by Aileen Adams
“What do ye think?”
“Me?” Elspeth asked, seemingly surprised.
He nodded. “Ye know Beitris’s father better than I do. What is yer opinion of this?”
Elspeth scowled, cast a quick glance toward Beitris, mumbled a quick apology, and then replied honestly.
“Bruce Boyd is a self-centered man and has been ever since I first met him when I was a child.” She turned to Beitris and placed a hand on her friend’s arm to stay her protests. “I’m sorry, but he asked my opinion, and I’m going to give it.” She turned once again to Alasdair. “Beitris has done her utmost to do what she can around the house, to not be a burden to her father. To convince him that she is worthy of his love.” Her scowl deepened. “I dinna think Bruce Boyd knows how to love or care for anything except for himself.”
“Elspeth!” Beitris gasped, though softly.
“It’s true, Beitris, and I think ye know that. I’m sorry, and I dinna want to hurt ye, ye know that. But we both know that yer father has never truly… he’s never truly accepted ye for who ye are.”
Alasdair watched a variety of expressions cross Beitris’s face. Resignation, sadness, and then, perhaps a flash of anger. He’d never thought about what her life had been like growing up, without sight, always left out, never feeling like she truly belonged. Much like him. Still, he avoided the village and its people because he wanted to. There was a difference.
Unfortunately, while Alasdair had never been unkind to Beitris, he hadn’t made any effort to befriend her when they were younger. Even when his father had told him that he and Bruce Boyd had come to the agreement, his first thought had been one of annoyance, of being burdened by a blind woman, a woman who was less than he would have expected. And yet, over the past days and weeks, he had discovered that Beitris was no burden. Yes, she needed help with some things, an elbow to guide her once in a while, but she did all the things that any other woman would do in their home. On top of that, she had risked her safety to protect him. Both of them had. While he doubted Elspeth would appreciate any words of gratitude, he resolved to make sure that both women were safe.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that, not laid up as he was, and not until this issue about a bounty on his head had been taken care of. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to go about solving it, but one idea crept into his mind.
“Beitris, we might have to… perhaps we could journey to France, lass, start a new life…”
“With what?” Beitris asked gently, smiling as she shook her head. “It costs money to journey that far. Not to mention, what would we do? We have no money to buy land, and even more importantly, neither one of us speaks the language.”
“Yer not going anywhere,” Elspeth said firmly. “Somehow and in some way, I know this will all be resolved.” She looked directly at Alasdair. “Ye are not going to drag Beitris away from her homeland.”
Alasdair halted her growing anger with a grumble. “Elspeth, ye do know that if I took Beitris anywhere, ye are more than welcome to come along.” Elspeth didn’t react as he expected her to. He expected her to express gratitude, to display some indication of relief, but she had the opposite reaction.
“Beitris does not need a keeper, Alasdair, and if ye think—”
“That’s not what I meant at all,” Alasdair interrupted Elspeth. “What I intended, what I meant to imply, is that because I know the two of ye are so close, I’m just saying that… where we go, ye are welcome to go also.”
There. He’d said it. If that didn’t mollify Elspeth, he didn’t know what would.
To his surprise, Beitris offered a small laugh.
“He’s extending an olive branch, Elspeth,” his wife said, her soft laughter filling the interior of the cave and lifting his heart. “Now, what are ye going to do with it? Take it and hold it close or beat him over the head with it?”
Alasdair glanced at Elspeth with a lifted brow. Finally, she nodded, muttered her thanks, and then once again reiterated that no one was going anywhere. The situation would be resolved. How exactly that was going to happen, he didn’t know, but looking at her firm determination, he almost believed it. Anyway, he could do nothing about the situation until he recovered from his injuries. That could be days, maybe even a week or more from now.
“I didn’t have a chance to tell Beitris what else I found out when I was in the village because ye interrupted us,” Elspeth scolded, but not without a hint of a twinkle in her eye.
“What is it?” Beitris asked. “Did ye hear anything from the apothecary? Did ye have a chance to speak with the sheriff—”
“What’s this?” Alasdair asked, eyeing the women before narrowing his gaze on Elspeth. “Ye went to see the sheriff? Why?”
“Patience, Alasdair,” she said, turning to speak to Beitris rather than him. “The apothecary, though normally one of the biggest gossips in town, had nothing to say about the events in the village. Of course, he had heard that an English magistrate was in the area, but either there is no love lost… What I mean to say is that he had nothing to say, even though I hinted at the fact that I had seen the man with the sheriff the other day.”
“So maybe we’re wrong about my father?”
“Possibly,” Elspeth agreed. “I went to speak with the sheriff on a private matter, if ye must know, Alasdair, about my cottage. But I think he suspects that ye are still nearby. That we’re actually harboring a fugitive from the law.”
“Did he come right out and say that?” Alasdair asked, his heart thudding with dread. The women were putting themselves in a precarious position because of him. Guilt added to the weight of the heavy shroud he already wore across his shoulders.
“Nay, and to be honest, I got the impression that he has taken yer side, Alasdair. Ye two have known each other for quite some time, haven’t ye? Even when ye were children?”
“Aye,” Alasdair said. “He’s only a couple of years older. I always saw him as a good man, a fair man, and an honest one.”
“He didn’t come right out and say it, but I got the impression that he has no feelings of obligation toward the English magistrate.”
“So, ye did talk about the bounty or the reward, or the bribe, however ye want to name it?” Beitris asked.
“Yes, he mentioned it. He sounded none too pleased but told me that he would let us know if anything untoward was being planned.” She paused, glancing down at Alasdair. “And to be careful.”
“Why was he displeased?” Alasdair asked. “Does he think people are banding together to split the reward for turning me in? And where does that leave ye two? Ye must—”
“I’m not sure what he was implying,” Elspeth interrupted. “Only that I got the impression that he wouldna do anything to bring ye harm, or to either one of us.” She paused again to place a comforting hand on Beitris’s arm. “He’s talking to the villagers, telling them not to trust anything the magistrate says… or promises. But I think most of them are aware of that anyway.”
“And my father? Did he mention anything about my father and this English magistrate? Why did he come to our home with them?”
“He apologizes for frightening us the other day. Apparently, he was talking with yer father about something when the magistrate approached him. Yer father wanted to ride out to the stone house, he claims, to make sure that ye were all right. The magistrate followed along.”
“And no words about Alasdair were exchanged between them?” Beitris asked, frowning with confusion. “Why would the magistrate insist on riding along like that? Did someone mention that I was wed to Alasdair? Maybe he had suspicions of his own, or maybe someone from the village, or somewhere else in the county, knew of Alasdair…”
“There are no easy answers to that, Beitris,” Elspeth said, placing her hand on that of her friend. “We must keep a close watch, keep our ears open, and be aware of everything going on around us. Yer hearing and sense of danger are much more attuned than mine. I’ll keep an eye out, and between us, we’ll be all righ
t.” She glanced down at Alasdair. “So will he.”
Alasdair thought about everything that had been said and gently shook his head. “I dinna like this, not any of it. I can’t abide hiding here in this cave while the two of ye may become prime targets for the English crown, under suspicion of harboring a criminal. And if yer father is in any way involved…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. If Bruce Boyd had in any way endangered his daughter, Alasdair would see to it that he paid, and paid dearly.
18
Beitris tried to concentrate on kneading the bread, sinking her fingers deep into the pliable, warm dough, her fingers squeezing, working it and punching at it, trying to understand her intense sense of frustration. She heard Elspeth moving about upstairs in the loft, straightening up, plumping her mattress and pillow, and her steps slowly coming down the stairs. She hummed a soft tune. The footsteps stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and the humming paused. She felt Elspeth’s eyes on her.
“Ye do know that we have to do this, dinna ye?”
Punch, squeeze, and knead. Punch, squeeze, and knead.
Finally, she nodded. “I understand why, Elspeth, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She shook her head, lifted a hand, and scratched her cheek. She felt the silky texture of the flour on her skin that her fingers left behind and inhaled the slightly tangy scent of the dough she worked.
“I understand that we need to make an appearance here, pretend that Alasdair is long gone and far away.” Her breath hitched. “I’m making bread, yesterday we washed laundry and hung it outside to dry on the posts and rope Alasdair constructed by the shore of the lake, and the day before that, I was on my hands and knees in the garden, planting seeds.” She froze, stiffened, and turned around to face her friend. “And how long do I continue with this charade? When will Alasdair be able to come home?”
The word almost caught in her throat. Home. At what point had the stone house become her home? But it was, and without Alasdair ever present, repairing things, working the ground, or even hanging their laundry line, it felt so empty, so lifeless. And when exactly had she begun to think of him that way? Truth be told, she missed him.
“The furor will die down within a few months, Beitris—”
“Months! I’m supposed to live months like this?” It was not a question for which she expected an answer. She knew the truth of the matter as much as Elspeth. Alasdair was a wanted man. As long as there was a reward being offered, the English magistrate, soldiers, or bounty hunters would continue to look for him. Such a thought couldna bode well for her future. “Leaving the country is out of the question, we’ve already established that. And we dinna have the wherewithal for that anyway. Besides, I couldn’t leave this land—”
“Not even for Alasdair?” Elspeth asked, stepping through the main room and into the kitchen area where Beitris once again kneaded the dough, her fingers working furiously.
“He’s a marked man, Elspeth, in more ways than one. We both know that. I knew that from the beginning, even though I pretended I didn’t! But that scar… He could never possibly hope to disguise himself.” She punched at the dough. “Is this to be my future? To live alone as a married woman, to wonder and worry day after day, while Alasdair has to run, to be hunted down like a wild boar, until it’s over and he’s lying dead—?”
She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder as Elspeth sought to comfort her. “I dinna know how all this is going to end, Beitris, but for now, we just have to get through one day at a time.”
Beitris knew her friend was right. She wasn’t saying anything that she hadn’t told herself numerous times already. But just the thought of Alasdair lying in a cave, alone, also worrying and wondering… For the hundredth time, she wondered why her father had betrothed her to such a man. Was it because her father knew that upon Alasdair’s return, he would be a wanted man? If he so wanted to keep the land and the stone house, why had he betrothed her in the first place and offered the land and house as a dowry? If he was behind the English magistrate and the sheriff coming to their home several days ago, why such subterfuge? He could have easily made arrangements with the English magistrate without the marriage, without the dowry, without the—
“I dinna trust yer father, although we shouldn’t reach for conclusions. He may have had nothing to do with any of this,” Elspeth said, stepping around Beitris and placing the heavy round wooden baking pallets on the table, prior to placing the balls of dough on top of them. They would sit on the edge of the hearth to rise, then closer to the fire to bake.
Beitris nodded. “I know. But what he said… I dinna understand. He wants the land back, so why did he give me to Alasdair in the first place? Why use this land and house as a dowry if he wanted to keep it so badly? Did he really have to bribe him with so much? Besides, if something happened to Alasdair and he did get the land back, what did he expect to happen to me? Where did he think I was going to go? Who did he think I was going to live with?”
“I would suspect that he expected ye to come live with me in my cottage,” Elspeth replied.
“But why?” Beitris asked, a frown tugging at her brow. “Why do all this? He didn’t have to marry me off. If he wanted to be rid of me so badly, why didn’t he just kick me out of the house and tell me to go live with ye?”
Elspeth made a tsking sound. “Now that wouldn’t have done much for his reputation, would it? Kicking his blind daughter out of his home, forcing her to rely on the good-heartedness of her best friend for shelter and sustenance?”
Beitris thought about what Elspeth said. No matter which way she looked at her, she felt betrayed. Disheartened, she slowly shook her head, trying to make sense of it all. Was it true? Could it be? Could her father had done this to her, made such plans, schemed, all to get rid of her and yet save his reputation?
“Beitris, let us not worry about things that happened in the past. Let us concentrate on what is happening today and plan for tomorrow.”
Beitris said nothing as she deftly divided the dough into four pieces and then skillfully shaped those pieces into loaves. She knew in her mind that what Elspeth said was true. She couldna undo the past, nor could she change it. Yet in her heart, she felt something entirely different. She felt helpless, unable to do anything to rectify the situation. She had sworn to Alasdair that she would do her best to protect him, as he protected her, but how could much could she really do? Keep him hidden? Yes, she could do that, and for now, that would have to be enough. When he was healed, they could reassess the situation. But what if—
The sound of horses riding up to the house startled her. Elspeth quickly left her side and rushed to the front of the house, looking out one of the open windows.
Beitris spun around, one hand on the table, eyes wide, heart pounding. “Elspeth! Who is it?” She feared it might be the men who had accosted them several days ago.
“I dinna know, but there’s three of them! I can’t see their faces, but I dinna think they’re the same men who stopped our wagon the other day! Beitris, we must defend—”
Beitris reached for the knife on a small table next to the newly formed bread loaves. She had intended to use it to cut a small slit across the top of each of the loaves, but now she held it firmly in hand, point downward, hidden in the length of her kirtle. At that moment, Elspeth uttered a startled scream as the front door slammed inward and several pairs of boots rushed into the house.
Heart pounding hard, Beitris listened to the sounds of a scuffle as Elspeth screamed at the intruders, trying to protect Beitris as best she could.
“Who are ye? How dare ye barge into our home! What do ye want?”
A sharp slapping sound prompted Beitris to gasp and then she tried to swallow, her mouth dry, the vein in her temple throbbing as she imagined Elspeth striking out, making contact with one of the intruders. She heard a growl from one of the men, and another scuffle, furniture disrupted, and then the heavy thud of a body falling to the floor.
“
Elspeth!” she screamed, her grip on the knife handle tightening as she heard footsteps approaching her.
She quickly sidestepped, every sense in her body trying to determine exactly where the intruders stood. One remained in the main room, another one stepping toward her, and another, somewhere in between, closer to the door. She quickly slid around the table, putting it between her and the advancing intruder, whoever he was.
“Where’s Alasdair Macintyre?”
The voice, deep and gravelly, sent a shiver of dread down Beitris’s spine. She didn’t recognize it, but with feigned bravado, she lifted her chin and shook her head. “If ye open yer eyes, ye would see that he is not here!” she snapped, one hand still holding on to the edge of the table, the other tightly grasping the knife.
A chortle of laughter from the intruder in the main room followed her comment. Beitris heard the sound of rending fabric, a garbled scream of protest, another slap. Then a punching sound, Elspeth’s cries filled with pain. They were hurting Elspeth!
“Leave her alone!” she shouted, anger replacing her terror, but only momentarily.
“Tell us where he is!”
The voice closer now, and though the words were spoken softly, the tone was even more threatening. Beitris saw the vague outline of a large shadow in front of her, heard the man breathing, and smelled the stench of sweat, dirt, and horseflesh. What to do? Could she run? Where? “Elspeth!”
“Your friend is unconscious, lying on the floor. If you don’t want her hurt, and if you want to save yourself, you’ll tell us where Alasdair is.”
This voice from the man still standing by the door. He had an accent. An English accent. Beitris shook her head, frustrated that she couldn’t recognize any of the voices of their intruders. Though she wanted nothing more than to disappear, to curl into a wee ball in the corner and pretend they weren’t here, she couldn’t. She opened her mouth but tilted her head when the man near the table took another step toward her. “I don’t know where he is. He left days ago.”