An hour later, Isabel approached the men with Senga and Kyle in hand. Panting and drenched in sweat Rabbie glanced aside, allowing Kendrick the advantage, and he knocked the sword from Rabbie’s hand. Well matched in their abilities, Rabbie and Kendrick usually ended their mock battles in a draw.
“Well done, cousin, but ‘twas only your sister and the bairns that caused a moment’s distraction allowing you the victory.”
Kendrick spun around. “What brings you here, Isabel?” His heart thudded in his chest, fearing bad news.
She graced the men with a brilliant smile and replied, “Andra is awake and asks after you, brother.”
With wide, determined strides, Kendrick headed toward the keep. He wanted to run directly to her, but went to wash first. It would not do to display the urgent need he felt to see her awake and mending.
When he entered his chambers, he found his mother sitting next to Andra wiping wet, stringy clumps of hair away from her face. She turned to her son. “Her fever finally broke, but she is verra weak. Cook will send fresh broth shortly. Dinnae tire her over much, Kendrick.”
His mother patted Andra’s hand. “I will check on you later. What you need now is rest.”
Kendrick took his mother’s place on the chair by the bed, scooping Andra’s hand into his. “You’ve suffered a raging fever and gave everyone quite a scare.” Watching her face closely, he added, “I invaded your things and found the tablets you gave to Lorne during his recovery. The wee writing said to use it for fever, and it seems to have helped.”
He noted the apprehension on her face and felt a slight flinch in the hand he held. The tablets were not the only thing in her bag that confounded him and required further explanation.
She nodded. “Thank you.” Then she adroitly changed the subject, “Your mother said Senga and Kyle are well and that Lorne improves greatly.” She spoke with a gravelly voice, and wheezed and coughed as she spoke. Though the fever had broken, her breath still rattled her chest. Some questions could wait a few more days, but he would have answers to a few now.
“My sister has the bairns well in hand. They ask for you every day.” He paused a moment then plunged ahead, “You frequently called out in your delirium.” Her shoulders tensed.
“You were asking for your da and someone named Daniel. Do you remember who this Daniel might be?” Regardless of who the man might be, gaining this information might help him unravel Andra’s secrets. Silence settled over them while he awaited her answer. He didn’t want to learn of a lover or husband but had to know.
Andra’s hand moved protectively across her abdomen. A gesture he’d often seen women make when they were breeding. “Andra? Does that name mean anything to you?”
Tears slipped over her lashes and she looked down at her lap. “It’s a common name is it not?” she whispered. She would not look at him.
He waited patiently for several minutes before responding, “Aye, ‘tis common enough, but why in particular do you think you called it out while delirious?”
An exhausted sigh escaped her lips, and her shoulders slumped. She lifted moss-green eyes, glassy with tears. With a hand still pressed against her abdomen, her voice hitched, “Daniel was my son.” She turned away as a sob shook her. “If you don’t mind Kendrick, I feel the need to rest. Please.”
Kendrick flinched. Was—past tense. Had the bairn died? This explained the intense tenderness and protective instincts she displayed toward the orphaned bairns. But what about the babe’s father? Though she had mentioned her father, mother, and now her son, she had never mentioned a husband.
“Are you married, then?” He could barely get the words out and didn’t want to examine his feelings on the matter.
Andra kept her face turned away. “No, Kendrick, I am most definitely not married.”
The bitterness in her tone was unmistakable. He knew when they had joined outside the cave that she was not a virgin despite being as tight as any woman he’d ever bedded. He would never have guessed she had birthed a child. Obviously, she did not take men to her bed often. What had happened to her? His hands fisted so tightly his fingernails cut into calloused palms.
Swallowing to calm his voice, he asked, “Were you escaping this man who fathered your bairn when we found you?” Had the rake violated her? Abandoned her and his responsibilities to his child, and cast her off to fend for their son alone? With her father dead and no kin to protect her, the evil of the world had visited one tragedy after another on her shoulders.
Tears coursed down her cheeks. “Please Kendrick, I am so tired. We can discuss this later, can we not?”
He wanted to take her in his arms and soothe her pain. He wanted to remove the burden of sadness that weighed so heavily on her shoulders. Yet she was not a beleaguered or ruined waif. She carried herself with a regal certainty and defiant edge. She wore verra fine clothing, though unusual, and a wealth of jewels and gold adorned her person.
He brushed the damp hair from her forehead and kissed her temple, “How can I help you, Andra?”
She shook her head, closed her eyes, and curled into a fetal position facing the wall. “Please, let me rest a bit before you continue your interrogation.”
Interrogation! This was not an interrogation. A murderous rage gutted him. He silently cursed the father who had left her alone without a proper protector. He cursed any man who had ever taken her to his bed. He wanted to break and smash things, and to kill the bastard who had injured her in such a vile manner.
He sat quietly by her side, stroking the silken hair cascading down her back until she breathed easier and appeared to sleep.
Angry emotions flayed him from the inside out. He needed to get away from the castle—clear his thoughts. Thoughts that repeatedly settled on this frail and broken woman lying in his bed. He knew he’d only find release through a hard workout or a hard ride. He chose the ride, afraid a mock combat would become all too real.
Rabbie ran toward him as he approached the stables. “A messenger just arrived from The McDuff. They are under siege from the Camerons and their mercenaries.”
Kendrick had never felt more inclined to battle. “Bring Struan and twenty-five of our best warriors; we leave as soon as possible.”
Speaking with Lorne before their departure, he asked, “You’ll check on the lass and see that she is well cared for. And see that Vera stays away from her room.”
“You dinnae want your former trysts gossiping aboot you?” Lorne needled his brother.
“That’s ridiculous. The woman is a meddling harpy, always stirs trouble wherever she goes. ‘Twould be unwise for her to tend Andra and you ken why.” Kendrick jerked his horse’s reins to pull away.
“Don’t worry; I’ll see that Andra is well cared for and that the harpy is kept busy elsewhere.” His brother’s mouth lifted as though he would continue but he let the subject drop.
Chapter Seventeen
When they met the enemy, Kendrick turned berserker: an avenging angel. Once on the battlefield he gave his gnawing, murderous rage full vent and every whoreson he slashed was in retribution for the hurts Andra had suffered. The battle had been fierce but resolved quickly.
The Cameron warriors made a hasty retreat leaving a few of their dead on the field of battle. While squires and healers busily attended the injured and dead, Kendrick’s men gave him a wide berth. They knew better than to engage their leader when his fury was piqued.
Rabbie came alongside him. “Are you well, cousin? You seemed consumed with battle-lust today. Mayhap extreme for the circumstance as you usually just wound enough to scare them away.”
His battle rage spent, Kendrick decided to share what Andra had disclosed.
“Aye, Rabbie, I am well enough.” He wiped the blood from his sword, placed the tip in the dirt, and rested his hand on the hilt. “The injured will require time to recover before we return to Ruadhstone.” His gaze drifted over the horizon in the direction of their home while they stood in quiet contemplation.
“Och, that explains much. She no longer has the son?”
“Nae, I believe he’s dead. She spoke of him in the past tense, but became too distressed for me to press her further.” Kendrick rubbed at the dirt on his forehead and brushed back his hair.
“Do you ken the blackguard’s name? Is he a member of Cormag’s clan?” Rabbie maintained a calm tone of voice as he always did when Kendrick showed distress.
“I don’t have any other details. She was far too fragile. I didn’t want to cause undue strain that might bring about a relapse with her illness. But I swear on my honor, Rabbie, if I ever find the man, it will be his last day on this earth.” Kendrick was falling for the lass and falling verra hard.
“Hmm.” Rabbie just shook his head in commiseration and slapped Kendrick’s shoulder, “Let’s find McDuff, and discover what he kens about this skirmish.”
Laird Kevin McDuff, none too happy with this recent attack, blustered in anger as he walked the battlements with Kendrick and Rabbie. “They become ever more brazen with their reiving, threats, and constant attacks. It seems they won’t be satisfied until they starve out every crofter and claim all lands adjoining theirs.”
“Between their alliances with the Campbells, his hired mercenaries, and Sassenach dragoons, he becomes a growing threat in the area.” Rabbie added.
Kendrick rubbed his scruffy chin, “Aye and since the Camerons side with the Sassenach whenever it gives them the slightest advantage over their enemies, they create problems for everyone. Cormag Cameron has always been a ruthless, greedy bastard.”
Kendrick, Rabbie, Struan, and Cormag had fostered together as lads. An intense competition always existed between them that intensified considerably when Kendrick married his first wife, Kirstin, a third cousin to Cormag. Cormag had been obsessed with the woman and blamed Kendrick for Kirstin’s death, though she had died from childbed fever.
The McDuff watched Kendrick closely. “Struan tells me you found a lost Cameron woman after your last encounter with them. Mayhap they set her in your midst for nefarious purposes. What are your plans for the lass? Will you ransom her in an effort to seek peace? I wouldna advise such a course, you ken, not a one of those bastards can be trusted at their word.” McDuff trusted no Cameron and had long been vocal about it.
“Nae, she is not from those Camerons. She’s been away from Scotland since she was a wee bairn and says she has no living kin. Besides, I’d never release any lass into that man’s hands.”
In that regard, Rabbie agreed with Kendrick. However, he suspected Kendrick’s desire to keep the woman had little to do with their hatred of Cormag Cameron and his clan. Still, they had much to learn about her and he hoped, for all their sakes, that McDuff was not correct in suggesting an ulterior motive for Andra’s appearance. A shudder ran through him when he considered the possibilities should the notion prove true.
Chapter Eighteen
Now that she was recovering, Andra had been moved to her own room several doors down from Kendrick’s. Finally, a sennight after her arrival, her condition improved enough to receive visitors. Beyond regular visits from Jane and Beatrice, all others had left her in relative quiet during her recovery. Laying about made her feel antsy, useless; she wanted to get busy again. She had not seen Kendrick or the other men since the day she woke from her delirium, and that made her anxious as well.
Earlier that morning she stared out the window, taking in the view of the castle below. Jane had informed her that she resided at Ruadhstone Castle. The very one she had contacted in her time. Their antiquities director had agreed to house her father’s sgian dubh in their museum during the visit she had planned. His interest in the artifact resulted in her obtaining permission to carry the weapon in a sealed case on the plane. Of course, that flight had never taken place.
From the vantage point of her window, she could see most of the inner and outer baileys, the front, crenellated gate towers, and two side towers that loomed double the height of the gate towers. All the stone, including the outer and inner walls appeared a dark golden to reddish color that would deepen under the sun to the shade of the red hills visible in the distance. Several utilitarian buildings nestled along the walls of the lower bailey—a blacksmith’s shed, weapons shed, stables, and other buildings where workers busied themselves in the tasks necessary to the maintenance of such a fortress. To her right she could see the edge of a deep blue loch, and when the wind blew, the smell of the sea wafted on the breeze. A modest-sized village was just visible through the trees about a mile from the castle gates.
The castle appeared remarkably like the photos in the brochure she had received from the antiquities director. In her time, the outer bailey was a paved parking lot, but the gate and drawbridge, and the inner buildings appeared the same. The castle’s director had expressed great pride when he described their management and restoration of many of the original features. How curious that she had ended up in this place, where she had intended to visit, in another time.
Andra had been walking around the room in an attempt to strengthen her weakened muscles when another burst of coughing returned her to bed. Staring up at the canopy, trying to make sense of recent events, she heard a soft knock at the door.
“Enter.” she called.
An exuberant Kyle rushed in and jumped on the bed, followed by a stunning young woman with deep-blue eyes and hair the color of dark honey. Senga, reticent as ever, stood quietly behind the young woman, but glanced at Andra from under lowered lashes.
“Lady Andra, it has taken all my strength to corral this wild lad and force him tae let you rest. He’s been ever so anxious to see you with his own eyes.” A conspiratorial giggle escaped. “Oh, excuse me,” the young woman dipped into a curtsey. “I am Isabel, sister to Kendrick and Lorne. Mother tells us you may be able to join us for the evening meal. With your permission, we wish to escort you to the hall and perhaps, if you’re strong enough, give you a brief tour of the grounds.”
“Your mother mentioned that you had undertaken the task of handling the children. My thanks for your help.” Andra noticed that Senga wore a simple, mushroom-colored dress and held an arm full of beautifully colored gowns. Wrapped around her shoulders was the heather-colored pashmina that Andra had given the girl after her fall into the river.
Turning to the young girl behind Isabel, Andra asked, “What do you have there, Senga?” She hoped the girl would finally speak, but Senga only dipped a little curtsey and draped the clothes over a chair by the fire.
Isabel gestured to the gowns, “Mother sent those for you. Kendrick said you only had clothing from your travels, not fit for life at the keep.” She plastered her hand over her mouth and gasped. “Please excuse me, m’lady, I meant no offense.”
A coy smile crossed Isabel’s lips, and she tilted her head slightly as she observed Andra. “Though, ‘tis quite unusual for Kendrick to concern himself aboot such matters.”
Isabel displayed an infectious exuberance. She was clearly on a fishing expedition to learn about the relationship between Andra and Kendrick. Andra did not intend to disclose anything about that. “Your brother is correct in his assessment of my wardrobe. I’m sure whatever Lady Beatrice has sent will be far more practical than the clothes I have with me.”
“Aye, they are quite lovely items, m’lady. If they need tae be taken in or hemmed, the seamstress could easily have an item altered before this evening. Senga and I will help you dress if you wish.”
She enjoyed the visit with Isabel and the children, but the one crucial question she couldn’t bring herself to ask was—where is Kendrick? “It will be wonderful to get out of this room and join your family for the evening meal. I gratefully accept your offer of assistance dressing and a tour, if there is time.” Especially the help dressing as she
had no idea how to strap herself into the array of clothing displayed before her.
“Truly, I feel weaker than a newborn baby, but am anxious to move about and regain some strength.”
“Senga, which of the dresses do you think I should try this evening?” she asked, hoping the girl would speak. Nothing. Not a word. Senga sifted through the gowns and pulled out a wool garment of the softest, summer green with gold thread woven at the neck and along the sleeves. After sending Kyle from the room, they plaited Andra’s hair. The unruly shorter hair framing her face refused to stay in place. Isabel left the room, returned quickly with a beautiful set of bone combs, and proceeded to tuck up the loose ‘fringes’ as she called them.
“Is the corset required?” Andra asked as Isabel held up a bone stomacher. “My ribs and chest ache and I still find breathing difficult.” Horrific coughing had wracked her for days and just then, another wrenching cough proved her point.
“Oh, aye, I think you must wear the corset. The only person to forgo one is cook who insists it would cause her food to sour,” Isabel giggled.
“That contraption might sour me as well, I’m afraid my bruised ribs will protest most vigorously. Perhaps for now I could forego it, and wear that lovely dark-green jerkin. No one would be the wiser.” Though much improved, Andra intended to abandon the corset; certain any contraption that restricted her breath would not benefit continued recovery.
“You’re probably correct, if you wear the jerkin ‘tis unlikely anyone would ken.” Isabel conceded.
When they entered the great hall, Isabel led Andra to the raised dais at the far end of the room. A sudden hush settled as she passed the long row of tables. With a grimace she hoped passed for a smile, she searched the crowd for a particular familiar face. People observed her with curiosity; others with disdainful expressions or outright scowls mumbling comments she did not catch.
Beatrice sat to the right of Lorne. The other men from her rescue were conspicuously absent. A pain fisted in her chest. She hadn’t realized how much she missed seeing Kendrick, Rabbie, and even Struan, but Kendrick’s absence felt particularly hurtful. She assumed he simply did not want to be in her presence now that they had arrived at his castle. Who could blame him? As laird, more important matters plagued him than the welfare of her woeful self. How would she feel in his situation? These questions rattled through her brain as she struggled to move gracefully through the room. The necessity to remain calm and pleasant, an almost laughable concept under the circumstances, infused her limbs. She simply must maintain the ruse long enough to fully recover and find a way home.
Finding My Highlander Page 12