Declan blushed and pulled back, hoping she would stop trying to push him, still not wanting to be blatantly rude in the face of such hospitality. They gave much when they had little. He lifted his shirt and tried to focus on how close he was to Rosalie as she came in closer to him. Her eyes kept darting downward, increasing his embarrassment. The giddiness radiating from her frustrated him further.
She washed the wound in slow, gentle circles, her hands exploring more of his arm than necessary. He kept his head turned to the wall, not wanting to look at her and encourage her further. A sting caused him to jerk instinctively.
He looked down. Whatever paste she spread over him, it eased the burn after the initial sting. She did not say anything and took her time. When she finished wrapping it in clean strips of cloth, she held his arm, her grip firm, until he met her eyes.
“Thank you,” he grumbled and tried to pull away to don his shirt.
Rhona’s grip remained firm. “There’s ways ye can thank me. No one would ken. They’re all asleep. I’ve been so lonely here.” Her hands roamed up, stroking the fine hair sprouting from his chest. “I can tell yer a good man.” She looked down. “Yer lady would never ken, an’ ‘sides, it sounds as if ye ken her about as much as me.” Her voice raised in a higher pitch. “She’s prob’ly doin’ the same thing right now.”
Anger roiled up in Declan. He tore his shirt away and drew it on in haste. Rhona crossed the line.
The sudden rejection sent Rhona to tears. She covered her face. “Why don’t ye like me? An’ after all I’ve done tae help ye an’ yer friend. Ye don’t even ken this girl. Ye tol’ me yerself, an’ I can make ye happy tonight.”
“I love her.” The words came out and surprised Declan as much as the crying Rhona.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Edward’s tears dried in the cold breeze. He looked like a ghost, pale and solemn. A fire burned in his eyes as if his wife’s madness had infected him. Rosalie looked at the spark and knew it for what it was—determination fueled by grief.
“May I think on it? Through the night? This is a lo’ tae take in.” Rosalie tried to keep her voice from shaking. She tried to keep her tone even and calm to prevent from setting that spark ablaze.
The old man stared out her and gave a small nod. Rosalie immediately turned, wanting to get to the castle before he changed his mind. His hand snapped out from where he sat and grabbed Rosalie’s wrist. She cried out in surprise and fright.
“I cannae risk you fleeing,” he said. “I hope you understand.”
Rosalie looked at him. She knew her eyes showed the fear growing within her. He did not look violent in his passion, only sad and desperate. His grief and longing for a life long past him blinded all reason.
“S-surely, this is unnecessary.”
Edward stood and folded her hand behind her back, reaching for the torch. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice dead, disconnected.
They walked from the forest, Edward just behind Rosalie. Her mind panicked, but she managed to calm it, reminding herself not to be rash and ruin Declan’s chances of saving her. Her eyes flitted through the trees, desperate to spot her saving grace. Rosalie’s heart sank when he did not appear, and they crossed the grounds. If she could not set out a candle, Declan would not know she was in peril.
As if things could not get any worse, Lady Catherine stood in the entrance hall, her arms crossed over, and face set in a deeply furrowed scowl. The eyes frightened Rosalie the most. In those beautiful blue eyes, she saw pure insanity.
“What is this?” Her nostrils flared.
Edward looked at Rosalie, and then at his wife. “I caught her tryin’ to run away from us.”
Rosalie was sure she had not seen the worst of Catherine up until now. With the façade threatened, it was as if a beast awoke within the woman, hellbent on protecting her fictitious world. Lady Catherine gripped Rosalie’s arm with a force that made her cry out in pain.
“Edward,” Lady Catherine’s voice was shrill with rage, “ge’ me a switch.” The accent she worked hard to conceal seemed to thicken back to her Scottish origins as the anger raised within her.
“Dear, surely,” he tried to coo to her, to calm her, but one look from her was enough to silence him.
Edward looked at Rosalie’s scared, betrayed face. The young woman could feel herself harden against the sympathies swimming in his sad eyes. He ducked his head and left.
“You’re a wretched, wretched girl,” Catherine screamed, pulling her by the arm. Rosalie tried to push her away, but the woman’s nails dug into her flesh. “After all I’ve sacrificed, after all we’ve done tae make sure yer brought up proper an’ loved, Bridget!”
“I’m no’ Bridget,” Rosalie growled.
Lady Catherine’s hand smacked across her face. Rosalie blinked against the sharp sting. She was prepared for it, and her anger and hatred for these people were stronger than any physical harm. Knowing Declan was only moments from saving her strengthened her defiance with hope.
“Hol’ yer lyin’ tongue, ye evil child!” Then, as if clarity reached her eyes, recognition flooded Catherine. “The devil has ye. Tha’s why ye speak tae me so.” Edward entered the keep, a thin branch in his hand. “Help me with her, Edward.”
Rosalie kicked and screamed as the two of them dragged her up the stairs. She hoped the entire time they would take her to her chambers. In her mind, she had seen this ending being locked in her room, free to light the beacon calling her hero. There was no such luck for her. Her bites and scratches were pacified by Lady Catherine’s surprising strength and her devout husband, pushed too far into his wife’s madness to turn back.
At the top of the keep, there was a single tower. Dust from years covered the molding furniture. A small, narrow window let in cold air, too high for Rosalie to reach, even if she was alone. Rosalie took in the little marks of a child’s stay with horror. A broken doll and a couple of wooden horses scattered around. She imagined Gale spending hours or even days locked away, without even a window for her mind to escape.
Lady Catherine pushed and released Rosalie into the room, and the young woman slid into the dust. She caught a glimpse of Edward. He avoided eye contact as he closed the door on the scene, leaving his wife to punish her.
“Please,” Rosalie pleaded.
The stick came down on her back with a force she didn’t expect. Rosalie cried out. Lash after lash came with hardly a breath in between. It was all Rosalie could do to try and crawl away, always with the Lady Catherine just behind her. She tried to speak out, but her words were cut with another swish of the branch. She could feel it tear through fabric and skin. When the assault stopped, Rosalie could hear the heavy pants from Lady Catherine, as she tried to catch her breath.
The anger in her voice had dissipated, all of her rage taken out on Rosalie’s back, and with it returned the clean dialogue of a clearing mind, “You see what you’ve made me do, Bridget? This hurts me more than it hurts you,” Rosalie could hear the woman was crying, “What choice have ye left me? I’d rather die than see my bairn tainted by the devil an’ his lies. Why do ye disobey when we’ve given you everythin’? Why cannae ye just be good like you used to?”
Rosalie bit her tongue. The pain in her back was a dull fire. Without being able to light a candle, the hopes that carried her spirit up those stairs defeated.
“Pray, Bridget, pray for God to mend yer wicked ways. I’ll be back in the mornin’ for ye to repent an’ we can put all this behind us.”
The door creaked, and Rosalie could hear the click of the latch and the turn of the key. As soon as she knew she was alone, sobs overcame her, racking her body. She was exhausted through and through, having not slept well in days and now suffering the emotional and physical torture of a crazed woman.
Rosalie laid there in the dust until her sobs subsided, leaving her lips and mouth dry. She could feel the blood on her skin tighten in the cold air. The young woman tried to move and cried out as she felt the fabric pul
l away and reopen some of her wounds. Her hands trembled uncontrollably from pain and shock. She collapsed once more against the floor and prayed for salvation.
Sleep never found Rosalie. With her ear pressed to the cold stone, she could hear the muted screams of Lady Catherine and Edward arguing. A crash sounded, and fear awakened Rosalie, pushing her to jump into a seated position despite the pain, afraid that Catherine might have returned. After that, she repositioned herself so she could see the crack beneath the door. Each noise in the night stiffened her muscles.
Rosalie slipped into a trance-like state, and her mind wandered the countryside, clinging to the image of Declan’s glowing face. She was neither awake nor asleep but caught in a limbo state brought on by exhaustion and fear. The light penetrated the darkness and caused Rosalie’s heart to beat faster. She anticipated and dreaded Catherine’s return, unsure of what she would say to convince the woman to let her back in her chambers.
If she could just get back to her room—if she could just make it through another day—Declan would come for her. If she could not escape the tower, how long before he would search for her on his own? Would he give her all the space she demanded the day before? A new wave of regret and sorrow overcame her as she thought about the previous day, and how bad he wanted her to leave with him. I should have listened. I should have gone with him while I had the chance.
In the distance, a rooster crowed. There were still a few hours before the laird, and the lady would awake. Rosalie looked around the room. Her muscles ached, her back burned, and even if she could manage to defend herself, she knew she was too weak to accomplish much against the two of them.
Footsteps echoed up the stone steps. Rosalie’s body tensed, every sensation and sound amplified by her fright. She could feel her body tremble in anticipation of another beating. A sound scratched at the lock, and it took all of Rosalie’s strength to pull herself as far from the door as possible, guarding her back against the wall despite the pain. The door creaked open.
Rosalie let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Gale. The blond girl’s cheeks were flushed a deep rose, and surprisingly, her eyes were wet with empathy. In her hands she carried bread and a basin of water, steaming in the cold, damp air.
The young Scottish traveler could see the girl’s lip tremble as she set the items down. It was the most tender, and human Rosalie had ever seen her. She didn’t speak as she touched Rosalie on the arm and guided her forward. Gale gasped, covering her mouth as she saw the wounds. Tears fell from her crystalline eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Rosalie,” she whispered. “If I’d have known she’d do this tae ye, too…” she swallowed.
Rosalie could see the guilt and shame on her face. It pained her to know Gale endured this throughout her short life. It made everything make sense.
“It’s no’ yer fault.” Rosalie’s words were coarse and brittle. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her throat pained her.
“Drink some o’ this before I dirty it. I’ll bring ye more when it’s safe.”
Gale tilted the small basin to Rosalie’s lips. The hot liquid warmed her body and returned some life to her thoughts and muscles. Gale stood up abruptly and rushed to re-lock the door before giving Rosalie some more water.
“We need tae move ye onto the bed.”
“It hurts tae move.”
“Trust me, I know, but I promise ye, it’ll be better.”
It broke Rosalie’s heart to know that Gale was experienced in this. If she could survive a beating like this one, Rosalie could too. She gave a hesitant nod of agreement.
The young girl beat out the mattress, sending great plumes of dust into the air. Gale’s hand wrapped around Rosalie’s arm. Pain ripped through Rosalie as the two of them worked to get her face down on the bed. Tears streamed down Rosalie’s face. She was too weak to try and hold them back any longer.
“This is goin’ tae sting. I need ye tae keep quiet, though. Mama will be asleep until noon after the night she had. It’s best we keep her that way.”
Rosalie nodded and gripped the curve of the lumpy mattress. She swallowed a cry as Gale tore the fabric from the coagulating wounds as fast as she could. Blood beaded down Rosalie’s bare back.
“I’m sorry.” Gale’s voice trembled.
Gale tending Rosalie’s wounds was bittersweet. Each pass of the rag would sting before the warmth eased the pain away. Silence tied the two together, and as Rosalie relaxed, she thought more about what it might be like to live the girl’s life.
“She kept you up here, didn’t she?”
Gale’s hand stopped. Rosalie felt her tense. She immediately felt bad about saying anything, feeling the pain and humiliation resonating off of Gale.
“Yes.” The cloth touched her skin again. “Whenever she were mad. Even when I did me best to behave, if she had a fit, she’d come up with a reason to punish me. She’s only beat me a few times though,” Gale’s words softened to a whisper, “an’ never this bad. Ye should’ve played along.”
“For how long?”
“’Til that man could take ye. I know he’s comin’ fer ye. I could tell while I was watchin’. Yer lucky to have him—to have a way out.”
“Aye,” Rosalie’s words choked her before she forced them out. “If I can send word to him. I need tae light a candle.”
A day ago, Gale was the last person to whom she would tell her plans. She would have never trusted her impish tendencies when bored. Now, though, she felt a bond bridge them together through this pain. Rosalie heard the rag drop into the basin.
“I will light it fer ye. Jus’ tell me what to do.”
“Thank you, Gale. Ye have no idea how grateful I am for yer kindness.” Rosalie endured the pain in her back to turn and make eye contact with Gale. She flushed with embarrassment as Rosalie wiggled her fingers, gesturing for her hand. Gale squeezed them gently. “When the moon’s highest, light a candle in my window.”
Gale stood up, “Eat the bread ‘fore she gets back here. She’ll flog me too if she knows I was the one who helped ye.”
“Gale,” Rosalie said as the girl’s hand touched the door handle. Gale paused. “Come with us.”
“I cannae,” Gale said after a moment of heavy silence. “She’s still my ma.” Her voice choked with pain. “I don’t expect ye to understand, but I’m all they have left. An’ Pa, Pa would be heartbroken withou’ me. He’s no’ bad, jus’ broken.”
Rosalie found it difficult to sympathize with the couple. All she could see was their delusions and cruelty when she thought of them. She wished Gale would leave them behind, but even then, where would she go? Rosalie still was not sure what her destiny held for her. How could she promise a life for Gale as well? She said nothing as Gale departed.
As soon as the young woman left, Rosalie’s heart once again returned to an anxious state. She tried her best to force the bread down her throat, nibble by nibble. The rising sun helped her get the food down. She hoped Gale remembered to bring her water, but knew it was unlikely considering Catherine would wake any time. It crossed her mind that Gale might betray her, but intuition silenced this voice of doubt.
All through the day, Rosalie rested on pins and needles. At one point, she must have fallen asleep and did not realize it until she startled awake. It seemed as if Lady Catherine forgot about her. Darkness fell, casting the tower in shadows. Just as Rosalie started to feel like she might be able to rest, confident it was too late for Catherine to come after her, the door unlocked.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“We need tae go,” Declan kicked at Angus’s booted feet.
“Wha’?” he looked up at Declan with groggy eyes. “Is it time already?”
“Don’ argue, jus’ get up an’ quick. We need tae leave.”
“Alright, alright, calm yerself.” Angus yawned and stretched.
As soon as Angus stepped outside and saw what time it was, he let out an aggravated sigh. “We still got hours left. Why’d ye wake me so early?�
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“I dinnae want tae talk about it.” Declan gave a wary glance around; a nervous Rhona would appear at any moment and reattempt her seductions.
Angus looked at him a moment before a sheepish grin crossed his face, “Ye dog, ye took the farmer’s daughter to the stable, did ye?”
Declan’s face reddened both from embarrassment and anger. The horses were ready for them. He tried to ignore Angus, mounting and starting in the direction of the keep.
“Ye couldn’t wait, huh?” Angus teased. “Ye gotta get us run off ‘fore her pa wakes, that it?”
“It’s no’ like that.”
“Oh, aye,” Angus rolled his eyes. “Tell me, wha’ was she like?”
Declan could tell Angus was messing with him, but the threat to his integrity made his blood boil. “I didnae sleep with her! She,” he growled, not wanting to talk badly about his hostess. He was frustrated, caught between risking looking less masculine for having not bedded a willing woman, and like a scoundrel for doing so. “Jus’ drop it, alrigh’? I dinnae want tae talk abou’ it.”
Highlander’s Gypsy Lass (Highlander's 0f Clan Macgregor Book 1) Page 21