by Sky Winters
“Lady MacEwan, please eat some soup. You have to keep up your strength.”
Alva looked at the nurse wearily and nodded. She had no appetite. Truly, there was nothing really wrong with her but a broken heart. She could only assume Heath had gone to confess to his family and paid a price from which there was no returning. There was nothing left for her here. The only thing she wanted was to join him.
In her dreams, she could hear his voice calling to her. He was holding her hand and smoothing her hair softly, whispering her name.
“Alva, my love. Come back to me. I love you.”
“I’m coming, Heath. I will be there soon.”
She could feel herself getting closer, nearing the darkness at the edge of where life ceased and eternity began. It was here that she would find him again. Here that she would find herself in his arms. Their love had been fleeting, but it had been true and she would take it with her when her mortal coil fell free and released her from this hellish life without him.
“Alva, I’m here. Don’t go, Alva. Wake up. Wake up!”
His voice was so far away. How could she ever catch him? She was drifting along, nothing to speed her along the path to him. It felt like the most awful torment to be so near and not be able to get to him.
“Alva! Stop this! Wake up!”
He was louder now and all around her, coming from another direction. Why had he moved when she was getting nearer? She tried to call out to him, but no words would come and then everything seem to move, her body shook though she was standing still in the nothingness that seemed to be all around her.
“Alva! I need you to listen to me! I need you to come back to me. Follow my voice. Alva! I love you!”
There was something wet on her face. Was she crying? She didn’t think she was. There had been no tears for a while now as she refused food or drink. Her eyes fluttered open, barely slits as they met those of Heath, looking down at her. His tears fell on her cheek as she realized he was here, not in her dreams, but by her bed.
“Heath.”
It was all she managed to whisper before collapsing again into the darkness. Her body tried to pull away, return to the dream, but her head and her heart screamed, waking her back into the light.
“There you are. There is my love.”
Alva smiled weakly. He was here. He was really here.
“Are we okay?”
It was all she could manage. All the questions she could ask.
“I am okay. You are not. You have to eat and drink for me now, Alva. I need you. We are going to be okay.”
Weeks later, Alva was back up and around, her body recovered from the days of not eating and drinking she had forced upon yourself. Heath stayed by her side, never leaving her for a moment, bringing her back to him. When she was well enough, they left for his home. His family had understood the nature of his love for Alva and forgiven him for his brother’s death, one they considered self-defense, despite the circumstances from which it evolved. Heath had left as the new leader of the dragon clan, his rightful place with the demise of his brother.
This was what love was meant to be, Alva thought to herself as they set on the cliffs surrounding their new home and admired the sun sinking deep into the canyon below. She put her hand to her midsection. There was not yet anything to tell, but she knew that there soon would be. She could already feel a certain warm springing forth from their earlier lovemaking. A tiny dragon seed had been planted and a new generation would emerge.
The End.
CLAN OF THE WEREBEARS
Lady Arabella Armstrong looked out of her window. The day was bright for travelling and her heart fluttered with excitement. Today she would be travelling from her home in Stirling to the baronial castle of her betrothed, Lord Andrew Grenville Stewart, the wealthy Laird of Inverness. The marriage had been arranged many years ago by her father, Lord William when she was just a girl. He had no son and heir and the match would be a good one. As well as uniting the two clans, she would live out her life in luxury; nothing would be too good for the new Lady Arabella Stewart. Although her father was a rich man, it was nothing in comparison to the wealth of the Stewart Clan, and she would have her own suite of rooms within the castle and maids to look after her every whim.
For months she had been measured and fitted for her trousseau, a beautiful peach silk gown inset with ivory lace. In fact several sets of new clothing had been made especially for her new life in the Highlands, expertly sewn to be both practical against the winter chills and attractive. Most of the items had been packed away, but she had kept out a deep blue woollen tunic for travelling in. It matched the colour of her eyes and she wanted to look her best for her soon to be husband.
She had only met Andrew Stewart the once, when he had visited her family in the summer to make the arrangements for their nuptials. She had felt shy back then, being presented to the worldly wise and older man. He was an enigmatic stranger, the future husband with whom she would share private intimacies. He was very handsome, with jet black hair swept away from his face in a somewhat rather severe manner. His eyes were steely blue and his lips red and thin against the pale skin. He had a reputation for cruelty but he had been kind, bringing her a present of a sparkling blue amethyst necklace, set with diamonds. She remembered how he had fastened it around her throat; his long fingers brushing the nape of her neck, as he bent down to kiss the bare flesh of her shoulders when no one was looking. At the time she had recoiled at his touch, it was the first time a man had been so intimate with her, and the feel of his hot sticky breath against her soft skin had made her flush with embarrassment. If he had noticed, then he had been too much the gentleman to say, but her mother Margaret had seen her daughter’s reaction and had remonstrated with her later. The match was important and Arabella must be brave. Her mother had told her all about the needs and passions of men and it had quite shocked her young mind. At 18 years of age, she had led a very sheltered life. She was amazed that her prim and proper mother had actually committed the acts that she embarrassingly described; she could not imagine her parents clutched together in conjugal bliss, but obviously she was the proof of their past union, and possibly why she was an only child.
Looking at the image of herself in the long mirror, Arabella smiled approvingly. The new dress fitted well and complimented her long, dark hair that fell around her face in soft ringlets. The wedding would take place in a little over a week and she wondered if she would look so young and innocent after her marriage, after her wedding night?
The carriage was prepared and she hurried down the stairs to bid goodbye to her parents. Matilda, her maid would be travelling with her on the long journey and continue to be her ladies maid at the castle. The two girls were good friends and it made the prospect of her new life less daunting.
Her mother and father were waiting in the hall to say goodbye. They were both undemonstrative in their affections, but her father had tears in his eyes as he waved the carriage a fond farewell. Her mother’s last advice had been that she must do everything she could, to please Lord Stewart.
Anything would be better than her mother’s continual instructions, and now she would be free, Lady of her own castle. Surely the sacrifice would be worth her liberty? Once she had given him children, he would probably leave her alone, her mother had said by way of a comfort.
The carriage had been made cosy with blankets and cushions to keep them warm and comfortable on the long journey. They had packed a small meal of bread, cheese and preserves, and would stop off at a halfway point for a comfort break and to drink a glass of warming ale. It would be late by the time they reached the castle and would need some sustenance en route.
As the figures of her parents diminished into the distance, Arabella felt the first stab of fear in her stomach. What if she wasn’t happy, what if she could not please Lord Stewart in the ways her mother had imagined? Margaret had been rather vague about the actual deeds she would be expected to perform, talking in riddles of 'men's ardou
r' and certain 'urges'. She had also hinted that the first time might be painful, but apart from that she was clueless, and her maid Matilda seemed as naive as she was.
The young maid was very pale except for two red spots on her cheeks. She hadn't wanted to leave Stirling, she had been with Lord Armstrong for most of her working life and she would miss the old familiar place, her own family. But she could not desert Arabella in her time of need.
Looking out of the window she blinked rapidly in an attempt not to cry. She would be sad not to see John Wilson again, the young man who had recently joined Lord Armstrong as stable hand. She had become very fond of him.
"Do ever think that you shall marry Matilda?"
It was the wrong thing to say at that moment, for the young maid was soon in floods of tears, much to the alarm of her mistress.
"Why whatever is wrong with you, surely you are not homesick already?"
Matilda sobbed between words "No Mistress, not really Miss, it is just that..."
"I hope you're not wailing over that new stableman, John Wilson?" she lightly scolded.
"He is a charming young man I have heard but not one to be trusted with the ladies. I hear he was walking out with a young woman from the village, but was caught kissing the cooks daughter, Bessie in one of the stables. Broke both girl’s hearts I believe and he has only been here a couple of weeks. You are well away from that young knave Matilda, just think of all the strapping Highlanders you are bound to meet soon".
The young girl wiped her tears and laughed. Young hearts seldom stay broken for long, and soon the two girls were soon chattering away to each other.
"So, what do you think it will be like on your wedding night, when you are first alone with your husband, in his bed?"
Matilda giggled and blushed at the same time. She had seen the pigs and cows on her uncle’s farm, but she did not think it would be the same with people.
"Imagine seeing a man naked?"
"And him seeing YOU naked!"
"I fear I would die with the shock."
"Or with the pain? I have been told a man’s Roger can be this big, as big as a bulls," and she held up her hands in such an exaggeration that both girls tumbled back into their seats in fits of laughter once again.
"But what does he do with it?" The young maid had no idea.
"Why, he sticks it inside you and wiggles it about until he gives you a child."
The whole thing seemed so preposterous that it wasn't long before the girls were giggling once more.
"In that case I do not want to be married and will remain an old maid all of my life."
Matilda stuck out her bottom lip in mock defiance and crossed her arms.
"Yet I shall be married in a week’s time and I suppose I must endure my husband?"
"You must, it is his right as your spouse and keeper." The two girls had now ceased their laughter and sat in quiet contemplation.
"I must confess, I am a little afraid Matilda."
The girl grabbed hold of her companions hand and their fingers entwined.
"Do not worry. I don't think it can be that bad. After all, my mother gave birth to 10 children," and that set the two girls off laughing again.
It didn't seem long before they were stopping at ‘The Moulin Inn’ near Pitlochry, to rest the horses and give the girls a chance to stretch their legs.
As the coachman helped the two girls down the steps, a group of rough looking characters stopped their drinking and all eyes were on Arabella. She was a fine sight to behold in her new dress, the tiny waist and blossoming bosom, her long flowing black hair catching the wind.
She was a beauty, there could be no denying and the man smacked their lips as they eyed her slowly from head to toe.
One man, with broken teeth and an eye patch whispered something to the others and they all broke out in a peal of lusty laughter.
No doubt it was something coarse about her and Arabella felt her cheeks flush.
On hearing the noise, the landlady of the Inn, Mrs. MacBrayne rushed out to see what was afoot. She was a cheerful, plump looking woman with a red nose, who would settle for no nonsense in her establishment. On seeing the poor girl’s plight, she quickly ushered the two into a private room at the back of the place, where they could eat their refreshments in peace, away from prying eyes. On bringing two glasses of warming ale to the table, Agnes MacBrayne sat with the girls, intrigued to know their story.
Arabella soon told her the details of her forthcoming marriage to Lord Stewart and Agnes wrinkled her colourful nose.
"Lord Stewart. Aye, I have heard folk speak of him. He's a cold fish from what I have heard. But don't ye take any notice of me, my loves. I'm sure he will make ye a good and proper husband. He's rich enough, that's for sure. Many a man has been changed through marriage."
She looked sadly across at the young woman.
"And many a maid too if I'm not mistaken, still I'm surprised you are travelling alone, two unescorted ladies with only a coachman for protection?"
"Papa said we would be safe. That no one would dare to harm the future bride of Lord Stewart- he is too powerful and rich a man to cross."
"With wealth and power also comes enemies, and Lord Stewart has many of those. There are men that would like to harm him. He has stolen land that does not belong to him and imprisoned men that have stood against him. It does not tell a pretty story I am afraid, and you must be always on your guard."
Arabella felt a cold shiver inside. She had not thought how vulnerable she and Matilda were, and her father had never mentioned the troubles. She could not believe that the man she was about to marry could be so wicked. It was probably all lies and gossip anyway.
Soon it was time to climb back into the carriage. The coachman, Thomas, had been drinking with the men outside, and she wondered what they had been talking about. The less people knew about her journey until they were safe within the castle walls the better, and she urged him to continue their journey as quickly as possible.
The light was almost fading and there would be many more hours until they reached their destination.
The landscape had changed from the gentle hills of the Lowlands, and now they were among the barren heather clad moors of the Highlands. Great mountains loomed above them, their white caps just distinguishable in the growing darkness. Mountain streams cascaded down the rocky surfaces, and the smell of pine and wild heather filled the air.
The two girls had fallen into a silent stupor as they watched the shadowy world pass by the little carriage window. Soon they were both fast asleep.
A sudden jolt of the carriage woke them simultaneously and Matilda was thrown into the lap of Arabella. The horses had stopped and there was an eerie silence around them. Arabella shouted out to the coachman to see what was happening, but there was no reply. After a short while she opened the window and poked her head out into the night air. The coachman was not at his station and the girl felt the fear rise in the pit of her stomach. Maybe he had to answer a call of nature and had fled to the bushes to relieve himself. That must be the case. She looked back at Matilda, pale and wide eyed in the corner of the carriage.
"It's alright Matilda, he won't have gone far. Relieving himself of all of that ale he drank at lunchtime no doubt," she tried to laugh but her humour did not lighten the mood, and the young maid grabbed at her Mistresses hand for comfort.
"Whatever shall we do Miss?" Matilda was almost crying.
Being the elder of the two, Arabella felt she was the one that had to be brave for both of them. Indeed she was almost a married woman and felt it only right that she should take charge of the situation. Opening the carriage door she placed her foot on the step.
'Where are you going, don’t leave me," The maid’s voice was small and weak.
"Don't be silly Matilda. I won't be long. I am going to find out what has happened to Thomas. Stay here or I may lose you."
Hopping down onto the ground Arabella walked around to the front of the carriag
e to where the horses stood, nibbling contentedly at the grass. They appeared calm and she was sure everything would be alright.
The air was chill and her breath made white patterns against the darkening sky. There were thick clumps of forest surrounding the rough road on both sides and the tall shadows of the tree’s rose menacingly all around her.
An owl hooted in a distant tree, but everything else was still, almost too quiet.
Stepping towards the undergrowth she could feel the wetness of the grass start to seep into her thin slippers, staining the silk with dark patches. There was a rustle in the bushes to her right and she stood still peering into the gloom, the loss of vision putting her at a disadvantage.
A hand was around her mouth before she had time to scream, as a strong arm grabbed her roughly around the waist and dragged her under the cover of the trees.
Her feet hardly touched the ground as she was lifted and pulled to a clearing set some way back from the road where she was roughly dropped to the floor. The sudden drop knocked the wind out of her sails and she caught her knee on a sharp stone, causing her to wince.
“Careful with the goods,” a gruff voice shouted and the air was filled with the sound of vulgar laughter.
Picking herself up as daintily as she could under the circumstances, Lady Arabella looked around. They were a motley looking lot of men, dirty mainly, and wearing the traditional tartan of the area or plain breeches and boots. Even the stable lads at home looked better than this rough –hewn lot and she tried to lift up her head and hide the fact that her heart was stammering inside her chest.
Another of the men let out a low whistle and walked towards her. She thought she recognised him as one of the men from the Inn.
“Haven’t we a pretty little thing ‘ere then? Lord Stewart may be a bastard but he certainly knows how to choose a bride.”
Approaching her, the man lifted his hand to her face and attempted to pull a strand of dishevelled hair away from her cheek, to get a better look at the stunning girl. Instinctively Arabella pushed his hand away, she did not want to be prodded and poked by such a person.