Wedgewick Woman

by Patricia Strefling

  Below stairs there was much excitement, talking and laughing…most likely because of the welcome rain. Glad, for she could dress and be on her way while the household was busy, she felt renewed and ready to return to Eleanor. She missed the chubby child. After seeing the Laird again, Annabel realized how much she resembled him. Oh Eleanor, you’ve your father’s eyes and hair and your mother’s beautiful smile.

  Alas her dress was missing. Now what could she do? She waited for Mrs. Pembroke and inquired.

  “Miss your dress is laundered and they are now pressing it.”

  Annabel felt her face color. “Thank you.” She said quietly.

  Within the hour she came down and took a bit of breakfast at Mrs. Calvert’s command and bade the servants, with whom she had spent three years with as a young girl, farewell. Allowing herself one backward glance at the retreating castle, she stepped up into in the waiting carriage and was off.

  Laird Carmichael watched from his third floor window as her small conveyance rattled down the road, now wet with the new and welcome rain. During one moment in their meeting last evening he saw again an expression he thought only Helen possessed.

  Chapter 16

  James rode out to the cottage the moment he heard Annabel had returned.

  “Oh James, it was awful. I’m afraid I have bungled any opportunities to get assistance from Laird Carmichael. I had thought to appeal to his kinder side, even after the debacle at the dance…” her voice trailed off. “But it was not to be.”

  “Annabel, people change. Even the Laird. He has many responsibilities, and problems, many caused by Helen.” He spoke gently.

  “I feel so ashamed for lying to him.” She felt the tears come again, her hands wringing in her lap.

  “I daresay he can be quite stoic when he chooses to be.” He agreed. “But do not let your heart fail…I have,” and he reached into his pockets and brought forth a large note, “Something to help. Give this to the surgeon as a small payment with more to come.”

  “I cannot take this, James. This is not your responsibility. Why I’ve already gotten you sacked with Lord Carmichael. I cannot receive your gift, but you have honored me by offering.” Her voice was soft.

  “You will have it…” he lay the bill on the table. “’Tis the smallest part I can do to assist…you may call it a loan. Perhaps the surgeon will go ahead if he knows there will be other funds coming to him?”

  “I daresay. But I will not consent to you giving me anything. Tis not seemly.” She admonished, blushing.

  “Seemly or no…I would help you. If I had been more considerate of my papers that day, he would have never found out you were receiving funds. I am part and parcel to this malady you find yourself in.” He admitted.

  She laughed now and he smiled.

  “Tis true is it not?” He laughed along with her.

  “James, what is to become of this? Oh, but it feels wonderful to laugh again.”

  Eleanor was in the next room playing in her bed when she, too, began to laugh.

  Annabel went for her immediately. “You are awake and happy, too.” She lifted the child into her arms and brought her to see James.

  James touched the child’s hand and peered down at the foot. “Tis soon she would walk, if the foot were aligned.”

  Annabel looked up at him. “James I shall keep this money and go to the surgeon and ask if I might put it down.” She said lifting her eyes to him, a new strength revealing itself in her eyes.

  “Now there’s my girl.” He laughed at the both of them and picked up his hat and cane. “I must be getting back or I’ll run the risk of being sacked again.” He teased, letting himself out the door.

  “He is our true friend, Eleanor. Some day we shall pay him back for all he has done for us.” She swung the babe around then felt a sudden surge of sadness that even though Eleanor squirmed to be let down, she could not allow her, lest she try to walk, fail and be discouraged, or worse, injure her foot again.

  “Tis time for noon fare.” Phoebe strode into the room, gently lifted the child from Annabel’s arms, carried her to their tiny kitchen and set her down to eat…Annabel followed; the three of them talking and laughing as it were in the little cottage, the breeze blowing through the white gauze curtains at the windows.

  “Tomorrow I shall go to see the surgeon,” she announced brightly, “take him the money and ask if we might be in debt to him. Perhaps I could take a job as his assistant to pay for the operation.” She mused.

  For twill soon be known that the stone is undamaged and I shall be found out. Her thoughts trailed away. Would Laird Carmichael retaliate?

  * * *

  Even while she spoke, Laird Carmichael prepared to send two of his men to London to bring back a stallion he had traded for an original wagon made by one of his best crafters, and to locate and report back if indeed his dead wife’s stone was crushed and fallen as Miss Annabel Wedgewick had told him. Even though he’d seen the lie in her eyes, he would not judge without first knowing the facts.

  At the last moment he sent two servants for bundles that were to be delivered to Miss Annabel.

  “Ewan here is the map where the stone is located…an X marks the exact location. You will see the yard close to the Presbyterian Church and the white fences will be easily spotted, for the size of it is vast. Now be about the business of your journey returning at once with the stallion and the information I’ve given you. See to it that you do not injure the animal. Have a care.” He made the Carmichael sign and turned to other business.

  Before he’d gotten two steps a yowl was heard in the courtyard. Turning toward the noise Laird Carmichael stared, hands on hips, as several young pigs came racing and squealing through the courtyard upsetting carts and causing men, women and children to abandon their work and scatter.

  “Cork!” he shouted. “Name your whereabouts!”

  “Here, Laird Carmichael,” the boy came from behind a post.

  “What is that smell?” The Laird shouted and Cork felt everyone staring at him, two dozen pigs still screaming in terror as they ran loose.

  “You were only to feed the pigs, not let them out of their pen!” he bellowed.

  “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that…that…”

  “Speak it, boy!”

  “Lord Carmichael,” Bria called softly from behind him. He turned, hands on hips, then saw that she too had taken a fall and was muddy, head to toe, and worse, she smelled exactly like Cork.

  A smile crawled unwelcome to his face, but the Laird would not pass sentence without hearing the matter.

  “Tell all.” He said, his voice flat. He forced his eyes to stare over her shoulder, for on her face she bore the distinct look of a disobedient child and herself a grandmother.

  “It is like this…a slab of mud slid from her cheek and landed upon her chest, which she chose to ignore, then continued…”Cork opened the door and did as you bid. He was preparing to feed the pigs and at that most unfortunate moment I was passing the pen, when my best… my very best garment flew out of my hand with the wind. I screamed for Cork to catch it before it landed in the mud and he tried, but had to let go of the doorpost to succeed.”

  “And?”

  “I saw him grab the garment then… “ she made a face, “He fell into the mud, my beautiful gown ruined.” She paused to stare at the mud-splattered, tangled mess of fabric that lay in her hands. “I tried to help him up and both of us went down.” She said under her breath. “And the pigs flew out frightened as a pack of birds with a passel of cats at their tails.” She finished.

  Lord Carmichael looked up at the hills, noted the look of amusement on Ross’ face as he stood guard at the main entry, and swore that if he ever saw daylight again he’d be a most disciplined man if he could speak at this moment without laughing.

  Bria noted his eyes were darting about, which she found so unusual that she started to chuckle behind her hand. Then, unable to contain herself for a moment more she dissolved into a fit
of laughter.

  The Laird did not know what to do. She knew it.

  Before long a gathering had formed. The entire bunch took one look at Cork, then at Bria and broke into guffaws.

  Laird Carmichael found himself standing in the midst, and finally gave up and joined them. After a few moments of hilarity he hollered loud enough for all to hear, “Get the pigs back into their pen. See to it.”

  The group snickered as they went back to work, glad to see their Laird in such a state. Laird Carmichael realized he hadn’t laughed that well for many a year and decided to break the scheme of things and take himself outside the walls to find his favorite tree.

  “Ross, call for Knight.” He shouted in his best voice which seemed weak even to his own ears, and found that Ross was himself chasing a pig. Bria stood aside watching the entire scene and he noted the intimate smile that passed between her and Ross. He felt a pang of jealousy stab his heart.

  Passing a squealing young pig to Cork, Ross commanded a stable boy to bring the Laird’s mount. Cork, still smiling at his master’s fit of laughter, stood sentinel at the pen’s door, slamming it shut each time a pig was returned and bearing up against it with all his might.

  Chapter 17

  The people watched, talking among themselves, as their Laird settled himself astride Knight and sauntered out of the castle doors alone. Clan Lairds rarely went outside the gates without guard. Laird Carmichael had often spent time alone outside the gate. They had heard him tell Ross that he would be alone this eve. Perhaps the Laird was not happy since his wife’s death. Even the peasants in the valley had heard of her wild and unwifely ways. Surely the Laird was glad to be rid of her they mused. Yet a man must have his woman…and heirs surely. The whispers began rumors throughout the clan.

  Laird Carmichael looked at his people talking quietly. Most likely they were starting new rumors which he hated. Perhaps he should not be the Laird of the clan, but birth had placed him in the position. Sensing he needed to think, he withdrew his hold on the stallion’s reins and let him have his head. Giving full control to his spirited mount they raced across the meadows yellow with wildflowers. Buttercups, daisies, foxglove and clover assaulted his senses. The lush grass in varying subtle shades of green carpeted the broad hills and low valleys. The familiar view renewed his heart, his love for Scotland never wavering. Finally, when Knight had his run, he settled under his favorite tree…a white-barked birch and stared out over the River Tweed. Its rushing sounds lulled his mind backward to memories of earlier days that were still fresh in his heart. He and Helen sat under this very same tree for their first journey outside the castle only a few weeks after their marriage.

  Not quite knowing what to do with a wife, his father had suggested to his son that he teach her to ride. She, of genteel English nobility, had agreed immediately, much to his surprise. He had helped her mount the beast, as she called the horse and he taught her basic riding skills. In those moments when he was alone with her, mindful that the guards watched their backs, he found that she was a willing and quick learner.

  Her smile so beautiful, and her laughter, betrayed his young heart instantly. They had barely begun to share their married life when he’d been drawn by her loveliness so well he began to think perhaps he might love her.

  After each outing he felt more drawn to her as each day passed. When they were alone they were very happy; until just four months later when he noticed her openly staring and inviting men’s attentions. At first he had foolishly refused to believe it since they’d been so enthralled with each other. Soon the flirtations became so bold that even his father spoke to him about settling his young wife and making sure she did not soil the name of Carmichael.

  To assuage his father he’d tried to be more sensible and take her riding, sent her on trips to London to purchase any sort of frippery she desired, even walked the grounds at her every whim when he’d rather be about with some of his young friends, who by now thought him predictable and boring.

  Having known his own mother only until the age of eight, he did not fully understand the way of things between a man and a woman. Did his mother cry every time she did not get her way…somehow he seriously doubted his father would have allowed such whimperings.

  Memories, few as they were, of his mother were of a tender, caring, soft creature, who cared more for others than herself. He had few recollections of seeing his parents together, of his father caressing or even speaking kindly with his mother. So all he learned, he learned at his father’s table.

  Angrily, he remembered the words of his father the day of the accident, “You have not chosen well. You’ll spend the entire of your life appeasing the spoiled lass.”

  The words were burned into his mind. For it was not he who had chosen his wife, but his father. He made himself a promise never to honor a bribe.

  Lee lay his head against the birch and let the winds blow across his face, the sun settling lower over the hill blinding his eyes so that they closed.

  Even now he could hear Helen’s laugh.

  “Lee, come let’s walk.” She’d appear at the door walking on her toes in excitement, her blue eyes searing into his knowingly, her gown swinging to and fro, as she made her way toward him. Dropping herself in his lap, for he was often working on the accounts, she persuaded him with soft kisses and fluttering eyelashes.

  All of his excuses were met with pouting looks that would drive any man wild to be with her, so he called for a secretary to come and take his position, while he walked the grounds with his young wife.

  “Please darling, do not be angry with me when I ask you this.” She would begin and before he’d known what she was about he would be up to his ears in promises he would surely have to keep. “You know that you are so busy, and I’m…we’ll, I’m so lonely at times I wish Mother would come for me.”

  “Helen we are married. You cannot return to your Mother and besides she has not shown her face these last eight months.”

  “It is as you say and I am all alone. That’s all the more reason for me to be about town. To attend the opera, shop on Bond Street, things you are not the least interested in.”

  “You are not alone. You have me.” He would caress her and she would burrow her soft golden head into his shoulder and he felt like a man bound to protect and defend. Quick, she would engage him in playful chidings until they would fall to the ground laughing like children.

  “Don’t.” He’d admonish when she’d trap him against a tree and reach up to kiss him full on the mouth, for his wife had no sensitivities even though she knew the guards followed them.

  “Do you think it unseemly?” she would tempt him. “’Tis no more than what goes on between men and women in all households.” She shrugged.

  “But not under the trees in the midst of daylight with all the guard to see.” He pushed her away, displeasure in his eyes.

  “How else can we attain heirs?” She feigned embarrassment but he knew she was not in the least shy and retiring in that regard.

  Later he would know that she had enticed him in front of the guards only to make them jealous; for before their marriage had reached the first year mark, he’d found her with her laces fully undone in the arms of his closest friend, Sean MacArthur.

  From that day, even though she tried her best to soothe his rancorous heart, he had hated her with a bitterness that frightened even himself. After several futile attempts to revive their farce of a marriage, Helen had done her best to get her revenge at his refusal to even touch her.

  He had tried not to notice the vicious, sneering looks she would give him, then turn and instantly become a smiling vixen to a passing man; be it servant or guard, she cared not which.

  And poor Sean MacArthur; Lee felt pity for him as well, for she had gone on to another, having no attachments even to her lover. Sean left the castle, though Lee had not asked him to. Within three months Sean was killed in battle. Lee, thinking that he’d joined a small clan known for their aggressive behavior t
o assuage his guilt, knew his closest friend had paid the ultimate price — his life.

  During the last months of their marriage he learned to close his heart, fasten it down with a fierceness he had not known he possessed, and let her go. Finally the last year she went to London and he did not see her for months.

  After his father died, barely two years into the marriage, she had gone even more daft, if that were possible, thinking she could get a satchel of money from her weak, young husband, now that he was chief Laird…and try her follies in the London saloons.

  The last time she arrived home, she seemed different. Something changed, but he couldn’t quite figure it. She spent most of her time in her room and barely ate. Finally at the urging of Mrs. Calvert, who had carried up her meals and came back with not a morsel touched for three days, he had gone up to see his wife.

  Busy now as Laird of Dunbeernton Castle, Lee was loathe to see her. With his father gone he had more duties, did not wish to be pounced upon for even more funds, and truthfully cared not a whit if she had eaten.

  Eventually, after much talk about the castle, Lee knew he had to give his wife some attention, else the female servants would have his head. They stared with open disgust at his person every time they passed.

  When Mrs. Calvert had come to him a second time, hands on hips and with that deploring look of hers, he had gone to Helen.

  Tapping at the door of his wife’s room he found her curled upon the bed her bedclothes tangled about her thin body and her hair in such disarray as he had never witnessed. Walking up to the bed he called her name and she turned hollow blue eyes to his and stared.

  “What do you want?” she whispered.

  “What is wrong with you?” he asked harshly.

  “What is that to you? You do not love me.” She stated flatly.