HIDING WAS NOT as difficult as one might think, especially when hidden in the open and for all the world to see, if one so choose. Like a chameleon, Clair Wardwin hid herself quite nicely.
She did what she was told, when she was told. Swallowing her pride—albeit temporarily—she was dutiful and quiet. People, even those people who had known her previously, would walk right by her and not give her so much as a second glance. Disguising herself as a lowly servant, keeping her hair covered with a kertch, never making eye contact, well, it made the whole ordeal easier.
And it was an ordeal. It should be her above stairs in the grand bedchambers as a guest and not someone who emptied chamber pots and stoked fires. Nay, they should all be waiting hand and foot on her and not the other way around.
She had arrived with the others, months ago. At first, she had made her way into the kitchens, scrubbing pots and pans, peeling vegetables and sweeping floors. She had worn the McLaren colors then, so the Mackintoshes simply assumed she was another of the few dozen refugees. When asked for her name, she had given her mother’s; Dona McFee.
And so it had gone on for the past six months, acting as nothing more than the quiet subservient Dona McFee, the kitchen maid everyone ignored. Each day, getting closer and closer to her end goal.
By rights, Clan McLaren was hers. She was, after all, Mermadak’s first born child. If anyone should be the rightful heir, it was her and not Aggie. Mermadak had told her so many times, but what was the poor old man to do? His hands, he promised her, were tied by the contents of Hugh McLaren’s will. There was nothing Mermadak could do.
Mermadak was dead now, of that she had no doubt. Donnel had told her how he had done it, right before she joined the rest of the McLarens for the trek north. He and Mermadak had set the fire, but when the old man refused to tell Donnel where he had hidden all the money he had squirreled away all these many years, Donnel had become so angry, he had stabbed the auld man right in the heart. Then he tossed his body onto the back of his horse, slapped the horse’s rump hard and sent him racing away from the fire.
No one had been paying any attention to him. They were all trying to get out of the keep alive. Donnel had apologized for killing her dear, sweet father. Clair was heartbroken at the news, for she truly did love the auld man, no matter how flawed an individual he was. His last act of devotion and love toward Clair had been to claim her publicly as his own. She’d always be thankful to him for that.
She and Donnel made plans to meet up again as soon as he found all the money he was certain Mermadak had been hiding. He would come for her, and together, they would take over as chief and chatelaine of the McLaren keep. That had been months ago and Clair was beginning to wonder if she should have trusted Donnel. With or without any coin, she was still the one and rightful heir to the McLaren lands. She’d let Donnel keep the money for it was the title she coveted most.
With Mermadak now dead, there was only one obstacle that remained between her and her rightful place as the true heir of the McLaren keep and all its lands and holdings. Aggie.
It mattered not to Clair that there was nothing left of the keep. All she needed was time. Time to get Aggie out of her way.
When they had first arrived at the Mackintosh keep, Clair’s plan had been to find a way to slice Aggie’s throat, toss her off one of the towers, or drown her. She didn’t truly care how Aggie died, just so long as she died.
But John had so many guards watching over the stupid woman that Clair could not get near enough to sneeze in her direction, let alone do her any bodily harm. Realizing she would have to practice an inordinate amount of patience, Clair went about working on a plan to kill Aggie, one way or another. All she needed to do would be to sit quietly in the shadows whilst waiting for the perfect opportunity.
It sickened her that the entire castle was a-twitter and giddy with joy at the news that Aggie was carrying Frederick’s child. For a time, Clair’s only hope was that Aggie would die in childbed, but that was a risk she was not willing to take. Nay, she had to kill the woman before Frederick returned. Kill the woman and her babe.
FREDERICK, IAN, ROSE and the rest of the Mackintosh men raced north. They left Eggar behind with what was left of the McLaren people. Safely tucked in the packs of Frederick’s horse, were the letters, journals and coin.
Rose was not used to such hard travel, sleeping out of doors, and riding a horse for hours on end. They could not afford to waste precious time with frequent stops. They had to get to the Mackintosh keep as quickly as possible for they could not risk the chance that Donnel and Clair had somehow managed to make their way north.
Across streams and rivers, through glens and valleys and around mountains, they rode like the hounds of hell were chasing them. Often, when she could no longer keep her eyes open or her seat, Rose would ride with Ian. Though it was difficult to get any amount of sleep whilst being jostled around on a horse racing across the countryside, it was still better than falling asleep atop her own horse and falling to her death.
They were more than halfway through their journey north when they met with the men Frederick’s father had sent. His heart was filled with dread and profound trepidation when he caught sight of them. His father would only have sent men if something was terribly wrong.
The two bands of people met in the middle of a wide valley. Frederick brought his men to a halt with a raised arm. He recognized many of the men who raced toward them.
“Yer a sight fer sore eyes, Frederick Mackintosh!” the lead rider said as he pulled his horse to a stop. It was Rolph Mackintosh, one of his many cousins. The man was a few years older than Frederick. He possessed the same red hair as Frederick, but he wore his long.
“Where be ye headed?” Frederick asked, afraid to hear the answer.
“Well, we’ve been sent by yer da to find yer sorry arse!” Rolph chuckled. “We’ve no’ seen or heard from ye in months. Yer wee wife is beside herself with worry.”
Frederick let loose the breath he had been holding. If Aggie was worried, that meant she was well. “She is well, then?”
Rolph threw his head back and laughed. “As well as any woman could be in her condition, what with yer da hoverin’ over her all the time.”
Frederick’s brow creased. “What condition?”
Rolph drew his horse up beside Frederick’s and slapped the man on his back. “She’s carryin’ yer babe, ye heathen. Yer goin’ to be a da!”
ADMITTEDLY, IT WASN’T the best way to learn he was going to be a father. The news nearly threw him from his horse. He had to ask Rolph twice, just to be certain he had in fact heard him correctly.
Ian laughed heartily at the news and gave Frederick a congratulatory slap on his back. Rose was as happy as she could be for her dearest friend.
Not wanting to waste any more time, Frederick called for them to continue on. With luck, they’d be at the Mackintosh keep inside of three days. Frederick questioned Rolph as they rode along. “Ye ken that we stayed behind to find Donnel Brodie and Clair Wardwin,” Frederick said. “But our search turned up nothin’. Is all well at the keep?”
“Aside from yer da worryin’ over Aggie like he was the expectant father, and Elsbeth sewin’ more clothes than a bairn could wear in a hundred years, aye, all is well,” Rolph explained. “Aggie has settled in well. And that wee son of yers? Ailrig? Och! He is a verra smart little lad. Verra protective of yer wife, ye ken.”
He did feel some sense of relief knowing that his wife and son were being well cared for. Of course, there was never any doubt that they would be. “And ye be sure Aggie is well?”
Rolph rolled his eyes. “Ye sound just like yer da, Frederick. Aye, she is well, though she misses ye somethin’ terrible, though fer the life of me, I dunnae why!”
RAINS HAD SETTLED in across the Highlands. Gray, gloomy skies hung overhead and there was a definitive chill in the air. Aggie was finding it difficult to sleep at night, and not just because she missed Frederick. Her belly was growing larger each day and it mad
e sleep—and nearly everything else—impossible.
“I be as big as the keep!” she groused to Elsbeth. They sat in Aggie’s rooms, in front of the fire. Aggie had her swollen feet propped on a pillowed stool. Elsbeth was, as always, sewing.
“Yer no’ that big, Aggie,” Elsbeth argued. “I was twice as big as that with Seamus. Och! Big as a cow I was.”
Aggie took a sip of cider and huffed. “The only time I can see me feet now is when I’m sittin’ like this. I dunna remember bein’ this big with Ailrig.”
“Each babe is different,” Elsbeth reminded her.
“And the heartburn,” Aggie said, taking another sip of the cold cider. “It keeps me up half the night.”
Elsbeth laughed. “It means yer babe will have lots of hair.”
The image of a wee bairn, with lots of red hair, brought a smile to Aggie’s face. She had a full month left before she could expect to lay eyes on him and hold him in her arms. Aye, she was thoroughly convinced it was a boy she carried. A boy to carry on Frederick’s name.
Her smile faded when she thought of her husband. She ran a gentle hand across her belly and fought the urge to cry. These past weeks, she had been crying at nearly everything, but most especially when she thought of Frederick.
“Aggie,” Elsbeth said as she set her sewing on the table beside her chair. “Me heart tells me that Frederick is well. I ken he’ll be walkin’ through the door any day now. He’ll be so happy to see ye.”
Aggie sniffled and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “He willna recognize me,” she said. “When last he saw me, I was a wee, tiny thing.”
Elsbeth chuckled. “He will no’ care at all. He’ll be so glad to see ye and to learn he’s goin’ to be a da, that ye could be as big as a cow and it would no’ matter.”
Aggie sighed. “I hope he is here before the babe is born, Elsbeth. I do no’ ken how much longer I can go without seein’ him.”
“Mayhap ye should rest a bit,” Elsbeth said as she stood. “I will send up some tea fer ye, to help with yer indigestion.”
Aggie nodded but remained seated. “Thank ye, Elsbeth. For all ye’ve done for Ailrig and me, and my people.”
Elsbeth placed a hand on Aggie’s shoulder. “Do no’ fash over it. Frederick will be here soon, ye’ll have yer babe and after a time, ye can return to yer lands.”
Aggie gave Elsbeth’s hand a gentle squeeze. “’Tis a kindness I can never repay.”
“Och!” Elsbeth said with a smile. “Yer family, Aggie. Family helps one another.” She kissed the top of Aggie’s head before quitting the room.
Aggie thought on Elsbeth’s words for a time. She had grown to love this place and Frederick’s family. Silently, she wondered what Frederick would say if she told him she did not want to leave this place? Would he insist on returning to McLaren lands and rebuilding? Instinct told her he would.
How he intended to rebuild when they were as poor as dirt remained a mystery. She couldn’t sew enough handkerchiefs in ten lifetimes to earn enough coin to do that. Would John lend them the funds? He might. But again, if Aggie spoke with John and expressed her strongest desire to stay here, he might be able to convince Frederick. She and John had developed more than just a friendship. She thought of him as the father figure she had never had before. He was a good man, good to her, to Ailrig and her people.
Would it be so wrong to convince her father-in-law first, before speaking with her husband? Aye, she thought, it would be. ‘Twould be a devious and dishonest thing to do, to go behind her husband’s back like that. If she did such a thing, she’d be no better than her da or Clair.
She let out a frustrated sigh and pushed herself to her feet. Nay, she thought. Ye be better than that, Aggie Mackintosh.
AGGIE HAD STRETCHED her back and taken a wee stroll around her room. Her mind, as it often was of late, was on Frederick, their babe and their future. A knock came to her door and she bid entry.
“Tea, m’lady,” a maid said as she set the tray on the table by Aggie’s chair.
Aggie continued to gaze through the window at the horizon. “Thank ye, kindly,” she murmured over her shoulder. Moments later, she heard the maid leave and close the door behind her.
Somewhere, out there was her husband and her best friend. Were they safe? Had they even survived the winter? Had they found Donnel or Clair?
Absentmindedly, she rubbed her belly as she looked out at the gray skies. “Frederick, where are ye?” she murmured. “Please, come back to me. I need ye.”
Were anyone to witness her standing at the window, talking to no one, they might think she had gone mad. But in these rare moments when she was all alone, she often stood at the window and talked to Frederick. It made her feel more connected to him, as if the wind would carry her love and her messages to him.
She knew it was a silly thing to do or believe, but she did not care. With all her heart, she loved this man. How many times had he told her what a blessing she had been to him? Too many to count. In truth, he had been her salvation. He had rescued her from muteness, from a life filled with fear, pain and suffering. He was more than her champion and protector. He was her everything.
As if sensing her longing, her babe kicked, letting it be known that he was important too. Aggie laughed weakly, “Och, ye wee beastie,” she said playfully. “I love ye as well.”
Feeling tired, she left the window and sat in her chair. Elsbeth had sent bread and cheese up with the tea. Aggie plopped a bit of cheese into her mouth as she poured tea into a cup. Weeks ago, she had lost her fondness for tea, but drank it anyway. Elsbeth insisted it was good for the babe and good for her spirits.
Her moment of solitude was short lived. Ailrig came bounding into the room. “Mum!” he called out to her as he ran across the room.
“Ailrig, what has ye so excited that ye be runnin’ in here like a dog with its tail on fire?”
“Look what grandda gave me!” he exclaimed as he pulled a sgian dubh from the belt around his waist.
Aggie’s eyes grew wide. ‘Twasn’t a wooden sgian dubh. This one was quite real. Though it wasn’t very large, it was exquisitely crafted. The handle was made of bone, with the Mackintosh crest carved on it. The blade was silver, with etchings along the edge.
“Please, Ailrig, be careful with that,” she told him as she took another sip of tea. “Now, pray tell, why did John give ye such a grand weapon?”
Ailrig was smiling ear to ear. “He says all Mackintosh men have sgian dubhs. He says because I’ve been workin’ hard to learn to read and write as well as defend me family, that I should have it.”
Aggie rubbed the top of his head and offered him some cheese. “He did, did he?”
Ailrig nodded his head rapidly. “Aye, he did. He says he’s right proud of me, and that Frederick will be right proud of me too when he gets here. He swears it will be any day now and I believe him. I can feel it in me bones!”
Aggie finished her tea, ate another bit of cheese and a hunk of bread while she listened to Ailrig go on and on about his sgian dubh, his grandda, his father, and all the other men of positive influence in his life. Oh, how she wished Frederick was here, just so that he might see the smile on Ailrig’s face and the pride in the little boy’s eyes.
After a time, her stomach began to give her troubles. She never knew from one day to the next what might upset it. One day, all she could bear were sweet things, then the next, only savories. She poured herself another cup of tea in hopes it would help settle her stomach. After a few sips, she realized it wouldn’t, so she sat it aside and tried to focus on Ailrig.
Her head began to feel quite foggy, as if she’d been spinning around in circles. Her upset stomach soon turned to sharp stabbing pains. She rubbed her belly for a time, trying to shake away the sense of unease that was slowly creeping into her mind.
This does no’ feel right, she thought. Believing she might feel better if she used the garderobe, she slowly stood. As she did, she was suddenly overcome with dizziness and in
tense, sharp stabbing pains in her lower belly. Had she not given birth before, she would not have recognized the sensation. But this, this was different, far too sudden, far too intense and painful.
“Ailrig,” she said as she fought back the overwhelming urge to retch, “Fetch Elsbeth,” she told him as she doubled over in pain. There was no time to make it to a chamber pot, she bent over and retched all over the floor. The pain was intense and she found she could barely breathe.
Ailrig, with his eyes filled with fear and dread raced out of the room to fetch Elsbeth. That was the last thing Aggie remembered before falling to the floor.
Fifty-One
IF SHE THREW up once, she threw up fifty times. Over and over again until nothing was left and it all turned to dry heaves. The pains were all consuming, throwing her into a daze until the line between reality and hallucinations was blurred beyond recognition.
In and out, from light to darkness, fuzzy memories, unrecognizable faces. Disjointed voices that sometimes sounded as though they were shouting in her ear, and at other times as if they were miles away. None of it made any sense. When Aggie tried reaching out to grab someone’s arm, it evaporated like fog.
Elsbeth was there, as was the midwife, and John, but their faces floated over her like disembodied souls, ghosts, real or imagined, she did not know. All that she did know was that something had gone horribly awry, but she couldn’t remember what or how.
Cries came from somewhere in the distance. Were they hers or someone else’s? Either way, they sounded horrible, as if they—whoever it was that screamed—were being disemboweled and tortured. Agony. Pain. Unbelievable pain. Sadness. Sorrow.
She imagined seeing Frederick leaning over her. He spoke but she could not make out what he was saying. Just another disjointed hallucination. He was crying over something, but what, she could not begin to imagine. She had never seen him cry. Mayhap he was reaching out to her from his grave. The thought made her retch again, made her cry out in agony as more pain enveloped her and drew her once again into darkness.
Frederick's Queen: The Clan Graham Series Page 49