by K. E. Saxon
Callum flew to his feet in front of Branwenn, blocking her from view, and flipping the hem of her gown down at the same time. He’d been caught. He knew he’d been caught. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t dig his hole deeper still? So, he stood silent, waiting for one of them to make the first move.
Bao, thankfully, took pity on him. “See, Daniel, Reys, I told you. ‘Tis clear we’ve worked the poor man to a frazzle to the extent that he falls over wherever he goes. This time, unfortunately, ‘twas Branwenn who suffered.” He turned his eye to Branwenn. “Is that not so, dear sister?”
Branwenn cleared her throat and combed her fingers through her hair to straighten it a bit before answering. She would not again wear the lovely fillet Callum had given her until her wedding day. “Aye,” she said at last, “Callum fell upon me only moments before you arrived.” There, that held more truth than falsehood, did it not?
“Come,” Daniel said to Callum. “‘Tis time for us to test your skills once more on the lists.”
* * *
CHAPTER 10
Over the next two days, the four men spent many hours on the field. Once Reys had learned that a tournament was planned, he’d immediately begun his own training for the event as well.
But a dark cloud hovered nearby, as the lady Isobail’s health grew worse. After the last morn, when she could barely catch her breath and her skin grew as gray as the fog on the moors, Callum sent word to her brother Robert to make haste to his sister’s side, as there was little time left.
“Isobail,” Callum said softly, his hand resting gently atop her forearm, which lay, limp and cool to the touch, next to her side atop the fur blanket.
Isobail opened her eyes, though with some difficulty, as they were as heavy as iron portcullises and the need to allow her mind to drift into sleep—and dreams—was growing more and more difficult to battle against. She’d been having dreams of her husband, but this last time, she’d dreamt of another, of that long forgot time in her youth when she’d loved the wrong lad. Loved the Norman son of her father’s enemy. Given him her innocence and in repayment, he’d broken her heart and humiliated her. She supposed ‘twas as she’d always heard: those close to death relived their lives in the last days.
“Isobail,” Callum said again. “I’ve sent for Robert. He should be here within the next two days; if he is at your family’s holding, as you believe.”
“That is good,” she said weakly and took several shallow breaths. “Where is my son? I must see him again soon, before I am too weak to speak.”
“He is just outside the door, waiting for me to allow him entrance.” He stroked her arm to comfort her, but also as a means of comforting himself as well. “Are you ready for him now?”
Isobail shook her head slightly. “Nay. In just a moment.” She tried to lift her head to look about the chamber, but she couldn’t manage it and gave up in frustration. “Where is my maid?” she said. “I want her to comb my hair and wash my face before he comes in. I wish not for him to see me in this state.”
Callum nodded and motioned for the maid to come to her mistress. He began to rise, but Isobail waylaid him with her hand on his arm. “You and Branwenn will not forsake your promise? You will take my lad and raise him as you promised?”
Callum sat back down. “Aye, Isobail, I swear this to you: We will not forsake our promise.”
“I wish only that I could keep my breath at least until after you are wedded, but the struggle is growing too great.”
“Fair lady, can you not hold out for a while more? ‘Twill be Samhainn in less than a fortnight, and we are set to wed the day after that.”
“Aye, I will try.” She began to cough. Callum quickly placed his arm behind her shoulders and, lifting her up, brought the cup to her mouth which held the tisane that Daniel had prescribed. Daniel’s mother had been a healer and had taught him much of the art before her death, a knowledge that had served his family well these many years.
Isobail drank the concoction down, though she almost choked a couple of times when the urge to cough overcame her as she tried to swallow. In seconds after drinking it, however, it did calm the tickle in her chest and she relaxed back once more with her eyes closed. “My thanks,” she said. A moment later, she forced her lids open once more and looked at Callum. “‘Tis time to get me ready for my son. I cannot delay any longer.”
“Aye.” Callum rose from his stool beside the bed and waited a few moments while the maid straightened and combed Isobail’s hair and washed her face with a damp cloth before opening the door and, with a quick nod, giving David permission to enter the chamber.
* * *
Two days later, Robert arrived. When Callum met him in the great hall, he was stunned. He could hardly recognize the man whom he’d known since they were youths. Where all their lives, Robert had been hail and hearty, the black-haired, grey-eyed, rugged-faced counterpoint to Callum’s lighter, more evenly drawn looks, he now appeared haggard, a bit thinner—as if he’d skipped one too many meals over the last moons, and frown lines delved deep creases between his dark brows.
“Robert,” Callum said in greeting with a short nod of this head. This was the first time they’d seen each other since the Roman outpost ruin on the Maclean property where he’d found his wife, Lara, and Robert together.
“Callum.”
“Need you a bit of refreshment before I take you to see your sister?”
“Nay, please, just show me to her chamber. I had no idea she was ill. Why did she not tell me of this sooner?”
“You knew not of her illness?” Callum asked in surprise.
Robert shook his head. “Nay, the last missive I received from her was about five moons ago, just after her husband’s death, tho’ I’ve written her several letters giving her tidings of our clan.”
“Come, let us not waste another moment, as she’s very close to the end. I believe she’s been holding on in hopes of speaking with you.”
A few minutes later, Callum stood staring at the outside of Isobail’s chamber door. Robert had just gone inside and he could hear the muffled low tones of voices on the other side.
Though he still held resentment for Robert’s part in Lara’s cuckolding of him, he’d known the man for too many years—had been good friends with him, at least until Robert had found out about his own affair with Isobail when Callum and he were barely thirteen summers—to feel anything other than sadness for his coming loss, as well as for his troubles holding his clan together.
He shook his head and, crossing his arms over his chest, leaned against the wall to the side of the door and waited. He didn’t care how long it took, he would be here for Robert when he at last emerged. And then, they would get drunk. Very, very drunk.
* * *
Two hours later, Robert opened the door. Callum hadn’t thought it possible for the man’s face to look more strained, but in these moments, it did. “Is she...?” he asked softly.
Robert nodded grimly. “Aye. The priest performed the last rights and now the servants prepare her for burial.” With dazed eyes, he stared down at the floor. “You were right, she was only holding on to tell me of her plan for David.”
The two men stood in silence for a time, their heads bowed.
Finally, Callum silently opened the door to the chamber and quietly asked one of the servants to inform his other family members of Isobail’s death. Turning, he shut the door once more and said, “Come,” before beginning to walk in the direction of the stairs. “Let us finish this discussion with the aid of a hearthfire and a bit of uisge beatha.”
“That sounds good,” Robert agreed and followed him as he descended the stairs.
* * *
The two old friends said little as Robert settled on one of the benches around the hearth and Callum retrieved the bottle of uisge beatha from the buttery.
“Remember you that summer—we were surely not more than ten summers—when your sister took the blame for our prank with the apple juice and u
isge beatha?” Callum asked as he poured the first of what he expected to be many draughts of the latter into Robert’s cup. “When we mixed the two and served it to the young ladies who’d traveled with Isobail and your father?”
Robert smiled and nodded. “Aye, tho’ I’ve oft thought if ‘twere not for all the puking afterward, then we’d have been thought heros rather than villains in the scheme.” He chuckled and shook his head. “But, ‘tis truth, we would have been given duty with the gong farmer for that one, had my sister not taken pity on us and said ‘twas her own doing.”
Callum nodded and took in a deep breath before releasing it slowly. “She was a very kind and gentle lady.”
“Aye, that she was.”
They said naught else for many long minutes, the only sound, other than the crackling of the hearthfire, being the sharp ‘clink’ of the glass bottle against the rim of each man’s silver cup as Callum continued to refill the vessels with the amber liquor.
“And, what think you of Isobail’s plan?” he asked Robert, at last breaking the silence.
Robert sighed and scrubbed his hand over his eyes and cheeks. “‘Twas hard for me to accept at first, but she did finally convince me that, at least for now, ‘tis the best thing for him.” He directed his gaze on Callum. “Are you sure you want this?”
“Aye, Branwenn and I are sure. Worry not.”
Robert’s smile was a bit strained when he said, “Ah, the lovely Branwenn. Aye, you managed to win it all, did you not?”
Callum gave him a questioning look. “Win it all? What mean you?”
“Why, the promise of another lairdship and the most beautiful woman in the Highlands, of course.”
Callum’s brows slammed together. “Do you have a problem with that? Branwenn, I mean?” he asked darkly.
“Nay, I suppose not. But there was a time last Hogmanay, as I danced around the fire with her, that I would have battled you for her.”
Callum sat up straight and eyed Robert very closely. “You danced with my betrothed last Hogmanay? I remember it not.”
Robert chuckled, though even in that, a sadness and despair ran through the sound. “Aye, and I was very tempted, more so than I’ve ever been, to give the lass my troth, but then your grandmother took her from me and, well, by the next day, I’d sobered and thought better of it.”
Callum bristled. “Aye, but you didn’t manage to think better of bedding my wife that day.”
“Are we going to go over that again? The woman was not worthy of you, Callum. You know it, and I know it. She was determined to cuckold you, and I was in the mood to give her what she wanted, since I had an age-old score to settle with you.” He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “If I’d believed I’d be doing any real damage to you, other than bruising your pride, which was my intent, then I’d not have done the deed.”
Callum nodded. “Aye, I know.” He settled back and took a long pull from his cup. Afterward he sat the silver vessel down on the table and said, “Tell me what goes on with your land, my friend.”
* * *
Several hours later the two men were deep in their cups in the great hall when Branwenn walked in, Lady Maclean not far behind. “Ah, here he is Grandmother Maclean, just as I feared.” She shook her head in disgust. “Getting drunk—and helping his friend to do the same.” She turned and looked at Lady Maclean. “Why is this the answer to every matter, good or bad, that happens in a man’s life?”
Callum, bleary-eyed and with a foolishly lopsided grin on his countenance, rose from his stool and said, “Bra’wn, my lo’, c’meet Rober’.” He swayed and lost his balance, but Robert swung his hand out and managed to grab Callum’s arm, just barely keeping him upright.
Robert turned to Branwenn. There were three of her, first standing side-by-side, then floating together, then apart again. “G’eve. Wud’yu lik’ t’dance?” He stood up and took a step toward her, but tripped over his own foot and landed, rather ignominiously, flat on his face.
“Oh, my!” Branwenn exclaimed. That must have hurt. “Grandmother, where is the butler? Why is he not in here with these witless creatures?”
Lady Maclean smiled indulgently at the two young men. She was much more amused by them than angered, as she had many more years experience with such antics. “I have no idea, my dear.”
“How are we going to get the man up on his feet again? And listen to that!” She pointed in the direction of the still-prostrate form lying on the rush-covered stone floor. “He’s snoring! If he slumbers, he will weigh a ton, and we’ll need half the guard force to carry him to his chamber.”
“Bao and I will do the deed, worry not, sis,” Daniel said, walking through the doorway just then.
Branwenn turned. “My thanks,” she said, relief in her voice.
“I’ll car’ hi’ up th’ shtair, m’luffff,” Callum said, but then his eyes rolled up, his head lolled back, and he hit the ground with a loud ‘thunk!’
“Well, tomorrow’s training should be rather interesting,” Bao said as he looked down at the lump that was now Callum. “How many points does one get for spewing one’s meal on one’s opponent?” An evil light came into his eyes and he turned back to Daniel. “Mayhap, we should ask Robert to oppose Callum on the morrow. Then ‘twill be an even match—both hurling the contents of their stomachs as they pass each other on the lists.”
Branwenn giggled. “That is a humorous thought. But....” She cocked her head to the side and gave Bao a questioning look. “I thought they wore helmets. Won’t it just end up all inside their armor?”
Bao turned back to Daniel. “What say you? Helmets on or off? Spew on themselves or on their opponent? You decide.”
Daniel shook his head at both of them. “Be kind to your betrothed, Branwenn. ‘Tis clear he only meant to commiserate with his friend. And Robert has just lost a sister, have you forgot?”
Branwenn’s eyes misted and she dipped her head. “Aye, I did forget for a moment,” she confessed. “When I came in here, ‘twas to commiserate with Robert as well, for my heart breaks for him—and David, too. But then, when I saw the two of them drunk as two priests at a brothel, I got so angry at Callum, I lost sight of my intention.”
Lady Maclean patted her on the back. “There, there, dear. ‘Tis understandable, I’m sure.”
Bao took hold of Branwenn’s hand and gave it a little squeeze of support. “Aye, I should not have made a jest under these circumstances.” He walked over to Robert and, with seemingly little effort, hoisted the man up and over his shoulder. “I only hope he doesn’t spew on the way up to his chamber,” he mumbled under his breath, “as I’ll surely not get the stench out of my tunic for many moons afterward.”
Lady Maclean caught what he said and smiled, shaking her head. The events of the day were tragic but, in her long life, she’d learned that in times of loss, grief manifested itself in different ways in different people. Some drank hard spirits, some ate, some cried, some laughed, some prayed, some baked, some sewed, some fought, some sat quietly and pondered, and some did them all. But each way aided in relieving the pressure of the sadness that underlay each one of those actions.
* * *
The next morn, with his sister’s admonition to think of Alyson as a wife, and not a sibling, niggling at his conscience, and with the need to give the family a bit of privacy while they grieved and prepared for the lady Isobail’s burial, Reys asked his young bride to go bow hunting with him in the MacGregor wood.
They’d only just begun the hunt when they spotted a nice-sized buck at the edge of a clearing in the trees. He was just stepping behind Alyson’s right elbow to study her aim when he glanced down and saw a dark brownish-red stain on the back of the short brown tunic Branwenn had loaned her for this early morning hunting expedition. His eyes trailed down a bit further and he saw a streak of what he now knew to be blood on her lighter colored hose. He cleared his throat. “Alyson, my sweet?” he said softly.
“Sshhh! You’ll frighten the b
uck!” she whispered.
He reached around her. She startled, but allowed the contact when it was only her hands he touched as he quickly disengaged the arrow from the bow and brought them down to his side. “Turn around,” he said gently, next to her right ear. “I have something of grave import to speak with you about.”
Alyson’s brows lifted, but she did as he requested. “Yes?”
“Alyson...how many summers are you now?” He set the bow and arrow on the ground next to him.
Her brows drew together in confusion. “Know you not? But I thought ‘twas on our contract.” She shrugged. “As of this past May I am twelve summers.”
Reys studied her face, so lovely, yet still so youthful. If one gazed long enough, there could still be seen the traces of a child’s countenance in her features. “Have you...” How to say this? “Do you know...” No, not quite right.
“What? What have you to ask of me, Reys? Whatever it is, I shall do my best to give it, I swear. For you have been so kind to me these past moons.”
Reys scrubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw and, at a loss for words, finally ended up pointing to her hose.
Alyson, thoroughly confused and a bit worried now, quickly followed the direction his hand was pointing in and let out a bloodcurdling scream. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, I’m dying.” Tears welled in her eyes and she began to tremble. Had her brother’s beatings done this to her?
“No, Alyson, ‘tis naught like that.”
She looked up, into the gentle eyes of her savior, saying, “Are you sure? My brother—”
“No! Worry not on that score. ‘Tis no injury from his wicked hand.”
Alyson relaxed a bit, her heart beat slowing to a more natural meter. “What is wrong with me then?” she asked, unable to completely let go of the worry.