, nay. I only came to check on ye. And I can see ye are in need of some care,” she said, eyes locked on his wound. “’Tis a wee bit infected, but nothing a bath, some salve, and clean bandages cannae fix.”
“Mary. Ye dinnae need to tend to me. I want ye to go rest.”
“But, ye need a bath…”
“Aye, I do. Can ye not ask someone else to prepare it while ye rest?”
Nodding in resignation, he saw her breathe deeply, apparently inwardly relieved to be forced to rest. He knew she liked to stay busy, but she was hurting and needed time to herself. Turning to leave, Mary shut the door behind her and Robert sat in the chair near his hearth and groaned as every muscle in his body screamed in pain.
He must have dozed off, for what felt like a split second later a few young male servants came through carrying the small wooden tub while a line of chambermaids came through his door carrying buckets of hot water. Once the tub was filled and fresh linens and soap had been left for him, everyone left the room. He thanked them and scratched his head, wondering why none of them stayed to bathe him as usual, yet he did not mind. He could very well clean himself and preferred the privacy.
Removing his muddy boots and then his trews, Robert looked down at the steamy hot water and sighed, more than ready to soothe his sore muscles and clean the filth off his body. Stepping in, he sank all the way down, wishing the tub was roomier, but feeling better already. Closing his eyes, he let the steam crawl up his face and the heat soak into his limbs.
After a few moments, he began to feel himself slip into unconsciousness, flashbacks of the battle flashing through his mind in slow motion. Blood. Shouting. Death. Alexander lying dead on the battlefield. A knock on the door made him jump up quickly from the tub, knocking him out of his living nightmare, yet leaving him disoriented. Before he could speak or process that he was still at Drum Castle, still in his chambers, the door opened and an angel walked through the door in a green surcoat with eyes the color of the wheat fields glowing golden in the summer rays just outside the caste walls. Was he dead? Was this heaven? Or was she here to carry him away?
Those golden eyes grew wide and lush pink lips opened as her jaw dropped and some heavy object she was holding fell with a clatter to the floor, snapping Robert back to reality.
“Elizabeth! What are ye doing here?” Robert asked, still feeling like he was caught in a world between the Harlaw field and reality.
“I… uh… came to tend to ye. Only, I didnae ken who I was coming to tend. Mary said all the other chambermaids and healers were busy tending to the other… men.” Gulping, she looked down his body, then back up once more, rooted in place before all his senses came back to him and Robert realized he was still standing up in the tub.
“Shite,” he grumbled and picked up the linen draped over the edge of the tub, hiding himself from her stunned gaze.
“Oh!” Elizabeth closed her eyes and turned around, realizing she had been gaping at his nude form. “I am sorry!”
“I can wash myself, my lady, but thank ye.” Sitting back down in the bath, he grabbed the soap and the rag, wondering if she had any intention of leaving. He was aroused despite himself and could
not allow her to notice, or risk embarrassing them both. But it had been too long since he had been nude in front of a woman and even longer since one gaped at him the way she had, the bonnie blush creeping up her cheeks. Aye, she was a beautiful woman and the man in him wanted very much for her to bathe him, or better yet, remove her clothes and…
Robert cursed under his breath. She was his brother’s widow. Aye, he would eventually marry her, and sooner than expected now that he knew she was with child. It would be best if nobody else knew, so he could claim the child if necessary. Still, she was not his, not yet, and lusting over his brother’s wife felt more sinful than the images of her naked, wet breasts pressed up against his chest and her hand gripping his…
“Are ye going to leave?” he groaned, now catching himself staring at her slim waist and curvy backside.
“Nay.” Turning around, she looked at him once more, letting out a long breath when she saw him covered by the water in the bath. “I saw that wound on yer chest. It needs healing and I am a skilled herbalist.”
“I vow ye saw more than just my wound,” he whispered to himself.
“I… I didnae!” she stammered, turning red once more, clearly filled with indignation. Bending over to pick up the item she had dropped a moment ago, apparently a basket full of healing supplies, he noticed her ample bosom pressing against her bodice. It strained to conceal them, but they were larger than two heads of cabbage and he wondered what they would look like in the palms of his hands.
She stepped closer now, placing the basket next to the wooden tub as she got down on her knees to better view his wound. If he was not careful, she would get a better view of his bollocks, as well. He was stiff as a rod now and having a hard time concealing the evidence and watching her bent over running her fingers in circles around his wound while on her knees was not helping, Lord help him. He was a bastard for reacting this way to her. He had kept his attraction for her in check before, but something about returning from war, having been surrounded by thousands of men, and knowing that he would soon wed and bed the lass had him yearning for her flesh and a chance to feel something pleasurable once more. That was all this was. He did not feel romantic toward the lass. Nay, he just wished to lay her down and… do what his brother did to get her with child.