Secrets of the Heart

by Suzan Tisdale

  Bridgett smiled and left Onnleigh alone to tend to her babe.

  At noonin’ time, Connor went to see Onnleigh and the babe. Now he stood in the shadows for a glimpse at the beautiful young red-headed woman. He found her lying on the cot with the babe sleeping next to her.

  He thought it a most beautiful vision as feelings for this comely lass began to stir deep inside him. She was lovely; her auburn hair, twisted into a long braid, was tossed over her shoulder. Long, wispy strands had come loose and curled about her cheeks. He knew that were he to reach out and touch her sun-kissed skin, he’d find it as soft as silk. Full lips, pink as a spring rose, would be just as soft, but sweeter than any wine to taste.

  He stood there, just at the shadow’s edge, watching as her chest rose and fell, and wondered all manner of things. There was so much more to her than beautiful hair and bright eyes. For the most part, that something more was hidden just under the surface. Like a treasure secreted away for too many moons, waiting in graceful silence to be discovered.

  How would his clan respond if he were to take her for a wife? This was not the first time he’d pondered that these past few weeks. Onnleigh was often in his thoughts. His admiration for her was growing by leaps and bounds on a daily basis.

  Undoubtedly ’twould not go well for either of them, at least not now, for ’twas far too soon. Mayhap in time, after they had the chance to see what a truly fine young woman she was, her inner strength, her wit, and the way she loved her babe, they might warm to the idea.

  There was something in her deep blue eyes, something he could not name, that spoke much about her character. Had she been given the same chances, the same amount of love and good upbringing as the other members of his clan, he imagined she’d be a powerful force, full of energy and light.

  He did not believe the years of neglect at the hands of her father had doused that inner light completely. She was young yet, and he could not allow himself to think she was a lost cause. Nay, there was much hope for this young lass. All she needed was kindness and generosity, someone to help build her confidence, to show her she was so much more than a thief’s daughter.

  Just how much time it would take to accomplish such a feat was the burning question. The second question was who had fathered her babe. A sickening thought that made his stomach roil with disgust, was that mayhap her father had done more damage than simple neglect. ’Twas not unheard of, as much as the thought sickened him.

  He couldn’t press her for the information, not just yet. He had to build a trust between them first, before broaching such a horrific subject. He wondered then, would she ever be able to live a normal life if such an abomination were true? Would he be able to take her for wife if it turned out her father… No, he could not think about that.

  All he could do at the moment was show her there were kind and decent people in this world.

  Onnleigh woke to the sound of her daughter gurgling sweetly next to her. Guilt at having fallen asleep in the middle of the day assaulted her, albeit briefly. “Och, me sweetin’! How long have we been sleepin’?” she asked as she caressed Nola’s cheek. “Twill nae get me in anyone’s good graces to be a layabout.”

  With a wide yawn and a long, languid stretch, she sat up and looked about the room. “Did ye ever think we’d live so well?” she asked her babe. “I feel like a princess, sleepin’ in a feather bed! Och! And the food. I ne’er kent to see so much of it in me lifetime.”

  Whether it was the large breakfast, the nap, the feather bed, or the warmth of the room, she couldn’t rightly say. But whatever it was, she woke feeling refreshed and hopeful. For the first time in her life, she began to hum happily as she changed Nola, straightened the covers of her bed, and set about feeding her daughter.

  “I dunnae wish anyone to think me lazy like me da. Och, child, I be so verra grateful that ye were nae forced to ken him. A mean drunkard he was. Ne’er a kind word e’er passed o’er his lips.” Reckoning her babe would never remember this conversation, she felt at ease in telling her the truth about her lineage.

  She looked about the small space with gratitude while Nola happily nursed at her breast. “All I e’er wanted was fer ye to have a good home, clean clothes, and enough to eat. Ye cannae see it now, and doubtful ye e’er will, but ye’ve been givin’ a blessin’ here, Nola. ’Tis a dream come true fer me as well.

  “I wish I could do somethin’ nice fer yer da. Nae yer real da, the lyin’ cheat. But fer Connor. He will be the only da ye’ll e’er ken, of that, I will make certain.”

  If she had a coin to her name, she’d give it to him. If she owned anything of value, she’d gladly hand it over in gratitude. But alas, she had neither coin nor possession. She might not be able to give him anything of true value, but she could show him how grateful she was.

  As soon as Nola was finished, Onnleigh wrapped her in the sling and went below stairs, through the back door and into the kitchens in search of Louisa.

  Chapter 7

  After returning to her bedchamber, she pulled off her good dress and changed into her skirt. Donning an apron Louisa had lent her, she pulled the cradle into Connor’s room. Soon, two large men arrived with buckets, rags, and a broom. She thanked them kindly, offering up her warmest and most sincere smile. They cast each other quizzical looks before shrugging and leaving her to her task.

  While Nola played in the cradle, Onnleigh scrubbed every inch of Connor’s room. With the furs drawn away to let in the sunlight and fresh air, she swept out the fireplace, dusted the mantle, trunks, and tables. She put fresh linens on his bed and fluffed and arranged the pillows. By the time she was done, she was soaked in sweat, dust and grime.

  Standing back, with hands on her hips, she smiled proudly at her good work. “That should show him,” she whispered.

  Moments later, she had wrapped Nola up again, picked up one of the buckets of dirty water and went below stairs to empty it.

  As she crossed the gathering room, a young man came to offer his help. “Let me get that fer ye, lass,” he said as he took the bucket from her hands.

  “Thank ye kindly,” she told him.

  “I be Ronald, Connor’s youngest brother,” he explained.

  “’Tis a pleasure to finally meet ye, Ronald,” she said with a smile. “I have heard much about ye from yer brothers and Bridgett. I thank ye kindly fer yer help.” Onnleigh noticed his cheeks grew dark when she mentioned Bridgett’s name. She had to bite her lip to keep from giggling at him.

  “Think not a thing of it, lass,” he said. “Ye appear to have been quite busy this day.”

  “Aye, ’tis true. I have another bucket above stairs, and dirty linens that need a washin’,” she told him.

  “I’ll send someone up fer those things, as ye appear to have yer hands full with the bairn,” he said, inclining his head toward Nola.

  “Her? She be no trouble at all, ye ken.”

  As they stood discussing the babe, Onnleigh caught sight of Bridgett, who was standing across the room with the oddest expression. “Bridgett,” Onnleigh called out to her, “do ye have time to help me with somethin’?”

  Ronald’s countenance changed dramatically when he turned to see Bridgett walking towards them. Onnleigh did not catch the glances exchanged between the two, for her mind was elsewhere.

  “How can I help ye?” Bridgett asked. Onnleigh thought her tone was off. Cold and distant, but she didn’t understand why.

  “It be of a most personal nature,” she explained.

  Ronald took the hint, bowed his head and left the two of them alone.

  “I be in need of a bath,” Onnleigh explained. “Could I get a dryin’ cloth, soap and such? I would like to go to the loch and wash all this grime away.”

  “Why would ye go to the loch when there be a perfectly good bathin' house behind the kitchens?”

  "What be a bathin' house?" Onnleigh asked.

  "Connor had it built a few years ago, after he returned from Edinburgh. Before, we were either bath
in' in the loch or in the kitchens. The loch be too cold in winter and the kitchens be far too busy. Now we have a bathin' house.”

  Onnleigh had never heard of such a thing but was eager to see it for herself. “Thank ye, kindly, Bridgett. I shall go get me clean dress.”

  “Would ye like me to take Nola while ye bathe?”

  The offer was too good to turn down. “That be awfully kind of ye. I promise, I’ll nae tarry long.”

  Handing her daughter to Bridgett with much gratitude, Onnleigh raced back to her room to retrieve her blue dress and was soon off in search of the bathhouse.

  It was easy to find. As she stepped inside, a young maid of no more than ten and five was sitting on a little stool pulling on woolens. When she caught sight of Onnleigh, she tilted her blonde head to one side. "Who be ye?" she asked.

  "Onnleigh. I be takin' care of Connor's babe," she told her nervously.

  "I heard about ye," she replied with a smile. "I be Kate. Do ye need help?"

  “'Twould be verra kind of ye," Onnleigh answered, much relieved to see a sincere smile from the young girl.

  Kate led her toward a large pot with steaming water that sat over a healthy fire in the fireplace in the corner of the room. She chose the tub closest to the pot and began to scoop out buckets to fill it.

  “There be soaps and dryin’ cloths and such just there,” Kate explained with a nod toward shelves on the other side of the room. Hesitantly, Onnleigh went to the shelves. Drying clothes filled the lower two shelves. The scents from the various jars of soap tickled at her nose. She’d been making her own soap since she was a little girl, but never had the luxury of adding scents to them. Picking up one jar at a time, she took tentative sniffs until she found one that she liked most. ’Twas a blend of marigolds and anemone, quite pleasing.

  “Are ye certain I can use these?” Onnleigh asked.

  “Aye, they be fer whoever needs them. Me mum makes the soaps herself, ye ken. If ye ever wish to have some to keep in yer room, just come see her. She’ll sell them to ye at a fair price. But these are free for all.”

  Connor had mentioned she’d be paid for caring for Nola. Her heart felt lighter suddenly, with hope for a better future. In an instant, she decided one of her first purchases would be some of the fine soaps and later, when she’d saved up enough money, she could even afford a new dress.

  “Yer bath be ready,” Kate told her.

  Onnleigh set the items on a stool by the tub. “Thank ye, kindly, Kate.”

  The girl smiled warmly again. “Call out if ye need anythin’,” she said as she left Onnleigh alone.

  Once Kate left, Onnleigh quickly stripped out of her dirty clothes, undid her braid, and sank into the steamy water. She lay with her head against the edge of the tub, enjoying the luxuriously hot water and the way it instantly relaxed her. Be it a sin to enjoy somethin’ so simple? she wondered. Remembering she’d promised Bridgett she would not tarry long, she dipped the washing cloth into the water and grabbed the jar of soap. She lathered and scrubbed every square inch of her body before setting about to wash her hair. The wonderful sensation of scrubbing her scalp clean felt so good, she washed it again.

  Taking in a deep breath, she ducked her head under the water to rinse out the soap, running her fingers through the long strands, working out every last bit of soap. When she rose, breaking through the sudsy water, she let out a gasp of surprise, for she had company.

  Three young women—only one of whom she had a vague recollection of ever seeing—were standing next to the tub. A bolt of fear stabbed her stomach. Sputtering, she wiped water from her eyes as she tried to steady her breathing.

  “So ye be Onnleigh ingen Grueber,” the one closest to her declared, her voice dripping with something ugly and untoward.

  Onnleigh did not respond.

  “Ye may try to wash the stench from ye, but ’twill do ye no good. Ye be as much a thief as yer da.”

  Anger rose in a flash. “I be no thief,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’ve nae stolen anythin’.”

  The brunette quirked a pretty brow. “Ye’ve stolen Ronald from Bridgett and Connor from me,” she said pointedly. “How many men does one whore need?”

  Confusion blended with anger. “I only met Ronald a few moments ago. I’ve nae stolen him from anyone. And Connor—”

  “Connor be mine, ye stupid wench! Ye move in here and turn his head with yer red hair and charms and now he says he’ll nae marry me as we planned.”

  Margaret. This had to be Helen’s daughter, for she was just as haughty, just as spiteful. None of what she said was true. Onnleigh was no thief, no whore, and to be called such made her all the more angry. “I only be here to care for his babe,” she said.

  “His babe? That bastard child is nae Connor’s and never will be. And ye? Ye will never be anything more than a thief and whore. Everyone kens it. We dunnae want ye here, thief. Leave while ye still have a chance.”

  ’Twas more than an idle threat in the undertone of her words. ’Twas a promise of things to come, should she decide to stay. Why Margaret was convinced she’d stolen anything was a mystery to her. Onnleigh’d only just met Ronald, and Connor was nothing more than her chief. Nay, he was more than that. He was the man who had given her a chance. Show them what a kind young woman ye are, he’d said. She heard his words as clearly as if he were standing beside her now.

  From somewhere deep within, she found the courage to stand up to this brown-haired young woman. I’ll be kind, but I’ll also be strong. I be right tired of people thinkin’ they can call me names and treat me poorly. “I’ll nae leave unless Connor tells me to.”

  Margaret stood to her full height, eyes glaring angrily with a depth of malice Onnleigh had never before seen. “Ye’ve been warned. Leave of your own accord or I’ll make it so the clan runs ye out like the thief I ken ye to be.”

  Margaret turned to look at the two young women who’d come with her. At her sharp nod, they scurried to the shelves and scooped up all the drying cloths, hurrying from the bathhouse. Margaret picked up Onnleigh’s clothing and the drying cloth she had set on the stool earlier. “Enjoy yer bath,” she said as she sashayed out of the room.

  “Bring back me clothes!” Onnleigh cried out.

  Margaret stopped and turned to look back. “These?” she asked spitefully. “I would nae even put them in the rag bin. Lord only kens what vermin and filth they be covered in.” And with that, she left an angry, stunned Onnleigh in a bath full of tepid water.

  She had tried calling out for Kate, the young woman who had helped her, but the lass never appeared. Onnleigh sat in the tub, the water growing colder, her anger hotter with each passing moment.

  What right does she have to do this to me? Onnleigh thought to herself. I’ve ne’er done a thing to her. To anyone.

  The longer she sat, the more furious she became.

  Before long, she was too angry to think clearly enough to make any kind of wise decision. Finally, she shot to her feet and stepped out of the tub. There was not a drying cloth to be found. Angrily, she stomped through the place, hunting for something with which to cover herself. Thankfully, no one else was about. A quick search led her to one damp drying cloth that had fallen to the floor between two tubs.

  ’Twas barely big enough to cover breasts and parts not meant to be seen by anyone, but ’twould do for now. In a fury, she went off in search of Margaret.

  Angrily, she stomped across the cold, damp earth, through muddy spots, calling out Margaret’s name as she went. Unable to find her out-of-doors, she flung open the door to the kitchens, surprising all within. The drying cloth did little to cover everything.

  “Have ye seen the one called Margaret?” she demanded. “Helen’s daughter?”

  Rapid shakes of multiple heads were the only answer she received. Slamming the door shut, she crossed the small space between kitchen and keep, flung open the door and headed inside.

  There, in the middle of the crowded gathering room, was M
argaret and her two friends, huddled together, giggling, no doubt at Onnleigh’s expense.

  With hands clenched into tight fists, angry as a bull, she went to them. “Where. Are. My. Clothes.” Her words were clipped, filled with a lifetime of frustration and anger.

  Margaret feigned ignorance. “Yer clothes? I fear I dunnae ken what ye mean.”

  So angry her hands and legs were trembling, Onnleigh took one step forward. “Ye ken exactly what I mean. Where are me clothes?”

  “Again, I tell ye I dunnae what ye mean,” Margaret said dismissively. “Mayhap a thief took them?”

  “Ye are a mean, spiteful, foul woman!” Onnleigh growled. “’Tis nae wonder none wants ye as a wife. Now give me back me clothes.”

  “I’d rather be mean and spiteful than a thief or a whore,” Margaret said, leaning in so only Onnleigh could hear clearly.

  In a fury of pent up anger, Onnleigh drew back her hand and slapped Margaret across the face. ’Twas the first time in her life she’d ever struck another living thing.

  Before Margaret could retaliate, Ronald appeared from somewhere, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her away. Someone was doing the same to Onnleigh.

  “Ye be a wretched whore and nothin’ more!” Margaret shouted as her arms flailed out in an attempt to reach her foe.

  “Ye’re nothin’ but a mean and hateful person!” Onnleigh shouted back. “I’ve ne’er done a thing to ye, yet ye call me names and accuse me of doin’ things I’ve ne’er done!”

  Connor’s deep voice boomed and echoed off the walls. “Stop!”

  It had been he who grabbed her and pulled her away from Margaret. He startled Onnleigh into silence, but Margaret continued with her accusations and hate-filled words.

  “Will someone please tell me what the bloody hell is goin’ on?” Connor shouted.

  “She took me clothes,” Onnleigh told him over her shoulder.