by Jayne Castel
Nonetheless, Gavina did as Elizabeth bid, lowering herself with a groan into one of the chairs.
Smiling, Elizabeth pulled up a chair opposite. “It’s incredible how things turn out,” she murmured. “Who’d have thought ten years ago that we’d all be where we are now?”
Gavina glanced up, her eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiled. “Aye … Robert had yet to be captured, William Wallace was still alive, and I was wed to David.” Her smile dimmed then. “I never thought I’d find such happiness, Liz. Sometimes I look at my husband and our bairns and wonder how I managed to find fortune’s favor.”
“Ye are more worthy of it than many,” Elizabeth replied. “I must admit when ye first wed Draco, I thought it would be yer ruin … but ye two have proven to be a great match.” Elizabeth paused there. “I think ye bring out the best in each other.”
Gavina smiled back. “As ye and Robert always did.”
Warmth seeped through Elizabeth. Aye, it was true. They had once been a good match—and after last night, she hoped that they could again be happy together.
“It must have been difficult for the pair of ye though,” Gavina said, her gaze roaming Elizabeth’s face. “Eight years is a long time to be apart … and ye have both been through much.”
“He is different to the man I recall,” Elizabeth admitted. “But I hope—”
She cut off there as opposite her Gavina gave a sharp gasp.
A tinkling noise followed.
Dropping her gaze to the flagstones, Elizabeth saw clear liquid pooling there.
Elizabeth rose to her feet, excitement climbing within her. “Yer waters have broken!” She stepped forward, taking her friend by the hands and helping her stand. “The bairn is coming … just in time for Yule!”
The light was starting to fade when Elizabeth emerged from Gavina’s bed-chamber.
Draco was pacing up and down the hallway outside, his hawkish features taut with worry.
Glancing up, his dark gaze speared Elizabeth. “The babe. Has it come?”
“Not yet,” Elizabeth replied. “Although it’s on its way … her birthing pains grow strong.” She gestured to the door behind her. “Keep Gavina company while I go and collect some swaddling linen and hot water.”
Seeing the worry in Draco’s eyes, she favored him with a reassuring smile. “All is well … I’ll be back soon.”
Hurrying down the hallway to the stairwell that would take her downstairs, Elizabeth wondered how her husband and son’s ride had gone earlier in the day.
She passed a narrow window in the stairwell and noted that the sky was darkening rapidly, and that it had started snowing again.
She’d been so preoccupied with Gavina she’d barely noticed the passing of time.
Dunnottar didn’t have a resident healer or midwife—and Elizabeth had taken up the roles. Helping a woman give birth was a great responsibility, but like her mother before her, she was a skilled healer and competent midwife.
Even so, she wouldn’t be able to relax until Gavina delivered her bairn safely.
Childbirth was always such a risky time for women.
On the way down to the kitchens and laundry, Elizabeth made a detour to the laird’s apartments—no doubt Robert and Robbie would be warming themselves by the fire with cups of warm wine.
However, she found the laird’s solar empty—and when she went to her own quarters, they weren’t there either.
Maybe they’ve gone to the hall already? She really had to collect the clean linen and hot water. But first, she wanted to see her husband and son, and to know how their day had gone.
In the gallery leading to the hall, she encountered the castle’s steward, Donnan de Keith. He limped toward her, a grin splitting his face.
“I hear Gavina is about to give birth,” he greeted her.
“Aye,” Elizabeth replied with a distracted smile. “It’s not far away now.” She met Donnan’s eye. “Have ye just come from the hall?”
“Aye.”
“Are the laird and Robbie there?”
The steward shook his head. “Not yet, My Lady.”
Elizabeth stilled. “Have they not returned from their ride?”
Donnan’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t realize they’d gone out,” he answered. “Maybe they’re stabling their horses now.”
“I’ll go and see,” Elizabeth replied. A chill sense of foreboding rose within her then, a gnawing intuition that something was wrong.
Without another word to Donnan, she turned and fled toward the entrance hall.
The snow fell heavily in the lower ward bailey, thick flakes swirling and fluttering silently. The glow of torchlight and braziers illuminated the wide space.
Gathering her fur mantle close, Elizabeth hurried to the stables, her boots sinking into the snow.
Inside, she found stable lads feeding the horses their evening mash. Cassian was there too, saddling his courser.
He glanced up, his features tensing when he saw Elizabeth step inside the stables, her gaze darting around. “My Lady?”
“The laird and Robbie … are they back yet?”
Cassian shook his head. “I expected them back a couple of hours ago … I’m going out to look for them.”
Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath.
“They can’t have gone far,” Cassian replied hurriedly, seeing her look of alarm. “I’m sure they just took a longer ride than anticipated.”
“Can ye take some of yer men out for a search?” Elizabeth asked. “Something is wrong … I sense it.”
Cassian frowned. However, he didn’t question her. Instead, he nodded and stepped out of the stall, heading toward the door. “I’ll gather some of the Guard now.”
Heart pounding, Elizabeth followed the captain outdoors, back into the snow.
She nearly ran into Cassian’s broad back, for he’d abruptly halted a few feet outside the stable door.
Following his gaze, her own narrowing as she peered through the swirling snow, Elizabeth saw a horse ride in through the gate, leading a pony behind it.
“There he is.” The relief in Cassian’s voice was palpable.
However, Elizabeth was already rushing forward.
Even in the gloom, she could see that the garron was riderless. Where was Robbie?
As she neared the approaching outline of a tall man on horseback, Elizabeth saw that he carried a small figure in front of him—a figure that was slumped unconscious against his father’s chest.
Terror twisted in Elizabeth’s chest, and she broke into a run. “Robbie!”
XI
PROTECTIVE
ELIZABETH HURRIED TO Robert’s side, her gaze spearing his for an instant, before it traveled down to Robbie’s ashen face.
His eyes were closed, and only the rise and fall of his chest reassured her that her son was actually breathing.
“What happened?” The question came out in a panicked gasp. “Ye should have been home hours ago.”
“Robbie’s garron bolted on the way back from the woods,” Robert answered, his voice rough with exhaustion. “The beast then threw him, but his foot caught in a stirrup, and he was dragged a good distance.”
Elizabeth gasped, a hand rising to her mouth. “How seriously is he hurt?”
“He hit his head … and I think he twisted an ankle badly.”
“We must get him down off this horse and inside,” Elizabeth replied, panic pulsing in her breast, in time with her heartbeat. She was aware that her voice sounded shrill—but she didn’t care.
Robert only had one task today—to take his son out and ensure he didn’t come to any harm.
He’d failed miserably.
“Elizabeth,” Robert began, his voice strained. “I—”
“Help me get him down, Captain,” Elizabeth called to Cassian, who was now striding toward them. “Robbie is injured.”
She’d cut her husband off, but she didn’t care. All she could focus on right now was Robbie.
Gen
tly, Robert lowered Robbie’s prone body down into Cassian’s waiting arms. “Take him to my chamber, Captain,” he said softly.
“No,” Elizabeth interjected, not looking at her husband. “Take him to mine.”
Cassian tensed, his gaze flicking between the laird and his wife. Robert didn’t speak up and so, jaw tensing, Cassian nodded.
“Lady Elizabeth!”
A woman’s voice echoed through the snowy gloaming.
Elizabeth swiveled to see Aila emerge, snowflakes settling on her hair. “The bairn is close now … Gavina is calling for ye.”
Elizabeth clenched her fists at her sides, frustration exploding within her. She was torn between tending to her son and assisting her friend. However, she knew Gavina needed her help with the birth, so she chose the latter.
Turning back to Cassian, she fixed him with a desperate look. “Make sure Robbie is kept warm and dry … and I’ll be down to see him as soon as I’m able.”
“Elizabeth,” Robert spoke up once more. “Don’t worry, I’ll look after him.”
She forced herself to look at him then. Her husband’s lean face was pale and strained, his eyes dark in the flickering torchlight. He looked worried—and so he should when he brought his son home half-dead.
“Like ye have done already?” Once again, she heard the sharp edge to her voice.
Robert’s gaze widened, his bearded jaw growing taut, but Elizabeth didn’t linger to hear his response. Instead, she turned and hurried after Aila.
Rosa Vulcan was born in the wee hours of the ‘Long Night’.
A small wailing babe with a surprisingly full head of dark hair, the bairn’s red face scrunched up in outrage.
“Someone has a fine set of lungs,” Elizabeth noted with a weary smile. “Ye have a feisty lass on yer hands.”
She wrapped the wailing bairn up in a soft cloth and handed her to Gavina.
Propped up on a mountain of pillows, her face pale with exhaustion yet glowing with pride, Gavina eagerly took the babe, holding it against her breast. “Rosa,” she whispered. “My goodness … ye are the very image of yer Da.”
“Speaking of which … I know someone who is very anxious to see ye both.” Elizabeth moved over to the door and opened it, waving to the man who’d been pacing outside for hours. “Come in Draco … ye have a bonny daughter.”
Draco approached, his face still taut with worry.
“Fear not,” Elizabeth murmured. “Both mother and bairn are well.”
Her words were a balm to the man—almost instantly, she watched the tension ebb from him. Like Cassian, the first signs of age were on Draco these days. Not much, just the deepening of laugh lines around his eyes, mouth, and nose, and the barest hint of silver at his temples.
Draco Vulcan—like his friends Maximus and Cassian—had once been immortal, cursed by a Pict witch back in the mists of time. But seven years earlier he’d broken the curse, and now could age and die just like any other man.
Elizabeth stepped back to let him enter the chamber. Draco approached the bed and perched upon the edge, his hand reaching for his wife’s. “Finally, a daughter,” he murmured. “A lass for our boys to protect.” He paused there, his gaze resting upon the babe’s face. “She’s beautiful,” he whispered. “Like ye.”
“Elizabeth and I both agree she looks like ye,” Gavina replied, smiling up at him.
“Poor lass.”
“Nonsense … she will be a striking beauty, with many suitors vying for her hand.”
“Not too many I hope,” Draco growled. He continued to stare down at his daughter’s wrinkled face—and the look of awe that Elizabeth saw there made her vision blur as tears rose.
He looked like the happiest man alive.
The castle slumbered when Elizabeth finally made her way down to her chambers.
The rest of the keep would have celebrated this eve by lighting the great oaken log in the hearth of the hall, and by enjoying a spread of seasonal treats washed down by mulled wine and mead.
Elizabeth hadn’t eaten anything since noon—and hadn’t any appetite now either.
It had been a privilege to deliver Gavina and Draco’s daughter, yet it had been difficult to focus on the task—for her thoughts kept going to Robbie.
She needed to know how serious his injuries were.
Letting herself into the solar, she spied a tray of small pies and a cup of what smelled like mulled wine upon the table. However, she ignored the food and drink. Instead, she made her way across to her bed-chamber and opened the door.
Two figures lay upon the bed.
Elizabeth drew close, her gaze going to her son. He was wrapped up under a nest of blankets. Relief flooded through her when she saw—in the glow of the nearby hearth—that color had returned to his cheeks.
Reaching out, she lay a hand upon his brow. Warm, but not overly hot. She noted his breathing was slow, deep, and even—another good sign.
Reluctantly then, she shifted her attention to the second individual. Robert lay fully clothed on top of the bed, one arm slung protectively over his son’s torso.
Protective.
Elizabeth’s throat constricted, and she swallowed hard.
It was all well and good being caring now, when their son had almost met his end.
Even so—and although she bristled at the sight of her husband—her gaze took him in nonetheless. Robert looked exhausted, even sleep hadn’t taken the tension from his face, or removed the dark smudges from under his eyes.
“Robert,” she murmured, grasping him gently by the wrist. “Wake up.”
Robert’s eyelashes fluttered, and his eyes opened … his gaze fixed upon her. “Liz?” His voice was gentle, husky—drawing her in.
Elizabeth fought the sensation. “Aye … I’m back now, so ye can return to yer own chamber.”
Robert removed his arm from over his sleeping son and sat up, running a tired hand over his face. “Hades … my head feels full of wool … what time is it?”
“Well after the witching hour.” Elizabeth replied coolly. “Gavina and Draco have a daughter. Most folk are sleeping in their own beds, and so should ye.”
He looked at her then, his gaze settling upon her with a gravity that made Elizabeth tense. “Ye are still angry with me?”
“Aye,” she replied, not bothering to evade such a direct question.
“Ye think the accident my fault?”
“Well, isn’t it?”
He stared back at her, his silence condemning him. “I do blame myself.” he said after a few moments. “But it all happened so fast. Hunter had bolted before I could catch him by the reins.”
“Ye should have kept a closer eye on Robbie,” Elizabeth countered. Her belly clenched as anger spiraled up within her. “Ye treat him like a man, but he’s only a lad … ye were supposed to look after him.”
“And I failed.” Robert’s voice was toneless as he finished Elizabeth’s sentence for her. “Is that what ye are saying?”
He rolled off the bed and rose to his feet. Moving around the edge of the bed, he stopped before her.
Elizabeth raised her chin to hold his gaze, even if misery now clutched at her breast. She wanted to lash out, to wound. “Robbie’s all I have,” she eventually managed. “I’d never have forgiven ye if he’d broken his neck out there today. Never.”
Robert stared down at her, and long moments drew out. And as they did, she watched his brown eyes shutter.
A shield raised between them.
When Robert finally replied, his voice was as chill as the night that surrounded them. “Goodnight then, Liz,” he said, before he moved past her and made for the door.
XII
IN THE STABLES
“YE WERE LUCKY, Robbie … it’s only a bad sprain.” Elizabeth finished wrapping the bandage around her son’s swollen ankle before straightening up. She met his guileless brown gaze. “It could have been so much worse.”
“Da saved me though,” Robbie replied. He sat up in be
d, his fingers wrapped around a fresh bannock smeared with butter and honey. “He stopped Hunter before he took us both over the cliffs.”
Elizabeth’s heart buckled against her ribs.
Robert didn’t tell me that?
“God’s teeth, Robbie … ye could have died.”
Something in her tone made him stiffen, his eyes widening. “Are ye cross with me, Ma?”
Elizabeth straightened up from wrapping the bandage, meeting his eye. “No … why would I be?”
“Da said I shouldn’t have fed Hunter all those oats … especially since he’s cooped up inside with the snow.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “Excuse me?”
“Didn’t Da say?” The lad’s cheeks flushed as he realized he’d been caught out.
“No,” Elizabeth replied slowly, before a sigh gusted out of her. “Why would ye do something so foolish, love?”
She was trying to keep the frustration out of her voice, but it was difficult.
“Hunter’s such a slug.” Robbie replied with a grimace. “I didn’t want him to embarrass me, especially with Da.”
“Robert wouldn’t have cared.”
“I want him to be proud of me … I want him to think I’m as capable as he is.”
“But ye are still a bairn,” Elizabeth perched on the bed next to her son. “No one expects that of ye.”
“I’m not a bairn.” Robbie’s jaw set in a stubborn expression she’d begun to see often of late. “Da says I’m almost a man.”
Elizabeth stared down at her son, the desire to argue with him warring with the urge to chastise him. He was a headstrong lad—which was hardly surprising considering she and Robert were his parents.
At ten winters, he was still two or three years off making the transition from boy to youth—and like all lads, that day couldn’t come soon enough.
“Ye have all yer life before ye, Robbie,” she said after a pause, choosing her words carefully. “Don’t wish these years away.”
Her son held her gaze, and she could see he didn’t fully comprehend her meaning.