by Nicole Locke
Until he told her in his beckoning voice that their marriage was a lie. He hadn’t laughed. He hadn’t. But as he knelt before her in her precious forest, she felt as though he told some terrible joke.
When the wolves attacked, it hadn’t mattered. Not to her. There was nothing they could do to her that hadn’t already been done.
She shamed and humiliated herself. Her attempts to help her clan, her family...herself. Bram’s declaration blindingly showing her she never, ever, could.
She swiped at the threatening tears. Her leg throbbed, she needed the privy and she was hungry. Harsh reminders she was alive. That no matter how dead she felt inside, her body still made demands.
Except to move would require moving her false husband, who slept against her. His large body was in a chair, the upper half of his torso and arms sprawled on the bed, one lying heavily across her middle.
She saw only determination and vitality when she woke. Now that it was brighter, she could see the darkness spreading and yellowing under his eye, the swelling of trapped blood from the split in his lip. He looked...exhausted.
It didn’t matter, she needed to move. She didn’t want to wake him, to hear his voice, to see his storm-grey eyes. Not this close, not today. Not now.
Carefully, slowly, she slid his arm until she could be free of him.
As she made her way to the privy, she abruptly stopped. She feared why she worked hard not to wake him and it had nothing to do with avoiding him, and everything to do with how exhausted and vulnerable he looked.
After every betrayal, she worried for him. Realisation ran cold along her spine. She knew then some part of her might never be free of him.
* * *
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
Bram was behind her in the corridor as she stood outside the privy, having not been able to return to the bedroom. The agony of her steps was insurmountable.
Strong arms encircled and lifted her. The pain and pressure in her leg lessened, but her ire increased. ‘I’m hungry. Put me down.’
‘Didn’t it occur to you to wake me?’
His arms felt like a vice around her.
‘Let me go!’ She knew she sounded hysterical, but against him she felt his voice as well.
He eased his hold and let her down on the floor, although he didn’t let her go until she found the wall’s support. Only to realise she should have asked to be put on the bed. She couldn’t make it to the bed.
Something flitted across his eyes. Bafflement. ‘I am here now. When you need something, ask.’
‘I’m to depend on you now?’ she said, as his bafflement darkened into something like pain.
‘Aye, I want to be someone you can depend on.’
His voice, his words, played tricks because he sounded truthful. She had to be hearing him wrong. It was just that he looked almost vulnerable now. His hair was in disarray, dark circles were under both eyes and a crease marred his cheek. He’d been in a deep sleep when she left and it must have softened her to him.
He wasn’t dependable. Never could be. Only yesterday he confessed his intentions to leave.
‘What happened to your face?’ she said instead.
‘Aindreas and I came to an arrangement.’
Aindreas had defended her. How much did he know? Probably the entire humiliating story. She wished she could have swung at Bram herself. ‘You deserved it.’
‘It’s why I let him hit me.’
She opened her mouth, closed it. Aindreas had skill, but Bram was older, more...honed. Either Bram was surprised when Aindreas struck or Bram spoke the truth. He had purposefully taken the fist.
She shook her head. She didn’t care why Bram thought he deserved pain. She couldn’t care and her leg hurt.
‘Take me back to the bed,’ she said.
Without a word, Bram carried her to the bed. Then he laid her carefully down as if she was precious to him. She knew otherwise.
‘We have to talk,’ he said.
‘We did that yesterday.’
‘I was a fool yesterday.’
Lioslath felt like a fool now. Bram strode to the window and threw open the shutters, but his hands remained tightly gripped to them. The light was changing. It would be morning soon, people would wake and another day would come like every other. Nothing would...could ever...be different.
‘How is your leg?’ he asked, his voice hoarse.
‘It hurts,’ she said.
He nodded his head, not in understanding, but as if he was answering some other question.
‘I should have allowed you your weapon.’
She was wrong. The day was different from yesterday. Bram, Laird Colquhoun, was apologising.
‘I saw you use your bow and arrow,’ he continued. ‘I saw your skill at the competition. You could have killed that wolf between breaths.’ He shook the shutters in his tight grasp and she waited for them to be torn from the wall. ‘I fear your leg might not heal.’
He spoke to her of feelings? He had no right.
‘It isn’t your concern now, is it?’ she said.
He didn’t let go of the shutters, but he turned his head to pierce her with his grey eyes. ‘You will take care of it. You will rest it.’
She hated rest, but most of all she hated his ordering her. ‘After yesterday, you think you have rights to order me?’
He sighed. ‘You are in pain.’ He suddenly released the shutters and strode to the table by the bedside. ‘There’s a drink here to alleviate it.’
She took it without question, drained the bitter contents before handing him the cup. ‘There,’ she said. ‘We’re even. You caused me pain, you’ve alleviated pain. You can leave now.’
He shook his head. ‘You need rest for the pain to subside, but I cannot leave until we have some understanding.’
‘I understood you fine yesterday.’ He wanted to talk more? She wanted to throw a dagger at him, to demand Dog to attack. ‘Now understand me clearly. You aren’t wanted here.’
‘I should have been here sooner,’ he said as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘I intended to be here before you received my letter telling you I was coming.’
‘I doona want to hear your excuses, Colquhoun.’
‘It’s too soon, but this cannot wait.’
Relentless. Determined. Always. She felt the sigh inside her and forcibly held it back. ‘Dunbar. You want to talk about Dunbar and how you’re a traitor.’
‘I want to talk about why I wasn’t here for you,’ he said. ‘Why I wasn’t there for my brother at Dunbar.’
‘It hardly matters now. What’s done is done.’
‘It isn’t done. I didn’t go to Dunbar because King John Balliol ordered me not to go.’ He held up his hand. ‘Wait. It’s a long tale and one I never intended to tell. One I swore never to tell.’
She hadn’t expected a confession. So she grabbed the easiest emotion she felt when she was around him. Anger. ‘So now you break a promise?’
He waited a breath, two, but kept his eyes steady on hers. So steady she tried to concentrate on the pain in her leg instead. But it wasn’t her leg making her gasp, it was Bram’s steady gaze and his words. ‘I break a promise to a king, so that I honour one to my wife.’
‘Your wife!’ Into those two words she sank every bit of bitterness she felt.
He looked as if she threw a dagger and it hit his heart. ‘Not yet, Lioslath. Not yet. I need to tell you more now.’ His eyes left hers to look over her shoulder as if he was seeing something else now. ‘Early this year, before spring, Balliol ordered me to remain on Colquhoun land. He had two messages from two different directions being delivered to me. Once I received them, I was to protect them. Most important, I was not to leave the land ever, even if war broke out, and I’d forever be calle
d a traitor.’
Dunbar had been that war. The only Scots who survived were those who fled to Ettrick Forest. There, John Balliol lost his Scottish crown.
Despite herself, she asked, ‘And these messages?’
‘I didn’t receive them when I should have, but I know what they are now. Everything was revealed when Caird and Mairead arrived here on your land.’
He exhaled as if the pressure inside him was sudden and he needed to release it. She almost didn’t want to hear it then, but she couldn’t leave.
‘They weren’t messages at all,’ Bram said. ‘They were treasures. The messages had to do with...the Jewel of Kings.’
It had to be the pain in her leg and Bram’s apology confusing her. ‘Jests again, Colquhoun?’
‘I’m not jesting. I’m talking about the Jewel of Kings. You know what it is?’
‘A legend. Whoever holds the jewel, holds the heart of Scotland. Whoever holds it can be...king of Scotland. But it’s merely a tale for little children.’
‘Its legend goes beyond Scotland and extraordinarily it exists. At great risk to himself, Caird brought it here to Clan Fergusson so that I, as laird, could determine what was to be done. I knew instantly that it was what Balliol wanted me to receive.’ Bram shook his head once, twice. ‘I think Balliol wanted me to be called a traitor because of the jewel. So nae man would suspect I had it.’
‘So you have it with you now?’
‘Malcolm has it.’ Bram’s regrets about Malcolm ate inside him. If only he had protected his brother when he was young, Malcolm wouldn’t have seen his friend killed. If only he had told his brother the truth about Dunbar, he wouldn’t have recklessly fought that day. Malcolm had to have the Jewel of Kings so he could set things right and believe again. It didn’t stop the regret and worry plaguing him, though. ‘There’s more to tell, but not for now.’
Despite everything, she wanted to know more. He was claiming the Colquhouns held the power of Scotland after an English king declared Scotland was his.
‘With John Balliol, with this Jewel, why did you come here? Why did you even marry me?’
Bram tumbled the cup in his hands before returning it to the table. ‘When I wrote that letter last April, I meant only to be here for you and for your family. To make repairs and return to Colquhoun land.’ When he raised his head again, a look was in his eyes, a vulnerability, she thought she’d never see. ‘But with Dunbar, with the jewel, my brothers and I devised a plan. For me to remain here for the winter, to avoid King Edward’s messages and to wait for more information on the jewel.’
‘So the marriage was a way to hide from King Edward, to wait for news of the jewel and commit treason.’
‘Staying here was part of the plan. Being married to you wasn’t.’
Pain sliced through her. ‘Does it make a difference? If the marriage was temporary, planned or unplanned, is there any difference to me?’
Brows drawn, Bram gave a shake of his head.
The marriage, her hope for her family, was all false. Bram only married her to secure his stay here. To ensure his great political plan would work. Bram truly was the great negotiator if he bargained his life, his clan’s future, for a legend.
And all of it was too great of a secret. Bram told her as if he trusted her, when she could now so easily destroy him and the entire Colquhoun clan. Then she realised what she truly wanted to know.
‘Why did you tell me these things?’
‘Because I’m staying. I want this marriage in truth.’
Chapter Twenty
‘You’re awake, you’re awake!’ Gillean burst into the room. He was followed quickly by Eoin and Fyfa.
Lioslath jumped, ready to tell them to leave, when Donaldo entered with a large tray of food and drink. Dog was at her heels, his head low and his eyes darting as if he was afraid something might harm him at any moment.
Dog. She narrowed her eyes on him and he bowed his head even lower, but he came to her hand hanging over the bed’s side. Cool muzzle, hot breath and she could breathe a bit easier. Breathe, but not much else.
‘Eoin, step away from her legs,’ Donaldo said, as she set the tray down.
Lioslath tore her eyes from Dog’s. Fyfa’s hands were in front of her, her face serene, but her hands were tightly clenched. Gillean had...branches...in his hands. What were they doing here?
‘I’ll go now,’ Bram said.
He couldn’t just go. He couldn’t go when he had said what he did. Marry her in truth? ‘Nae.’
‘There’s time.’ He walked to her side and, as if he couldn’t stop himself, he brushed one finger along her cheek. A tender caress as if they were truly married. It made her equally angry because she couldn’t stop him and flummoxed because she didn’t know what she would do if she could.
Then he made it worse, by leaning in and whispering in her ear. Everything inside her was acutely aware of him even as her eyes darted to the rest of her family, who were pretending to ignore them.
‘They love you,’ he whispered, and the words went straight into the empty place inside her. With him this close, this intimate, she could do nothing to protect herself. ‘They love you, will wait for you, and they won’t go away. And neither will I.’
Her entire being was covered in goose pimples as his words caressed over and inside her, though Bram didn’t give her a backwards glance as he stepped out the door.
Fyfa released her hands. ‘Oh, it’s good to see you, sister.’
‘It’ll leave a scar. A huge clawing scar. With wolf’s teeth marks!’ Eoin looked at her leg as if he thought such a scar was a miracle.
‘Can I see it? Can I see it?’ Gillean danced around the bed, the young branches waving and releasing the scent of the trees.
‘Your sister needs peace,’ Donaldo informed them. ‘Not you jumping around the room, Gillean. And I’ll need to re-dress the leg, so you can’t stay here.’
‘But we want to see it.’ Gillean brandished the branches as if they were a sword.
Branches. Not flowers or weeds, because they knew she liked the trees, the smell of pine and damp oak leaves. It stunned her. They knew what she liked.
‘It’s not sensible for you to see it,’ Donaldo said. ‘Now that you see she’s well, you’ll have to leave.’
But her brothers and sister wanted to see her injury. More important, Lioslath knew they wanted to see it.
Fyfa needed to see it because she was worried. Under the linens, her leg was swollen. It was alarming and serious, but as long as she cared for it, it would heal. Yet how could Fyfa know how to tend wounds, as a future clan’s mistress must, if she didn’t learn now?
Eoin wanted to see the teeth marks. She knew there were long, jagged marks where the wolf tore into her skin and raked its claws along her thigh. Hideous, extremely painful, but she earned them like battle wounds. Eoin was six. He was obsessed with battle wounds.
As for Gillean’s excitement, he was curious as any child would be. She was in agony as the tincture Bram gave her was wearing off, but Donaldo was here with more. Her siblings wanted to see her injury and how could she not show them?
‘They can stay,’ she said.
Donaldo’s warm eyes flashed to hers and the world became suddenly blurry. She was crying. The first tears since her injury, since Bram hurt her. Between Bram’s words and the wolf’s claws, she was broken inside and out. But by some miracle, she understood her brothers and sister.
She knew it couldn’t always be this easy. She was lying down and helpless, and they weren’t confusing her with their playing. But their looking at her broken leg was exactly what she wanted them to do and what they wanted to do. A small step, a giant step. For once, she understood them.
By their astonished faces, they realised it, too.
* * *
Lioslath woke. How long had she lain like this in this bed, with Bram keeping watch over her? Weeks. The agony in her leg was gradually dimming. She walked with the aid of a staff and could get to the privy. And whilst Bram wanted to carry her, she wouldn’t let him. She wanted nothing from him.
There were days when the pain was worse. The claw marks on her leg were red, stitched and swollen. The boards and wrapping constantly itched, but her leg wasn’t broken. Though Bram treated her as if it was.
He was always there in the middle of the night when the tincture would wear off. Always there to adjust her wrapping or position her in the bed. Always. Just as he was now.
Bram slept on the floor. Dog stretched nearby, his front legs almost touching Bram’s. They were companions now and she didn’t know who was more protective of her.
Because the pain increased after that first day. There were days of agony that only dimmed with the herbs. Then there had been no more discussions of marriage, no more whispers in her ear when her brothers and sister visited, when Donaldo came to help with the dressing, or Aindreas with his concern and laughter to cheer her.
And Bram laughed with him. There seemed to be some understanding between Aindreas and Bram now, which made her more uneasy than Dog’s acceptance.
It had been weeks of healing while her pain eased with help.
Now her pain was dim and she hadn’t the tincture yet. She was recovering. Recovering, but she wondered if anything would ever return to normal.
Bram had done so much for her clan, said so much to her. Leaving several times a day, telling her of the improvements and the setbacks. The recent rains made it difficult for building, but the weather remained mild, so they could plant. They began reinforcing the tunnel, which wasn’t a secret any more. He listened to her terse advice as if she was his council. As if she was his wife.
He apologised every day for being foolish when it came to her. She could forgive him for being late to Fergusson land. But for a king, but for a legend, he would have been here. He could no more be held responsible for Dunbar than the English who ravaged her home.