“I did no such thing!”
“Ye did! While I was bathin’, ye came in and accused me of stealin’ Ronald from Bridgett and Connor from ye.” Her heart began to hurt, her anger subsiding, only to be replaced with humiliation and shame.
“Bah! Ye lie! Ye’re a thief and a liar as well as a whore!”
Tears stung at Onnleigh’s eyes, fury and humiliation blending into a very ugly combination. “’Tis nae true,” she said, her voice hoarse and scratchy.
“Ronald, take Margaret to me study and dunnae allow her to leave,” Connor ordered as he set Onnleigh on her feet. Taking her hand, he said, “Come with me.”
He led her above stairs and into her room. Bridgett was sitting in a chair with Nola in her arms. Her eyes opened in surprise when she saw Connor pulling Onnleigh inside.
“Leave us,” he told her. “Wait fer me in the hall with Nola,” Connor ordered. She hurried from the room without question.
Onnleigh could sense he was trying to keep his temper in check. She slumped into the chair, drawing the damp drying cloth around her shoulders. Margaret was right. They’ll all be ready to hang me now. And Connor will be the one to put the noose around me neck.
“Get dressed,” he told her, his tone of voice filled with frustration.
“I cannae,” she told him, her face burning with humiliation. Why did ye let her do that to ye?
“Why nae?” he asked as he stood next to her with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Because Margaret took me clothes.”
He stood in silence for a long while. “Why would she do that?”
Onnleigh could not yet find the strength to look at him. “I told ye below stairs why.”
“Tell me again,” he said, his voice not sounding nearly as angry as before.
She took in a deep breath, fighting back the urge to cry. “I was in the bathin’ house. She came in and accused me of stealing Ronald from Bridgett even though I’d only just met him. He offered to carry the buckets fer me. I swear, ’twas the first time I e’er saw him.”
“Buckets?” he asked.
She sniffed, wiped her eyes on the edge of the drying cloth. “I cleaned yer room this afternoon.”
A length of silence passed before he asked, “Why did ye do that?’
Shrugging her shoulders as if the why of it was not important, she remained silent.
He pulled up a chair and sat beside her. “Onnleigh, why did ye clean me room?”
“It needed a good cleanin’,” she told him. ’Twas not necessarily a full lie, only a half-truth.
“Was there another reason?”
She didn’t understand why ’twas so important to him. Mayhap he only wanted to know so he’d have all the facts before he hung her or made her leave. Her heart felt heavy, her soul utterly unworthy. “I wanted to do somethin’ nice fer ye,” she murmured softly. “I could nae give ye anythin’ to show me thanks. Cleanin’ yer room seemed the least I could do.”
He swallowed hard. “To thank me fer what?”
Finally, she allowed herself the chance to look at him full on. He didn’t appear nearly as angry as she had expected. Instead, there was a warmth in his eyes, that look of kind regard she was growing far too fond of. “Fer bein’ so kind when no one else was. Fer givin’ me a chance. Fer lovin’ Nola as if she were yer own. Fer standin’ up to Helen..” Fer nae lookin’ at me as if I were as wretched and undeserving as Margaret declared.
He let out a long breath through his nostrils. “Tell me what happened in the bath house.”
“Margaret and her friends came in. She accused me of stealin’ Ronald from Bridgett…” she let her words trail off, afraid to admit to the rest.
“And?”
Och, he was a persistent man. She took another steadying breath before going on. “She said I stole ye from her,” she said before quickly adding, “I tried to tell her ’twas nae true!” A man like ye would ne’er be wantin’ a thing like me.
Another frustrated sigh passed over his lips. “I have never been interested in Margaret. ’Tis in her mind and her mum’s that I should marry her, but nothin’ could be further from me mind.” He looked at her for a long time before pushing himself to his feet. “I be sorry they did that to ye, lass. Verra sorry.”
He was apologizing to her for something he had not done. She looked at him in wonder and awe.
“Then she took yer clothes?”
Too stunned to speak, she could only offer a nod.
His anger returned, but now she knew ’twas not directed at her. “I will be puttin’ an end to this once and fer all, lass. Ye stay here. I’ll see to it that ye have a dress to wear. Put on yer chemise before ye catch yer death.” He set about lighting a fire in the brazier.
Though she did not want to admit it aloud, she had to. “I do nae have a chemise.”
He looked up from the brazier. “She took that as well?”
Onnleigh shook her head. “Nae, I mean, I do nae have a chemise. I use me tunic as such. She took it along with me dress. All I have left is me brown skirt. I have naught else.” Humiliation burned her cheeks a deep red.
’Twas not pity she saw staring back at her, but something else she could not identify.
“I’ll make sure ye have all ye need, lass,” he told her warmly.
Moments later, a nice fire was burning in the brazier. He went to her bed, withdrew the fine wool blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’ll return as soon as I can. Stay here and wait fer me.”
There was nothing else she could say, but a thousand things she wished she could put to voice.
Giving her a pat on the shoulder and a look filled with promises, he smiled before quitting the room.
“Tell me why Margaret would accuse Onnleigh of takin’ Ronald from ye?” Connor asked, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he stared down at Bridgett. “And tell me the truth.”
Bridgett looked as fearful as she did contrite. She stammered, tripping over her own tongue before she could finally answer clearly. “I saw them talkin’ below stairs. It made me angry. She’s so pretty, ye ken.”
Aye, I ken.
“I did nae think Margaret would do such a cruel thing,” she said, hoping that excuse would gain her some leniency.
“Ye’ve known Margaret all yer life. What made ye think she’d be kind about it—or anythin’ else?”
With her gaze on her boots, she did not immediately answer.
“Onnleigh has nae stolen Ronald from ye. But as far as I see it, Ronald be nae yers, fer ye haven’t told him how ye feel. If ye wish to make him yers, ye must tell him. Quit hidin’ behind yer shyness and declare yer love for him. Elst I’ll be forced to find him a wife, and ye’ll nae be it.”
She lifted her head so fast he was surprised she didn’t snap her own neck. She dared not voice any objections, for she knew he’d make good on his promise.
“Take Nola to Onnleigh and apologize to her. Then ye go and find a pretty dress for her, as well as a chemise, anythin’ else she might need.”
“I be so sorry, Connor,” she told him.
“Do nae tell me. Tell Onnleigh,” he said before leaving her alone in the hallway.
It had not taken long for word about Onnleigh and Margaret’s argument to spread throughout the clan. By the time Connor made his way to the study, Helen was waiting for him. Braigh and Ronald followed behind him, more likely than not to keep their brother from strangling Margaret or Helen or both.
With protective arms wrapped around her none-too-innocent daughter, Helen instantly began to tell him what she thought.
“She slapped me poor daughter in front of everyone!” she screamed as he made his way to his desk. “Do ye nae see how injured me Margaret is? Please tell me ye have thrown that wretched creature into the dungeon!”
Connor rolled his eyes, not believing for an instant that Margaret was as severely upset as her mother wanted him to believe. “Should I also throw yer daughter into the dungeon fer stealin’?”
Margaret stared at him, aghast that he could even think such a thing. “Margaret? She’s never stolen a thing in her life!”
“She stole Onnleigh’s clothes and tossed them in a fire,” he told her. He had learned that bit of information from Ronald only moments before stepping into the office. “That is stealin’.”
Margaret sniffed and turned away from her mother’s breast. “I thought they were rags,” she beseeched him. “I did nae ken they were her clothes.”
“Then ye would nae mind givin’ her a few of yer dresses to make up fer yer mistake?” the laird asked with a smile.
Both women were appalled by the idea. “Nay!” Margaret exclaimed. “I’ll nae part with any of me things, least of all to her!”
“There, there, my child,” Helen said as she patted Margaret’s hand. “’Twas an honest mistake. I’ve seen what the girl calls clothes. None can hold ye responsible fer mistakin’ them fer rags.”
“I can,” Connor told them. “And I do.”
Helen glowered at him with hate. “That thief, that filthy creature slapped me daughter in front of one and all. I’ll nae stand idly by while ye do nothin’!”
Connor’s smile faded instantly. “She is nae a thief nor filthy creature. She be a kind, sweet lass, and ye’ll never call her anything but her given name ever again.”
“Until a fortnight ago, ye dinnae even ken who she was,” Helen told him. “She’s bewitched ye. Turned ye away from me Margaret. Turned yer head, she has. She be a witch!”
To be accused as a witch was worse than any other insult and could spell a death sentence if she were able to convince enough of his clanspeople ’twas the truth. He stood to his full height, spread his palms on top of his desk and leaned forward. “Hear me and hear me well,” he said in a low, firm voice, “Onnleigh be no witch nor thief nor anythin’ else ye’ve accused her of this day. Hear this as well, and make no mistake in me words. I will never, ever marry Margaret. She could be the last woman on God’s earth and I still would nae marry her.”
Two sets of stunned eyes stared back at him. “How can ye say that?” Helen asked. “After all Margaret has done fer ye.”
He quirked a brow. “All Margaret has done fer me? Please, pray tell, begin listin’ all the wonderful, kind things she’s done fer me.”
“She’s kept herself fer ye,” Helen began.
“And?” Connor challenged.
“And she’s loved ye and offered to be yer wife since me sweet Maire died.”
“Those be nae kind gestures but a woman hopin’ fer more than she’ll ever have,” Braigh offered from near the fireplace.
Helen shot an angry glance toward him before turning back to Connor. “Margaret has—”
Connor raised his hand to silence her. “Has Margaret done anythin’ but declare she’ll marry me?”
Helen was at a loss for words. “She loves ye.”
Connor gave a long, slow shake of his head. “Nay, she does nae love me. She loves the idea of being the chief’s wife and chatelaine of the keep. But she does nae love me. We will stop this charade at once. I will nae marry her. Nae now, nae ever.”
Margaret looked to her mother, her face drawn into a knot of anger and pain. “’Tis all her fault! She’s turned him against me!”
Connor slammed his fist down hard onto his desk. “No one has turned me against ye! I was never yers to begin with!” He took in a deep breath before going on. “I will nae repeat what I’ve told ye. The two of ye shall get the notion of a marriage betwixt us out of yer minds, once and for all. And ye will stay clear of Onnleigh, do ye understand? No more hateful accusations, no more name callin’, no more stealin’ her clothes. I do nae want either one of ye anywhere near her. Or me fer that matter.”
He stood tall with his shoulders back. “Do ye understand me?”
Although they nodded in confirmation, deep down, Connor knew he was not done hearing from these two, cold-hearted women. And neither was Onnleigh.
Chapter 8
Bridgett had done her best to apologize to Onnleigh, as well as to explain why she’d been so jealous.
“I’ve done everythin’ I can think of to get Ronald to look me way. I’ve loved that man since I was seven summers. I was jealous and angry that he should be smilin’ at ye as he was, with yer pretty red hair and yer face.”
Onnleigh stared in abject confusion. “Me face?” she asked, uncertain what her face had to do with anything.
“Och, Onnleigh! Ye’re beautiful! I cannae compete with ye.”
Closing her eyes, she shook her head as if that would bring come clarity to the situation. “Ye’re daft. Ye be the beautiful one, Bridgett, nae me. I could nae more turn a man’s head than I could fly.”
Although Darwud had often bespoke how beautiful he found her, she knew ’twas all a lie. Empty words she had foolishly allowed herself to believe. She was as common as a blade of Highland grass.
“But ye are,” Bridgett argued further. “I ken ye dunnae believe it, but ye are. ’Twas why I grew so jealous. ’Twas a mean and spiteful thing to tell Margaret. I should have known she’d be cruel, but I was so upset and fearful that I’d lose Ronald to ye that I was nae right in me own head.”
Though she did not believe she was beautiful as Bridgett was suggesting, she could understand her fear. She’d been fearful as well an hour ago when she thought Connor was going to make her leave the clan. Fear could make a person do things they might not otherwise do. Such as giving up her own babe.
“Will ye forgive me?” Bridgett asked pitifully.
Onnleigh let out a long sigh. “Aye, I forgive ye. But only if ye promise to come to me first if I e’er do anythin’ to upset ye. Ken me heart and ken that I’d ne’er intentionally bring ye an ounce of pain.”
Bridgett’s shoulders relaxed in relief. “Thank ye, Onnleigh!” she exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around her and hugged tightly.
Unaccustomed to physical displays of emotion or affection, Onnleigh stood rigid for a long moment. The last person who had hugged her had been her mum. In her mind, what she’d done with Darwud on the banks of the stream that day last year did not count. A long moment passed before she felt comfortable enough to return the hug.
“I swear, I’ll make it up to ye someday,” Bridgett said as she pulled away and smiled.
“As long as ye promise to come to me first if I’ve done somethin’ wrong, we shall be friends fer a long while.”
Bridgett seemed pleased with her answer. “I promise, I shall. Now wait here fer a moment, I shall be back shortly.”
Onnleigh returned to her chair by the fire, still wrapped in the drying cloth and blanket. Quietly, she prayed that Margaret would confess soon so that her clothes would be returned to her.
A moment later, Bridgett returned with something draped over her arms. “Connor bade me get ye a dress and chemise. I also found ye some warm woolens and a plaid.”
Surprised, Onnleigh stared up at her. “I dunnae understand,” she said. “All I need is me clothes to be returned. I cannae afford to buy anythin’ yet. I’ve nae been paid me wages.”
Bridgett rolled her eyes as she set the articles on the bed. “Ye dunnae have to purchase these. They be a gift from me to ye. The gown might be a bit tight in the bodice, but I think we can manage.”
Onnleigh stood slowly and stared at the dress Bridgett was holding up for her inspection. ’Twas a beautiful woolen gown, woven in shades of purple and blue the color of the midnight sky. The sleeves were long, the edges trimmed in dark shades of purple like the rest of the dress. ’Twas a color that reminded her of that late hour of the night when the moon did not shine and the sun was just threatening to come up in the east. Inky indigo and purple, dark with a promise of a new day to come.
’Twas a magnificent gown. One she felt wholly unworthy of wearing.
“Do ye like it?” Bridgett asked hopefully
“I cannae wear such a nice gown,” Onnleigh told her breathlessly. Her fingers itched to r
each out and touch it, certain ’twas as soft and luxurious as it appeared.
“Och! Dunnae be silly. ’Tis one of me auld gowns me mum made fer me at least three years ago. I want ye to have it. The chemise and woolens too.”
Aside from Connor giving her food to eat, a warm bed to sleep in, and Nola a future, the dress, the clothes, were the single nicest thing anyone had ever done for her. Those tears she’d been fighting came tumbling down her cheeks. There was naught she could do to stop them.
Attempting to choke them back, she thanked Bridgett repeatedly.
“Think nothin’ of it,” Bridgett said happily. “’Tis the least I can do.”
Nae, she thought to herself. Ye could have done less. Ye could have nae admitted yer mistake. Ye could have turned away from me, to let me suffer alone.
Connor had returned to Onnleigh with the intention of informing her that he had warned Helen and Margaret to leave her be.
But when he saw her sitting on the stool, combing her hair out with an old comb, wearing a most lovely indigo dress, those thoughts slipped his mind.
She stole his very breath away.
Her smile, so honest and genuine, asking nothing from him but kindness, made his knees quake.
The way the candlelight and flames from the brazier danced and flickered across her skin, her auburn hair, casting her in a near ethereal glow, was mesmerizing. He stood for the longest time, drinking her in as if he were a man whose thirst could not be quenched with anything earthly.
“What be the matter?” she asked. When he did not respond, she set the comb aside, her smile replaced with a look of great concern. “Have I done somethin’ wrong?”
“Nay, lass,” he answered, his throat having turned mysteriously dry.
Tilting her head to one side, she continued to look at him, curious and worried all at once. A thought suddenly occurred to her; mayhap he thought she’d stolen the dress. “I dinnae take it,” she began to explain quickly. “Bridgett gave it to me. The chemise and the woolens too. Ye can ask her yerself—”
Secrets of the Heart Page 9