Brides of the North: A Medieval Scottish Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She cocked a doubtful eyebrow. “They don’t?”

  “Nay, we don’t,” he said, eyeing her. “But I can see that you are very tired. Try and sleep now. I will take care of Sophie while you do.”

  Diamantha shook her head. Her sad eyes never left her daughter. “I cannot sleep,” she said. “Not when my child is so ill.”

  Cortez understood her point but he was firm. “You will not be any good to Sophie if you allow yourself to become ill,” he said. “Just sleep for a little while. I will take good care of Sophie.”

  Diamantha’s eyes welled up but she fought it. He was right, she was exhausted. Lying back on the bed, the one she shared with Cortez, she watched the man as he paced the floor with Sophie, singing softly to her with words she could not hear until he drew closer. Then, she caught a snippet of the song:

  “There once was an old whore named Rose,

  with a wart on the end of her nose….”

  Diamantha couldn’t help but laugh to herself. They were naughty words but she didn’t care. All that mattered was that Sophie, although still miserable, seemed to be calming, naughty lyrics and all.

  Watching Cortez with her daughter was one of the sweetest things Diamantha had ever experienced. It was a sincere man indeed who would love a woman so much that he would treat her child as his own. It was clear how much he adored Sophie. On that tender thought, Diamantha’s eyes closed and drifted off into a weary, fitful sleep.

  Cortez heard the soft snoring, looking over to see that Diamantha had finally fallen asleep. He was relieved. The woman was absolutely exhausted and the emotional strain of a sick child and the physical strain of a long journey were taking their toll. As worried as he was about Sophie, he was equally worried about Diamantha. Should something happen to her, he didn’t think he could take it. In fact, he knew he couldn’t. He had survived Helene’s death but he knew with deadly certainty that he would not survive Diamantha’s. The woman had become a part of the very fabric of his being, as if he couldn’t draw breath without her. Thinking of her ill was terrifying.

  In his arms, Sophie moaned and he looked down at the child. She was so exhausted that her eyes were only half-open, giving her a rather corpse-like appearance. She was so very pale, too.

  As Cortez gazed down at her, he felt as if some unseen dagger were stabbing him in the stomach. He had seen that countenance once before, on the face of Sophie’s father as he sat dying against the split oak tree. It was a horrifying realization that hit Cortez all at once, and tears popped to his eyes. He couldn’t take this; nay, not again! God certainly wouldn’t be so cruel. With tears spilling over and running down his cheeks, he held the little girl in his arms and gazed from the small window cut high into the wall of the room. He could see the storm clouds outside, illuminated by a full moon. He could see God looking back at him.

  “Not her,” he hissed, praying to a God who had ignored him more often than he had listened. “You’ll not take her. I held this child’s father in my arms as he died and now history is repeating itself. How much more do you expect me to take? Are you testing me? I held Helene as she breathed her last and I held my daughter after she was already dead, and now this? Why are you doing this to me? For once in my life, listen to my prayers and save something that I adore. Save this child. Her mother could not suffer her loss and neither could I. You are supposed to be a merciful God but you have never been merciful to me. For once, listen to me, O God. For once, spare this child’s life and restore her. You already have my daughter at your side. Leave this one for me.”

  He was weeping by the time he was finished, so heartbroken over things in life he’d had no control over, things that had devastated him emotionally. Wiping at his eyes, he struggled with his composure and resumed singing the only songs he knew, his voice cracking under the strain. It had been such a difficult day for him and, much like Diamantha, he was weary both physically and spiritually. But he kept walking the floor with the child, trying to comfort her, and he continued the pacing long into the night.

  Morning saw a weakening child and a distraught mother.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The rain had been merciless for two more days of digging, slogging through swamps of mud that were reminiscent of the mud puddles back in July. There was so much muck that it was as if the entire world was full of it.

  It was cold, too, and as Cortez and his men dug more holes and swept away more mud, his hands were frozen most of the time. Two days of heavy rains and two days of digging had not turned up anything belonging to, or about the person of, Robert Edlington, and Cortez had finally had enough. On noon of the third day since their arrival at Falkirk, Cortez called a halt to the search and sent his men back to the tavern. Weary, and grateful, they retreated to warm their bones and get out of the rain.

  But for Cortez, his return to the tavern was not one of warmth and pleasure. It was one of sorrow. Sophie was growing steadily worse and the physic had suggested last rites for the child, but Diamantha had violently disagreed. In fact, Cortez actually had to pull her off of the physic when the suggestion was made. She had screamed at the man and told him never to come back, but Cortez had spoken to the physic in private and assured the man he was needed, now more than ever.

  After things had quieted down, Diamantha sat on the bed with Sophie in her arms. The woman looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. There were dark circles beneath her lovely eyes and her luscious hair was unbrushed and messy. She simply sat on the bed, humming softly to her child and rocking her gently. She didn’t stop humming when Cortez returned to the room from having escorted the physic out and she didn’t look up. She was staring off into space. Only when Cortez put himself in front of her line of sight did she notice him. Her gaze was hollow.

  “Did you find Robert?” she asked dully.

  She hadn’t asked the question when he’d first returned, as she had been more concerned with the physic at that point. Now, her focus was shifting, and Cortez shook his head sadly.

  “Nay, love,” he replied. “The weather is too fierce. We will return tomorrow and look again, but my men needed to dry out and warm up. ’Tis starting to grow cold.”

  Diamantha’s gaze lingered on him for a few moments before looking away again. She was seemingly dazed, her heart and soul and mind shattered by the condition of her child. Cortez watched her for a few moments, feeling so desperately sad, before turning to remove his wet tunic. The fire in the small hearth was blazing brightly, making the room very warm. In the corner near the hearth, he noticed that the animal cage was open and the puppy and both kittens were sleeping in a pile outside of the cage. He didn’t see the rabbit or the fox but assumed they were somewhere, sleeping under the bed. That seemed to be their favorite place.

  “Has Sophie eaten anything today?” he asked, peeling off his wet tunic.

  It was a few moments before Diamantha answered. “She managed a bit of porridge this morning,” she said. “But she has been sleeping all day.”

  Cortez glanced over at the pair as he bent and started to remove his heavy mail coat. “And you?” he asked. “Have you eaten?”

  Again, there was a long pause before she spoke. When she finally did, it was not to answer his question. “I have been thinking, Cortez,” she said. “I have been thinking that I want to bury Sophie with Robert, so it is imperative that you find him. You must try harder.”

  He jerked his head around, looking at her with some dismay. “Bury her?” he repeated. “She is not dead, nor will she die. I will not hear that out of your mouth again, do you hear me?”

  Diamantha nodded. Then, she burst into tears and hung her head. Cortez ripped the mail coat off and went to her, wet and all, and threw his arms around her. He buried his face in the side of her messy head, trying desperately to comfort her.

  “I am sorry,” he whispered fiercely. “I did not mean to snap. I am so sorry, sweetheart. Forgive me.”

  Diamantha was wracked with sobs. “She will not awaken and she will
not talk to me,” she wept. “If she passes, I want her to be buried with her father. Please? He would want that. He would want her with him.”

  Cortez was nodding eagerly, tears stinging his eyes as he kissed her repeatedly. “Of course, my love, anything you want,” he said, struggling not to weep along with her. “I will try harder to find Robert, I swear it.”

  Diamantha continued to weep, clutching Sophie against her breast. Cortez sat next to her, his arms wrapped around them both, losing the fight against tears. He let them come. The situation was so heartbreaking in so many ways, and the pain was overwhelming them both.

  For quite some time, he sat with Diamantha and Sophie, cursing God for not listening to his prayers. He hated God, he had decided, because God surely hated him. There was no point in praying when God dismissed his pleas. As he sat there wondering what he could do to demonstrated his hatred towards God, perhaps by burning a church or two, Sophie suddenly opened her eyes.

  “Mama?” she asked weakly.

  Startled, Diamantha gazed down into the face of her baby. “I am here, sweetheart,” she murmured. “You slept a long time.”

  Sophie, her pallor as white as snow, looked up at her mother. “Mama, I want mush.”

  Diamantha felt a spark of hope in that little request. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “Do you think you could eat some mush?”

  Sophie’s hand wormed its way out of the blanket and she yawned, rubbing her eye with the free hand. “I want mush,” she repeated.

  Cortez, his arms still around Diamantha and Sophie, bent over to kiss the little girl on the forehead. “I will go get your mush,” he told her, releasing the pair from his embrace and standing up from the bed. “Mayhap Mama would like something to eat, too.”

  Diamantha had to admit that her child’s request for food had a dramatic effect on her outlook. Asking for food was a sign from God as far as she was concerned, a sign that all would be well. Gazing up at Cortez with the first hopeful expression he’d seen in days, she nodded to his statement.

  “I believe I would,” she said. “Thank you kindly, good sir.”

  Cortez winked at her and left the chamber, closing the door quietly behind him. Out in the common room, his soldiers were eating a thick stew and the knights were in the corner by the front door, their usual place. Cortez made his way back to the kitchen where MacInnis and his wife were doing their chores. Everyone was very busy in the kitchen, especially the wife who was hacking away at a goose. The tavern keeper finally looked up and saw Cortez lingering a few feet away.

  “M’laird,” he greeted, wiping his hands off on his leather apron. “How is the lassie?”

  Cortez nodded. “She has awoken and asked for mush,” he said. “Can you provide some?”

  MacInnis nodded eagerly. “Of course we can,” he replied. “And yer wife? She’s not yet eaten today.”

  Cortez nodded, sighing with some manner of relief. “Aye,” he said. “Something for her, as well.”

  As MacInnis and his wife began to bustle around, Cortez turned around to head back to the room but the tavern keeper stopped him.

  “M’laird,” he called. When Cortez came to a halt, the tavern keeper closed the gap between them. “And fer yerself? Surely ye’ve had a hard day, digging as ye have been.”

  Cortez peered at the man curiously. “How do you know what I have been doing?”

  MacInnis waved him off, as if he meant no harm. “I’ve heard yer men talking,” he said, lowering his voice. “They said ye’re looking fer something south of Callendar Wood. I’ve heard the townsfolk talking about it, too. People have seen ye digging. That is where the great battle happened this summer, ye know.”

  Cortez nodded slowly. “I know.”

  “Were ye part of the battle?”

  Since MacInnis didn’t seem distressed over the question, and there wasn’t any use in denying his activities. He answered.

  “Aye,” he replied.

  “Did ye lose something?”

  “A friend,” Cortez said softly. “A friend of mine died in the battle and was left behind. We have come to bring him home to give him a proper burial.”

  MacInnis scratched his head thoughtfully. Then, he looked around, as if fearful someone would overhear what he was about to say. Cortez looked around curiously, too, wondering why the tavern keeper suddenly seemed rather edgy. Or awkward. Cortez couldn’t tell which, even when the man motioned for him to follow.

  “May I have a word with ye, m’laird?” he asked quietly.

  Cortez followed purely out of curiosity. MacInnis took him outside, across the yard, and into the stable, which was vacant except for a cow and her calf. As the rain trickled in overhead, he turned to Cortez.

  “I didna want yer men tae hear,” he said quietly.

  Cortez’s curiosity was growing. He crossed his big arms as he faced the tavern keeper. “Hear what?”

  MacInnis scratched his head again. “The battle left many dead and wounded,” he said. “The priests from St. Francis gathered some of the townsfolk and together, we went across the field tae bury the dead and gather the wounded. There are Hamilton and Livingstone clans around here and we wanted tae get tae the bodies before their women did. They steal from the dead, ye know, and they would have killed any Sassenach that were still living. We collected the dead and tended the wounded. There was no one left on the field.”

  Cortez was listening seriously. “Are you telling me that you collected all of the dead?”

  MacInnis nodded firmly. “Every one of them,” he said. “We couldna leave them fer the women, ye see.”

  “What did you do with them?”

  MacInnis pointed in the direction of St. Francis church. “We buried the dead in a big grave outside of the churchyard,” he told him. “There were so many, ye see. The churchyard wouldna hold them all.”

  Cortez stared at the man before unwinding his arms and rubbing a weary hand over his face. The circumstance that MacInnis was relaying to him was really quite staggering. It was quite possible that Robert had been found by the priests and buried. It would explain why they hadn’t been able to find any trace of him. But something still didn’t make sense.

  “My friend was left to die on the outskirts of the battle,” he said. “As the battle was dwindling, I dragged him over to the eastern side of the battlefield. I had to leave him for a short while and when I returned, he was gone. There was so much mud that I naturally assumed he was sucked in by it. When did the priests start collecting bodies, MacInnis? Did they even wait until the battle was over?”

  MacInnis shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “The priests were collecting the dead and wounded while Edward was still waging war.”

  God’s Bones! Cortez thought as he stared at the man. As if a bolt from heaven had burst down upon him, suddenly, Robert’s disappearance was starting to make a good deal of sense. He could hardly believe it.

  “But the mud,” he said again, still having a difficult time comprehending what he’d been told. “It could have easily swallowed up a man.”

  MacInnis nodded. “ ’Tis possible, m’laird,” he said. “The only way tae find out is tae come tae the church. The priests saved all of the Sassenach armor and weapons. We dinna bury the men with their regalia. Mayhap yer friend’s armor is there.”

  Cortez was so electrified by the prospect that he was literally shaking. “Will you take me?”

  MacInnis nodded and together, they headed back into the tavern where MacInnis told his wife of their plans. Cortez, however, had moved into the common room, his mind whirling with possibilities. Was it actually possible that the priests had collected Robert’s body and buried him? Was that why they had been unable to find him? He was staggered by the prospect and as MacInnis led him towards the front entry of the tavern. Cortez passed the table of his knights and he called out to them.

  “All of you,” he snapped. “With me now.”

  The men got up from the table without question, following Cortez out int
o the stormy afternoon. Together, the group of them followed Cortez and the tavern keeper across the road, across a small field, and then down a larger road that led to the church of St. Francis. It was a march of sorts, a determined pace set by Cortez, and they could all feel the seriousness of it. Curiosity was turning to concern. Keir, who had been walking with the perplexed group of knights, finally caught up to Cortez.

  “Where are we going?” he asked quietly. “What has happened?”

  Cortez could only shake his head. He didn’t dare want to hope they’d come to the end of their journey, but on the other hand, it was difficult not to pray for that possibility. The hope that their quest would finally come to an end was heavy on his mind. He glanced at his friend, now getting soaked again as the rain fell and the thunder rolled.

  “We are going to the church,” he said. “I’ll tell you when we get there.”

  Keir had to be satisfied with that answer which was, in fact, no answer at all. But he kept his mouth shut, walking next to Cortez as they marched down the road to the church of St. Francis, a squat parish that Keir and the others had spent a good deal of time in, praying for little Sophie.

  Soon enough, the big, brown-stoned building loomed in front of them and the group shook off the rain as they entered the dark, musty-smelling sanctuary. Banks of candles illuminated the cavernous space, a weak defense against the darkness of the storm that cast gloom over everything. Once inside, MacInnis turned to Cortez.

  “Wait here, please,” he said. “I will go get the priest.”

  Cortez nodded as the man disappeared into the shadows in search of a priest. When he was out of sight, Cortez turned to his men. Seeing all of the curious, if not worried, faces around him, he shook his head with all of the astonishment he was feeling. He struggled a moment to put his thoughts into words.

  “I have just been told by the tavern keeper that before the battle was even over, and in order to prevent the women from Clan Hamilton and Clan Livingstone from looting the dead, the priests of St. Francis began removing the dead and wounded from the battlefield.” He looked around at the faces that were now nearly as astonished as his. “It is quite possible that is why we have not been able to find Edlington. The priests may have already removed him. That is why we are here, to find out the truth. The tavern keeper tells me that they kept the armor and regalia from the men they buried and I have asked to see it. Mayhap Edlington’s is among it.”