by Deb Kemper
When Millie felt sure that Amalie slept for the night, she slipped out to rest in her own room, kept for the times they stayed over in the castle. She opened the door to the riotous racket of Mr. Douglas snoring. She undressed and slid in between the sheets, finding her niche in the feather mattress. She fell into exhausted, dreamless slumber.
Amalie rose, in the middle of the night to visit the privy, and paused to watch the moonlit night. Nothing stirred in the barmekin.
Collin will return with him…by morning, Adonai. I need Your grace and mercy to get through this. I haven’t even told the children yet. Give me strength!
She crumpled to the floor, sprawled across the fine wool rug by the copper tub in the master’s chamber. She sobbed and retched into a chamber pot. Oh, God, why?
****
Gerty and Millie found Amalie, before dawn broke. She lay in a pool of blood.
Millie gasped and reached to roll her over. “Milady what’s this? My darlin’, ye’re bleedin’!”
Amalie raised herself on one elbow. “Millie, what?” Her voice sounded gravelly from tears throughout the night.
“Darlin’, there’s blood all o’er ye. What’s happened?” Millie pulled at Amalie’s gown.
She glanced down at the soaked shift and turned over to see what had caused such a mess. “Oh, Millie! The babe….” She bent forward, wailing.
“Aye, my sweet, let’s get ye up.”
Gerty and Millie dragged Amalie onto the stool. Millie stripped off the blood drenched gown.
“Gerty, ring for hot water. Get a boy up to build a fire, it’ll take a while to get warm enough in here to bathe her.” Millie turned back to Amalie with a blanket. “Let’s wrap ye up, my pet. I knew I shou’ have stayed with ye last even.” She scolded as she kissed Amalie’s hair and held her gently in her arms.
“Gerty, bring Collin up at once. Let’s get this over with.” Millie took command as a page appeared, yawning.
“Collin’s returned already?” Amalie stirred, sniffing.
“Aye, he rode like the wind all night to bring ye word that yer man’s not dead. He’s wounded—that’s all. The physician cleaned the wound out, and watches it fer gangrene.”
“But the message said….”
“I know, some nasty English ruse, my darlin’.” Millie rubbed Amalie’s arms to warm her quickly.
Collin took the stairs behind Gerty. “She’s a bit of a mess, sir. We’re cleanin’ her up. She lost her babe durin’ the night.”
He stopped at the top tread. “Lady Mackintosh lost a child?” His frown deepened, as his anger peaked. He hissed. “Bloody English bastads!”
“Sir?” Gerty turned to him and spoke gently. “Please be calm when ye see her. She’s no’ well.”
“Aye, Gerty. I apologize.” He followed her through the master’s chamber to find Amalie perched on the stool, wrapped in a blanket. He bowed. “Milady, I bring good news; ’twas all a mistake.” His voice softened. “The Mackintosh is wounded, not dead. He says to tell ye he loves ye and misses ye heartily. He sent this.” Collin handed over a note Garth wrote to her.
She lifted a trembling hand to take the paper. “Truly, Collin?”
“Aye, ma’am, truly. I’ve seen him with me own eyes and came to ye straight away. He said to tell ye he rode well and fought fearlessly in battle.” His gaze lowered to the blood saturated rug.
Amalie read her husband’s handwriting.
My love, Collin tells me there’s been a grievous error. I’m not dead but very much alive and missing ye with all my heart. My left leg caught the edge of a sword. It became infected, but is now on the mend.
There’s no word when or if I’ll be released. The physician who attended me is an acquaintance from my days in France and, in fact, stitched me up the first time I stopped a blade with my face.
Amalie covered her mouth and smiled as tears swamped her vision.
I long to return to ye but it may be a while until they trust me enough to let me out. If ye can find the time, please come to Aviemore. Travel only with Collin or Gordon in the coach. I ache to hear word of ye. Yers forever, Garth.
Amalie wiped her face and looked up at Collin as two young men stepped in with her bath water. “Collin, thank you so much!” She croaked: her voice raspy.
He met her swollen eyes in a narrowed, slanting glare, head still lowered. “Ye’re welcome, milady. I’m sorry I wasn’t sooner.”
“You did well, sir.” Amalie looked away from the blood and took in the sunlight streaming through the window. You heard me, Adonai!
“I’ll be takin’ me leave then.” Collin’s jaw clenched.
“Thank you again, Collin. We’ll see when you have time to accompany me to Aviemore, ‘in the coach’ the laird says.”
“Later today, we’ll talk.” His mouth set in a hard, thin line.
“Aye.” She stood with Millie’s help. “We’ll dine at high table together tonight?”
He bowed, “’til then.”
“No high table tonight, milady.” Millie chastened. She favored Collin with a rare smile. “Bring yer missus to the castle. Ye’ll dine here. Bring yer lad, too.”
“Aye, ma’am.” He turned abruptly and left them, marching towards the door.
Chapter 27
“Mam, is it alright fer me to love Seth?” Jessie swiped her wispy golden hair away from her face and climbed into bed.
“Aye, we love our friends. Did you have a good time with him tonight?”
Jessie nodded and tucked her feet between the linen sheets. “Aye, I feel sorry fer ’im though. His da dyin’ and all tha’. I don’t ken what I’d do if our da died.”
Amalie rested her hand at her waist and nodded, her eyes tearing. “Nor I, my sweet.” She tucked a blanket around Jessica’s shoulders. “So what kinda story do you want to hear tonight?”
Jessica’s large hazel gaze rolled to the ceiling. “I think the one about the swan princess.”
“Feathered Years?” Mallow sat on the side of her bed, looking through a few books she’d been reading.
“Tha’s the one, about The Yewberry. Is it the same kinda name as The Mackintosh?” A frown creased the youngster’s brow.
“It is. The Yewberry is a title that belongs to a position like The Mackintosh and also her name.” Amalie settled into a comfortable chair and leaned back. She felt the warm gush of bloody flow when she relaxed, reminding her of the loss the night before. She mumbled. “Well, then, let us begin.”
She closed her eyes and raised her voice as a herald. “Hear, ye colleens, of how Caer Ibormeith, The Yewberry, was won by Aengus, who loved her beauty and gentle heart.
“Caer Ibormeith’s kingly father vowed only one should have her hand in marriage. That one must not only love her, for many there were who loved The Yewberry, but that one must also be clever to match her wit, steadfast to love her in feathered years, and bold to protect his daughter ’gainst dangers in this world and the world beside this world.
“So her father-king devised a task: whomsoever could find Caer Ibormeith among the hundred and fifty of her handmaidens would win the hand of his daughter.
“A simple task, Aengus reckoned, for none could match The Yewberry’s loveliness. So he traveled secret ways and leys to the castle on the shore of an inland sea where she abode. There, the king greeted him fairly and took him for a stroll. On the greensward of the king’s estate, each flower grew lovelier than each before and each willow sighed a soft harmony to the whispers of surf on sand.
‘“I ken why thou art here, Aengus. Thy skill at arms is renowned, so lay aside thy sword and bow,’ said the king. ‘Find Caer Ibormeith among her handmaidens. Find The Yewberry by sunset and win her from her father’s house.’
‘“My king, where would I seek?’ asked Aengus, for there were no maidens in sight.
“The king raised a bejeweled hand and gestured to the azure waters. ‘Thee knows The Yewberry lives a year as a woman, a year as a swan. This, Aengus, is the feather
ed year. Thee need only find her and she shall be thine. And find her, thee must. She will not come to pleas or calls while in her feathered cloak.’”
Amalie shifted and checked to see if Jessie was still awake. The lass’s hazel eyes watched, wide with awe. Amalie’s voice dropped. “With troubled heart, Aengus gazed upon the sea of swimming swans, more swans than he had ever seen. Each great body clad in white, each curving neck, each black eye and yellow beak looked exactly like another. He looked, long and long, as the sun sparkled on water in its arc across the sky. Until…until the sky streaked carnelian and amethyst with the sinking light. Sad and bitter, Aengus turned to the king to admit his defeat.
“But he heard the softest chime of a bell, so faint in the melody of willow and surf. He looked once more at the many swans, sharply seeking the source of the sound. For The Yewberry wore a necklace—a golden bell on a silver chain. Aengus dove into the waters and swam toward the chime.”
Amalie leaned forward, her voice became a whisper. “His head broke the surface—once, twice—and the third time, The Yewberry’s bell chimed next to his ear. He raised his hand to the curving throat of the snowy swan and parted white feathers to find a golden bell on a silver chain. And so he won Caer Ibormeith in marriage.
“The following year when The Yewberry was woman, the king granted Aengus would share his daughter’s double life, that in alternate years, Aengus, too, would be swan and man. And Aengus crafted a wedding gift for his bride, finer than any given that day—a hundred and fifty tiny gold bells on a silver chain.”
Jessica’s eyes were heavy as Amalie rose and leaned over her for a kiss. “Sweet dreams, little one. I’ll see you on the morrow.” She turned to Mallow. “And you—don’t read all night. Dim light is no good for your eyes.” She kissed Mallow’s forehead and brushed a hand over her silky dark hair spread over her pillow. “I love you, lass.”
Mallow smiled. “And I ye, Mam.”
Amalie drifted out and down the hallway to her room, where nurse sat with Ewan, already fast asleep. “I’m comin’ to bed now. Thank you for tendin’ him.”
Nurse nodded and eased out the door as Amalie checked on the lad’s deep slumber, fists propped on each side of his cherubic face. She brushed her lips over his soft cheek and began to undress for bed.
*Feathered Years is a fairy tale from Under Every Moon by G.L. Francis and used with permission.
Chapter 28
Amalie waited in the Colonel’s office. She inspected the coarse room, from her place in a hardback chair.
The desk’s a nice piece of furniture. Looks like mahogany. Probably carries that along with him to each station. Fails to lighten this dingy gray cell, though.
One window graced the dismal room from high above eye level. She could tell it was daylight outside, but not much else. She removed her emerald green wool bonnet and fingered her russet curls. She laid her plaid cloak over the chair beside her and placed her hat on top.
The door opened. “Colonel Belford,” the corporal announced.
She glanced back, but kept her seat. A tall spare man approached her with a steady stride. He offered her his hand. “Lady Mackintosh, I’m Colonel Belford. How may I help you today?”
She took his hand and nodded affirmation. “Sir, if you please, make yourself comfortable and let’s discuss terms for my husband’s release.”
He freed her hand, rounded his desk, and sat. “By what authority do you make such a request?”
“As Lady of the Chattan, sir, the largest conglomerate of clans in Scotland. I come to you as The Mackintosh’s personal representative. I have a solicitor at hand, but my hope is that you and I can come to an agreement, that enables me to take him home.”
He tapped a silver sovereign on the edge of the desk in a steady beat…rap…rap…rap. “What are you offering, madam?” His eyes slowly scanned her attractive form.
She swallowed her revile and stiffened her spine. “Sir, don’t degrade your position with thoughts of a carnal nature. I’ll not be complicit with an adversary to obtain my husband’s freedom.” She paused. “Moreover, the last man to touch me had his brains blown out. God is my witness; I don’t care to wash another man’s flesh outta my hair again. The bars of a cell do not diminish the laird’s authority or influence in this country. My husband’s not a man to trifle with.”
She took in air and set her chin before continuing. “I will vow to you he won’t raise a sword against the crown even at the expense of his lordship. Garth didn’t want this war, but the council did. I don’t see any one of ’em behind bars.” Her voice remained steady.
“I may consider your request.” He rapped the sovereign on the desktop again. Rap…rap…rap.
“I’m also aware that you are not the final authority to hear my appeal. My desire, out of respect for your office, was to approach you first and present my case. If you choose to deny me, I’ll bid you good day, see my husband for a bit, and pay a visit to Governor Harris.” She prepared to rise.
Colonel Belford held up his hand. “Madam, please forgive my self-indulgence by enjoying the beautiful woman before me. I meant no disrespect to your person or station. I will take your request to Governor Harris and return an answer to you on your next visit to Aviemore.” He rose as she left her seat.
Amalie gathered her cloak and bonnet and started for the door. She turned to look back. “Very well, sir. A sennight from today, I’ll return and we’ll see how far you’ve gotten in negotiations. Notice prior to that date will be gratefully received at our home.” She opened the door and passed through before he could respond.
****
Collin propped, on the wall opposite, the physician’s office door. When it opened he straightened. “Lord Livesey?” His heels clicked as he offered a curt bow.
Heath Livesey looked up from the file he scanned. “Good heavens, is it you, Collin?”
At the champion’s nod and smile, the physician continued. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t be far from The Mackintosh.”
“Aye, sir.” The champion’s smile dissolved. “I need to request your attention to the matter o’ the letter sent to milady concerning her husband.”
“Those are written and dispatched by my assistants.” Livesey dropped the file to his side. “What’s the difficulty?”
“The letter implied that milord was fatally injured and most likely dead, by the time we were notified.” Collin handed over the note he took from Amalie.
“Really? There was no reason to suspect Mackintosh lingered on the brink of death. Amputation still looms, as a possibility, until there’s no more infection. I have a great deal of faith in his ability to recover. He’s a hale and hearty man.” Livesey handled the message, moving the file from his hand to under his arm. When he finished reading, he folded it slowly to return to Collin.
Collin accepted the page, tucking it back into his sporran. “Aye, I’d appreciate yer interference, sir. The lurid tale cost milady a child. I don’t take it lightly. Milord knows nothing about that. Better he don’t ’til he’s home.”
“I understand. I’ll keep your confidence and address this issue with Sergeant Rory. He’s the one who wrote and posted the note.” His hand rose to clasp Collin’s arm. “It’s good to see you’re still alive, Collin.”
“Thank ye, sir.” Collin bowed and left the physician.
Fury spurred Lord Livesey. He found Sergeant Rory lolling against the side of the administration building, smoking a cigarette.
When the sergeant spotted his commander’s approach, he dropped the butt and ground it underfoot.
“Sergeant Rory?”
Rory sullenly met the physician’s glare. “Aye, sir?” He tossed a sloppy salute toward his brow.
“I’ve just read the missive that you wrote to Lady Mackintosh to inform her of her husband’s impending death.” Livesey’s voice wreaked sarcasm.
Rory smiled, a lewd show of rotted teeth, and sighed. “It’s only a bit of a joke, sir. Meant no harm.”
Peripherally, he caught a glimpse of someone quickly nearing Rory. He turned, but no one else was in the yard—not even Rory.
****
“Mackintosh!”
“Aye?” Garth looked up as the cell door opened.
“Ye got a visitor.” The guard allowed Amalie to pass by him and slammed the door shut.
“Amalie!” He met her in the middle of the small, dull room, sweeping her into his arms. He held her close, engulfed in her scent and softness. “Thank ye fer comin’ all this way to see me.” He relieved her of her cloak and bonnet, laying them by the chess board, on the table, in the middle of the room.
She stepped back for a good look at his face. “Why wouldn’t I come? You’re my husband, for better or worse.”
He grinned. “I been worried this was worse than the worst and ye’d decide not to bother, packed our children and headed to Dublin.”
“I gave you my word.” She smiled as she laid her hand on his hard planed cheek.
“Aye, true that, lass.” He brushed his hand over her hair. “My God, ye’re beautiful. Come, sit, and tell me news of home.” He pulled her down beside him on the cot. They leaned back onto the cold stone of the wall.
“The children are well. We went out to watch a calf born yesterday. They were fascinated. I thought Mallow might faint, at first. She was concerned the process would be more gruesome than it really was.” She kept her spirits in check. “Ewan talks about you. He wants to see his da. The girls understand you’re away but to Ewan, you’re in the barmekin or somewhere nearby. He doesn’t grasp ‘away’ yet.”
Garth’s eyes filled with tears; he nodded. “His da wou’ give an arm to see that boy.” He sniffed. “How’s Jessie?”