by Mary McCall
After the children ate, Toril took them into the cottage to help them settle for the night. Alera sprinkled additional seasonings into the thick stew of maorachs, crowdie cheese, leeks, carrots, and cream. She entered the cottage and returned with seven small round loaves. Pulling the centers from the bread and discarding them into a small basket, she transformed the loaves into trenchers.
She told everyone they would have to share the trenchers, then dished up goodly portions of the stew, serving Duncan last. She picked up the basket of discarded bread, sat beside him, and nibbled on the bread while casting a guarded gaze about the clearing at everyone else.
"'Tis fine fare, Lady Ranald,” Geddes complimented from her right side. “I never had aught quite like it."
"Geddes is right, Alera. ‘Tis wonderful,” Toril said from across the clearing. “You must tell me the recipe so we can try it at home."
"I am glad you like the stew,” Alera replied in an even tone. “I will tell you the ingredients another time.” She returned to her nibbling.
Duncan moved closer and offered her the trencher. “'Tis delicious, Alera. Have some."
"I am content with the bread.” She didn't look up from her basket.
Duncan narrowed his eyes. Just what had she added after the children left? “Eat some, Alera."
Those gathered stopped eating and watched the interaction.
"Maorachs do not agree with me,” Alera muttered.
"I insist,” he demanded. Vows or not, she would damn well obey him.
Alera glanced up and glared. “I refuse."
Geddes cleared his throat. “Laird, I think—"
"Stay out of this, Geddes,” Duncan ordered without releasing Alera's gaze. “You will eat from this trencher now, wife."
Her chin lifted a notch. “I will not."
"What did you put in here?"
She gasped and widened her eyes. “What do you accuse me of?"
Geddes cleared his throat again. “Laird—"
"Silence!” Duncan's gaze seared into hers. “Alera, you will eat from this trencher, or none of us will eat more."
Alera sucked in a breath. She wanted to get mad, really she did. Why in perdition were her eyes misting over? “You believe I would taint your food?"
The muscle flexed in his cheek, and she had her answer. This was too much for one day. Reaching into the trencher, she grabbed one small maorach. While looking into Duncan's eyes, she popped the tiny shellfish into her mouth and swallowed it whole.
"Milady, nay!” Geddes began to rise.
"Geddes, please sit down and enjoy your meal.” Alera looked at the other faces peering at her from about the fire. “The stew is not tainted."
She returned her attention to the bread in her basket. A lone tear rolled down her cheek. Saints above, she was in a pitiful mood. She bowed her head so no one else could see how Duncan's distrust wounded her. How could she act serene and gracious when her husband thought she would harm him?
"Laird—"
"Geddes, sit down and eat your food,” Duncan ordered in a gruff voice. He took another bite from the trencher.
Alera sighed. Everyone returned to their meals, stealing occasional peeks at her. They might be her family, but would any of them truly care if she died? She felt as alone here as she had at Arundrydge after Papa disappeared. Henry, help her, she was a sorry soul today. She had been thinking about surprising Duncan with a wedding on his birthday. She should be happy.
Roaring waves reverberated through her ears. It began. Alera tensed.
A burning itch crept under her flesh. It wouldn't take long. It never had. Her upper lip swelled and would soon meet her nose. She bowed her head lower, letting her hair fall forward and hide her face from view.
A low comment from Aunt Hope and Uncle Leonce's responding chuckle reached her as if from a distance over the thunder of crashing waves. Her eyes were slits, almost shut. The fiery itch consumed her. Puffy red hands wavered before her. Henry, help her, the itch was making her daft. She needed just a little scratch.
Alera raised a swollen hand to her throat and rubbed the infernal prickling.
Two hands grabbed her from behind and pulled her up. Someone wrapped an arm around her waist, pushed her forward, and pounded her back.
"Toss it up, milady! Now!” Geddes ordered.
She couldn't answer him if she wished to. She didn't possess the strength of voice to yell over the torrential surf in her head.
Duncan growled. “Geddes, unhand—"
"Remember my sister, laird. Neida is dead because maorachs did not agree with her either. And I saw the lady scratch.” Geddes kept pounding on Alera's back. “Toss it up, milady. I'll not stop till you do."
Alera couldn't see through her swollen-shut eyes. A strong hand gripped her jaw and pried open her mouth. Then a large finger poked the back of her throat. The resultant gags shook her entire body until she retched. The thought crossed her mind that she had tossed up everything she had eaten that day. Something cool and damp pressed against her lips. Everything went blank.
Duncan caught Alera as she went limp and lifted her against his chest as fear roiled in his gut. Saint Andrew, help him. He couldn't lose her now.
"Take her to the stream and immerse her, Duncan,” Hope said, rushing toward the cottage. “'Twill ease the fever. I'll get some powders and meet you there."
His heart slamming against his ribs, Duncan ran down the moonlit trail to the stream. He rushed into the water, fully clothed, and submerged Alera until only her face remained above the waterline. She groaned, and her swollen face twitched, but her eyes remained closed.
"Duncan?” she rasped, a slight wheeze in her breath.
Guilt stabbed at him. “Why did you not tell me?"
"I did. You did not believe me."
"Killing yourself is not the way to convince me. Do you hate the notion of being wed to me so much?"
"I do not hate being wed to you, and I will not die.” She rubbed her jaw against his palm. “I will just be puffy and itchy for a few days."
Relief surged through him at her certainty. He leaned over and
tenderly kissed her forehead.
"Duncan?"
"Aye, love?"
"If it comes up later, I cannot eat strawberries. They give me welts."
At the sound of a splash behind them, Duncan glanced over his shoulder. Hope waded toward them with a small linen sleeve in her hand. Julien and Leonce stood on the bank.
"Is she still fainted?” Hope asked.
"Nay. She is awake,” Duncan answered.
"But do not tell Uncle Julien,” Alera added. “I wish to cause him anguish."
"Shame on you, Alera. Julien is worried about you,” Hope admonished. “Open your mouth and hold up your tongue."
Hope placed a pinch of powder under Alera's tongue. Then she cupped Alera's pudgy cheek. “Your uncle did only what he thought best. And I'll tell you a secret. The reason your threat made him so angry is he believed you. After Papa made Bradana wed your father, she put an arrow in Papa's backside."
"Mama never told me she was forced."
"I thought not. Megan is spending the night with the twins. I'll give Duncan the powder and some balm for your itch. Use the powder every three hours and drink plenty of water. This stream is cold, Duncan. Do not keep her out here much longer."
"Aunt Hope.” Alera reached out a hand. Hope grasped it. “I am glad we finally met. Will you come see me on the morrow and tell me how Marcail fares?"
"Aye, I'll come.” Hope patted Alera's shoulder. “I suspect Toril will, too. Now get some rest."
Hope waded out of the water and shooed the men back up the trail, leaving Duncan and Alera alone.
"Duncan, did you truly think I tainted the stew or were you pushing the obedience issue?"
He hesitated a moment too long.
"Never mind.” She released a resigned sigh. “'Twas a little of both."
"I did not wish him to force you, Alera, but I
could not let him take you away."
"I would have come back if he had.” She reached up, felt around. Then she grasped his forearm and struggled to rise. He helped her up.
She leaned against his chest, giving him most of her weight. “Loyalty is important, Duncan."
"I know you're loyal.” He held her close in a tender embrace. “You would never fail one you love."
For some reason he couldn't fathom, his words made her cry and hug him tighter.
"Why the tears?"
She shrugged “Will you hold me tonight, Duncan?"
"All night long."
"Just do not look at me. I know I am red and swollen. My face may crack if I... I... Oh, Duncan, I am so sorry. I wish today had been different. Our wedding was ruined, and ‘twas all my fault."
"You're still mine, Alera."
"I know.” She hiccupped and sniffed. “Will you take me home now?"
"Aye, love. I'll always take you home."
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Seventeen
Alera awoke in the predawn hour and fought the urge to scratch her skin off. Three days in the bedchamber, hiding her puffy splotched complexion, left her jittery. If she didn't get moving today, she might grow to the bed. At least the pounding in her head had ceased as her temperature dropped.
A twinge stabbed her left hip from laying in the same position too long. Easing away from Duncan, she rolled onto her back.
Her belly rumbled then violently churned. Alera lurched from the bed only to fall back. Henry, help her. Duncan had her hair wrapped around his arm. She swallowed and pushed on him while jerking her hair. “Oooooh!"
He awoke, moving his arm. Alera snatched her hair free and bolted into the garderobe. She fell to her knees, totally naked, and retched.
As she heaved, her belly churned and roiled like molten iron. Soon her stomach muscles ached and her legs quivered from weakness. Then she realized Duncan had followed her.
"Duncan, go away! I do not wish you to see me—"
She heaved again. Nothing came up, but she couldn't stop. Duncan left, damn the man. Didn't he know he was supposed to comfort her? Henry, help her! Was she gone daft? All the angels and saints knew she didn't want Duncan to see her at such a disgusting act again.
A last shudder coursed through her, and she moaned. A strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her against hot muscled flesh.
"Wait a bit before you rise, so you do not set it off again.” Duncan tenderly dabbed at her lips with a cool damp cloth.
She relaxed against him with an unladylike grunt and wiped her hand over her brow. “You are not supposed to watch a woman toss up. ‘Tis humiliating."
"'Tis a husband's duty. Do you think you're still reacting to the maorachs? You have not been vomiting."
"I have not done so in the past, but I swear if I toss up again, I will lose my gullet.” She brushed a hand across her cheek. “Do you mind helping
me back to bed? I feel dizzy."
Duncan picked Alera up and carried her to bed. As he lowered her upon the mattress, she noticed his features were drawn and weary. She ran a light caress along his jaw. “I am sorry my restlessness has kept you from sleep the last few nights. Come to bed. I shall try not to move so much."
He caught her hand and kissed her palm. “I do not mind losing a few nights sleep every now and then, Alera.” His rogue's grin curved his lips. “Though I would pick a more pleasurable reason to stay awake."
Duncan walked around the bed and lay down. As the mattress dipped, Alera's gut rumbled. “Duncan, you try not to move so much, either."
"Do you want me to get a pot?"
"Nay.” She swallowed. “I think I will be all right if I lay very still for the rest of my life."
Alera awoke a few hours later feeling much better. Duncan slept soundly, so she eased out of bed and rinsed her mouth. She dressed in a pale yellow gown with a scooped-neckline over an ivory underskirt, belted at the waist with a braided leather rope.
After her behavior at the wedding, she was determined to act like a perfect lady today. She couldn't have her aunts and uncles thinking her a spoiled wanton. She was now a laird's wife, after all. She had been raised to manage a large holding with her husband, and she truly didn't wish to embarrass Duncan.
Sitting in a chair by the hearth, she combed tangles from her hair. Then she pulled the heavy mane up to the top right side of her head and tied it in place with a leather string. Her curls bounced and tumbled down her back to her waist.
She walked to the bedside and balled her hands, resisting the urge to caress Duncan's cheek. His slumber-relaxed features appeared boyish—no sign remained of her savage barbarian. He had been so considerate and caring over the last few days—bathing her fevered flesh, coaxing water down her parched throat. She actually felt loved during those quiet moments when he lay beside her just holding her in his arms. She enjoyed his attention so much she couldn't bring herself to tell him that his body-heat made her itch worse.
Saints above, she wished the love she imagined from him during those moments was real. How could he believe she would poison him and her newfound family out of spite? Since he didn't trust her, how could she expect him to believe a declaration of love? She couldn't bear to be rebuffed by him after she had failed Papa.
But how long could she go on living this close to Duncan without blurting out her love for him? Guarding that secret would tear her apart. The last time they joined, she was so afraid of telling him that she didn't receive all the pleasure he had sought to give her.
Now that she thought about it, maybe she should be damn mad. How could he expect Clan Ranald to accept her if The Ranald didn't trust her?
A birdsong broke into her perturbed thoughts. Dawn's light shimmered into the chamber. She quietly crossed the room and picked up her bow and quiver of arrows. Then she crept out of the chamber and headed downstairs.
"Good morn, milady,” Geddes called from his lone spot at one of the long tables across the hall. “'Tis glad I am to see you breathing and walking."
Alera approached him with burning cheeks. Despite her embarrassment over her brazen behavior, she owed him gratitude. “Hello, Geddes. I am glad you are here. I wish to thank you for your help the other evening. You saved me about three additional days of itching."
"Speak no more of it, milady.” He nodded toward her bow. “Does the laird know you're going hunting?"
"Nay, but ‘twill be all right. I plan to ask Uncle Leonce and Uncle Julien to join me. Hunting always helps me work out restless jitters after being cooped up. Besides, there is something I need your help with."
Geddes cocked a brow. “What might that be?"
"Marcail told me Duncan's birthday is in two weeks. I wish to have a surprise celebration for him with food and music and dancing.” She knew he approved from the light that flickered in his eyes. “Will you tell the clan without Duncan finding out? And ask them to come?"
"I am sure they'll be coming. They'll make more than a day of it, too—probably three or four. Struan will most likely break out several kegs of whisky. If your uncles cannot go with you for any reason, and I'm doubting they will, do not hunt alone. The forest isn't safe."
"I am going to Logan's first. I want to check on Marcail and fix morning fare so Aunt Hope will not have to."
"'Tis kind of you. She looked puggled when she came in last night. And I want you to know I hope you'll be happy here.” He cleared his throat as if embarrassed by his words and gestured toward the door. “There is a pail of milk over yon. Lady MacPherson stayed the night here with her husband and left Logan with Marcail. She was planning to take the milk with her."
"I'll take it. I am sure Aunt Hope needs the rest."
With milk pail in hand, Alera walked to Logan's and carefully eased open the door. Craig sat on the floor in front of the hearth, pulling on his shoes. He looked up and his hazel eyes sparkled. He ran to her and hugged her hips.
"I am glad you're better, Au
nt Alera,” he whispered. “Mam got a fever, but it left last night, so she's better, too."
"That is good to hear.” She stroked his hair. “Are you hungry?"
"Very."
"I will get oatcakes and bread started, if you get me about a dozen eggs and two leeks."
"Are you going to be making one of those good egg pies?"
"Aye."
"I'll hurry. Nobody cooks like you do.” Craig grabbed up a basket by the door and dashed out.
After adding wood to the hearth and rekindling the fire, Alera made a large batch of bannock dough and molded it into two large loaves. She then set them on a rack near the rear of the fire. Next she mixed up a pastry crust, lined a pan, and set it over the flames. The scent of cooking bread made her salivate. Her mother insisted Alera learn as much as possible about every position that kept Arundrydge running. Cooking had been her favorite. In a way, she considered it as much play as work and found it relaxing. Grabbing up another bowl, she mixed oatcake batter. She added extra honey, because the children had a sweet tooth like hers. She molded the dough into small loaves and placed them on a rack. She removed the pastry crust from the hearth to the table and wiped the mixing bowl for reuse.
"Mam!"
Hearing the excited whisper, she turned around. Megan ran toward her from a pallet on the far end of the cottage. Alera set the bowl on the table, scooped up Megan, and kissed her cheek. “How is my little rose this morning?"
"I'm so happy to see you.” She held onto to Alera's neck. “Do you feel better?"
"Much better, though I still itch a wee bit.” Alera smiled and rubbed her nose against Megan's.
"Can I spend the day with you?"
"I am going hunting after we break our fast, but if you will be patient, we can go later and pick flowers to make pretty garlands. How does that sound?"
"Wonderful."
The door opened and Craig came in, carrying the basket filled with eggs and a couple of leeks. “Here they are, Aunt Alera. Morning, Megan."
"'Tis Aunt Alera!” awee Hope cried at the top of her lungs. She sprang to her feet and ran across the cottage.
Angel yawned and opened her eyes. She squealed her excitement then joined the small gathering. “Are you fixing oatcakes, Aunt Alera?"