by Fiona Faris
Alexander crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “It doesna matter what ye did or didna do. Clearly we have bigger issues.”
Emily took a careful step forward. “What do you mean by that?”
“Trust, I speak of trust.”
Emily opened her mouth, not knowing what would come out. Nothing came to mind so she closed it again. Alexander took a step closer to her.
“When I saw ye at the doorway, looking out yer face was fashit. I thought maybe there was some creature there; a fox or a deer perhaps. Something I could vanquish for ye, and maybe we could use in soup. Then ye turned around and saw me and yer whole face dropped.”
Emily opened her mouth again, shaking her head. “I…”
Alexander held up his hand. “My turn to talk.”
She nodded, swallowing.
“And ye looked so horrified. As if I’d caught ye in some embarrassing act. I wanted to see what would put that look on yer face.”
Emily continued shaking her head. “It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t embarrassed, I was…”
“Terrified? Guilty?”
“All of those things. But not because I did anything wrong.”
“Ye just assumed I would react with anger. Ye didna even gie me the chance to defend my hame against this threat. Ye let him walk away because ye didna trust me.”
The knot in Emily’s stomach twisted further. “You’re right. I was afraid that you would think that…I had a rendezvous with him. So I asked him to leave.”
“Did ye even wonder how he got on the land? Why he was creeping about at dawn?”
Emily’s heart sunk. “I just…thought he was here for me.”
“Are the twa o’ ye that close that he would creep onto my property to get ye?”
Emily shook her head frantically. “Absolutely not.”
“Well then…?”
Emily felt tears gather in her eyes. She had endangered them all, that was clear to her now. “Every time I think that we might have a chance, I do something to ruin it.”
Alexander took another step toward her, sighing deeply. “The good news is we have the rest of our lives to get it right.”
Emily smiled tremulously. “Indeed, we do. One day perhaps?”
Alexander shrugged. “We can hope.”
They regarded each other solemnly.
“Now what do we do?”
Alexander took a deep breath. “We finish renovating our hame. We increase vigilance on our property.”
“Can we also apologize?”
“We? What have I to apologize for?”
Emily smiled and shrugged. “Scaring me so much that my first instinct was to hide things from you?”
Alexander barked with surprised laughter. “I canna help it if ye dinna ken that a Scotsman would never hurt a lassie.”
“You could have told me.”
He shrugged. “I’ve told ye the noo.”
Emily took a step forward so that she was standing flush against him. She clutched at his plaid, looking up into his eyes. “So you have.”
Tilting her face up, she hoped he would take the hint. His eyes swept along her lips and then met her own. “I’m still waiting.”
“For what?” she went up on tiptoe.
“Yer apology.”
“Well, that is what I’m trying to do.” She moved her head forward, fusing her lips with his.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Peace was uneasy within the manor, and for some reason nobody could settle. Petty fights broke out between various members of the household. Emily was irritated with Frances for speaking too long to Alexander. When she complained about it, he laughed in her face.
“She sees me as the source of her safety, Emily. Ye canna blame her for wanting to stay close to me, especially when the men from the village are in the hoose. Ye ken that one of them has shown her interest.”
“I’m not stopping her from getting married.”
“I dinna think she wants to.”
“Oh? She told you that?” her eyes narrowed at him, making him laugh even more.
“Oh yes, Emily. We sit around discussing her love life every Tuesday while she washes the clothes.”
“Really?” her heart tightened at the thought of her lady’s maid and husband planning a rendezvous.
“Of course not.” Alexander rolled his eyes, continuing to sharpen his blade with focused attention.
“Emily felt silly. She did not know what had gotten into her lately. Her moods were up and down, she was upset one minute and happy the next. Her reactions to everything were extreme. She just felt…possessed.
Alexander put his blade down. “Come, Emily, let’s get some food in ye. Clearly yer unable to think because of hunger.”
Emily reached out and punched him on the shoulder. “Not funny Alexander.”
Rebecca was spending increasingly more time alone, taking over where Alexander had left off, clearing stones out of the west wing. Things had settled down somewhat, Alexander was able to go hunting now and then, and there were two women and a young boy from the village who came to help with daily chores.
That meant there was less work to do on a daily basis. Emily had been thinking of going out and calling upon their neighbors, but she was afraid of encountering brigands along the way. They had not heard much from the bandits who had attacked them when they arrived, but the village women had much to say about them, including the fact that they had been spotted lurking about the inn before disappearing again.
“Something bad is going to happen.” Emily murmured to herself as she picked bulbs that had been growing wild in what was going to be their kitchen garden. The soil was thick and fertile and Rebecca was very excited about growing their food.
Emily did not know much about gardening, but she was willing and ready to learn. Frances seemed interested too, but at the moment she was more interested in staying out of Emily’s way.
Emily did not blame her one bit. She knew her behavior was irrational.
She decided to check on Rebecca in the west wing. If her sister-in-law was hiding because of Emily’s bad temper, she would seek to remedy the matter. But if she was suffering from her own megrims, all the more reason for Emily to reach out to her.
She rounded the corner, not hearing the sound of stones being moved.
“Rebecca?”
The girl silently emerged from a chamber on the left, where the entire outer wall had fallen in.
“Hello.”
Emily placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
Rebecca shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps a ghost is walking over all our graves. There is a bad spirit lurking over us all somehow.”
“You feel it too.” Emily was surprised and relieved that she was not the only one.
“Course I feel it. The air is heavy with it.”
Emily nodded. “What will we do?”
“It’s probably time to bless our hearth. Alexander does not believe in such things but I think it’s necessary.” She stepped back into the room from which she had emerged, “That is why I was preparing this hearth to bury a piece of iron.”
She pointed toward the fireplace.
“Oh,” she said, “Do you think that will work?”
“We can only hope.”
The sound of hoof beats on the cobblestones of the courtyard had them scurrying to the window.
“Mr Cooke! What is he doing here?”
Rebecca turned. “Who is he?”
“He is my father’s steward.” Emily’s fingers were suddenly very cold.
“Perhaps he has a message?” Rebecca’s voice was calm but her hand clutched Emily’s tight enough to hurt.
“Perhaps.”
There was no sound to Emily’s voice. There was a curious ringing in her ears. Without even knowing why Edward Cooke was here, she knew that her life was about to change forever.
“Come. Let us go and see what he wants.” Rebecca put a hand around the gir’ls sho
ulders, steering her towards the stairs.
They reached the foyer to find Mr Cooke in deep conversation with Alexander. They stopped, watching the two men, their somber faces telling a story of their own.
“Mr Cooke,” Emily called out as the steward turned towards her, his face haggard looking.
“Mrs MacTavish, I…” he swallowed, looking to Alexander for help. Alexander nodded, squeezing the man’s arm before walking over to Emily and taking her hands in his.
“Emily…” he looked her straight in the eye and Emily began to shake her head in denial of whatever he was going to say. His hands tightened on hers.
“Emily, Mr Cooke has brought…some bad news.” His throat clicked as he tried to swallow.
“Who is it?” Emily searched his eyes for the answer, “tell me.”
“Yer…faither.”
Emily collapsed in his arms, screaming with pain. “No!”
Alexander held her, swaying from side to side as if he could soothe the pain away.
“Say it isn’t so.”
“I am sorry, Mrs MacTavish. You have no idea how it pains me to bring this news.”
“W-wh-what happened?” Emily asked; her voice low and colourless.
Mr. Cooke shook his head. “He was killed. They think it was brigands. They found him…on the side of the road, a sword wound in his chest, his rings gone.”
“He was…killed for his rings?” Emily uttered in disbelief.
“That is…the only conclusion we can draw.”
Alexander looked up. “Ye didna come here simply to tell us this. Ye could have sent a letter.”
Mr Cooke sighed. “Indeed. This death, at this time…it leaves your mother and sisters vulnerable. They ask that you visit them at once for there is much to sort out” he turned to Alexander, “…and you are the new head of the family.”
Emily gasped turning to Alexander with wide eyes. “You do not have t-”
“I am happy to come back and help ye with anything ye may need.” Alexander interrupted her as he looked away from her.
Mr Cooke heaved a sigh of relief. “That is good to hear.”
Rebecca stepped forward, “Mr. Cooke, ye must be exhausted. Can I show ye to a chamber? Ye can rest, perhaps have some sustenance?”
“I thank you miss…?”
“Oh, we havena been introduced. I am Rebecca MacTavish, Alexander’s sister.”
Mr Cooke nodded to Alexander and Emily before following Rebecca to the east wing.
Emily watched him go, the repercussions of his news reverberating in her head.
Father is dead. Father is dead. Father is dead.
No matter how many times it echoed in her mind, it did not seem real. Her father had always been larger than life. While his mortality was always a subject for worry when he went to war, it was still something that she was not prepared for. Especially not like this!
She looked up at Alexander, noting that she felt that he too was invincible. His innate air of capability filled the air around him, reassuring her that whatever arose, he would be able to take care of it.
At that moment, it occurred to her that he was free from obligation to their marriage. If her father was dead, his title would either pass on to some obscure cousin or fall into extinction. Emily was not sure. Alexander could walk away from her if he so chose. He was not bound by the tenets of English honour - only his own personal code.
What should I do now?
Alexander reached for her, pulling her into his body and tucking her head into his neck as to protect her from the news. “It’ll be alrigh’. Dinna fash.”
“How can I not ‘fash’ Alexander. My father is dead.”
“Och aye, and I am sorry for tha’. He was an honorable man.”
“Alexander?”
“Aye wife?”
Something in her rejoiced at the return of her nickname. “I do not think that this is the full story of what happened to my father.”
“What d’ye wish me tae do aboot it?”
“Help me to find out the truth.”
Alexander sighed. “I will do what I can. Ye ken that aye?”
“Yes, I know that Alexander. Thank you.”
She hunched herself into him, thinking that she could hide here forever and not have to face whatever was waiting out there for her.
It could not last long, however. Reality was too harsh to be kept at bay. It came crashing over her soon enough and it was all she could do not to collapse under the weight of her tears. Alexander held her tightly, rubbing gently at her hair.
“It’ll be all righ’,” he repeated, “dinna fash.”
She could almost believe him.
They sat down to a quiet dinner, with no one in much the mood to converse.
“Well, at least the noo we ken why we were so unsettled,” Rebecca mused to Emily.
The girl nodded listlessly. “I suppose.”
“I’m sorry do ye not want us to speak on it?” Rebecca reached out to cover Emily’s hand with hers.
“No. I don’t mind. Please, we have a lot of ground to cover. Do we have a date for the funeral, Mr Cooke?”
The steward shook his head. “No indeed. Your mother is distraught, and so are your sisters.”
Emily stiffened, having forgotten all about her sisters in the first haze of her own grief. “How are they faring? Are they all right?”
Mr Cooke sighed. “Miss Elinor is doing her best, but…” he shook his head.
Emily got up from the table, pushing away from the bench. “We need to go back.”
Alexander stood to follow her. “Now Emily of course, we shall go, but first thing tomorra. Now sit down and try to eat something.”
Emily opened her mouth to protest but Alexander got there before her. “I ken, it’s difficult to think of mundane things like eating when yer father is deid and yer faimly is sufferin’. But ye must keep yer strength up. How will ye help yer sisters if ye faint dead awa’ at arrival?”
Emily fidgeted, trying to find a way around that argument but in the end, sat back down and picked up her spoon.
Emily couldn’t sleep. Every time she tried, all she could think of was her father, pale-faced and staring, the life gone from his eyes. She wondered if he had died quickly or had lain on the side of the road, slowly bleeding to death.
The thought of him suffering was too much to bear and she rose from the bed and decided to finish any whiskey she might find. Taking a candle she shuffled downstairs as fast as she could, entered the study and poured herself the largest glass of whiskey she could manage.
Flopping down onto the leather seat she took a large sip.
“That isna a very wise thing to do, wife. Ye’ll have to be on a horse all day tomorra. Ye want tae do that with a hangover?”
She jumped, looking up to see Alexander in the doorway, leaning on the jamb. She put her hand to her heart. “You scared me.”
“Sorry. I didna mean to. I was worried about ye when ye jackknifed out of bed like tha’.”
“Running away from my thoughts isn’t easy.”
He straightened up, walking into the room. “I can understand tha’.” He picked up a glass, and filled it, sitting down opposite her. He downed the entire glass, slamming it onto the table when he had finished.
Emily smiled and imitated him, downing her entire glass. She shook her head, “Does not feel better.”
Alexander shook his head slowly. “Not the point. The whiskey will help ye loosen up and ye will be able to let it all out.”
“Let it all out? Will that bring my father back?”
“Not at all. But ye’ll feel better. Or so they say.”
Emily nodded, pouring another glass. “Perhaps, or maybe I just feel dizzy and inarticulate when miserable.”
Alexander circled around the table, bent down and picked her up from the chair. “Carry yer drink, I am taking ye back to bed.”
She squeaked with surprise as he lifted her into the air, managing to hold onto her glass.
“We can be miserable and warm.”
“This really isn’t necessary.”
“Maybe not necessary but certainly needed.” Alexander huffed as he carried her up the stairs. She took a sip of her drink, deciding to relax and let him take care of her.