by Aileen Adams
“Aye, I believe I am. But I worry about ye. And Elspeth. Yer both taking a big chance hiding me—”
“I am yer wife. It is as much my duty to protect what is mine as it is for a man to protect what is his.” She heard a slight rustle of movement, a muffled grunt, and then his response.
“And is that what I am? I am yers? Yer property?”
She nodded slowly. “In the eyes of God and the Church, we belong to each other. Yes. Ye are mine.”
He said nothing for several moments. She heard nothing but his steady breathing, and once again, knew without a doubt that he looked at her, perhaps even studied her, as a we lad boy might a curious insect, perhaps trying to delve into her mind, to anticipate her thoughts and feelings.
“Are ye in pain?” she asked, hoping to prevent personal questions for the moment.
“Some, but not impossible to deal with.”
She heard some movement, rustling of clothing. “What are ye doing? Dinna move around,” she cautioned. “It took us some time to staunch the bleeding. Ye lost a lot of blood. Ye’ll be very weak for a while.”
He grunted.
Beitris sighed and extended her hand toward him, placing it on his chest. “Tomorrow, I will go visit my father, try to find more information on what is happening with that English magistrate.” She heard his intake of breath and sought to quickly reassure him. “No one will be suspicious of me visiting my father. Please, dinna worry.”
The following day, Beitris and Elspeth rode into town in their small wagon. She worried about leaving Alasdair in the cave alone, but Elspeth assured her that he was healing, that the broth she had given him had been mixed with a powder that would make him sleep, preventing any chance of him attempting to follow.
“I’ll leave ye with yer father and go to my house to make sure that no one has rummaged through it in my absence. Then I will visit the apothecary for some medicine and supplies—dinna worry, Beitris, I will tell him that ye’ve been feeling ill, with some vague aches and pains.”
Beitris smiled. She should know better than to question her friend. She always thought of everything. She felt now that the two of them behaved much like spies, trying to garner what information they could about the English seeking Scottish renegades. Elspeth didn’t say it, but Beitris also knew that she would pay a short visit to the sheriff if possible, now that they knew that he was on their side and that he wouldna betray Alasdair.
“I dinna want to stay too long at my father’s house,” Beitris said, frowning. Since the news of her betrothal to Alasdair, her father’s attitude toward her had changed somewhat. He had grown more distant, and once again she could only wonder if he was relieved to be rid of her and the burden of her care. Even so, she felt it was her duty to pay a visit when she came into the village.
“I understand,” Elspeth said. “Perhaps an hour, that’s all I need. Is that all right with ye?”
Beitris nodded. Further conversation was curtailed as Elspeth pulled the horse to a halt. “We are here, at yer father’s house. Do ye want me to help ye?”
Beitris shook her head, already climbing down from the wagon. She had long ago memorized the features of her childhood home. She hadn’t quite reached the door when she heard the slap of the reins and Elspeth urged the horse forward along with the creak of the wood wheels as the wagon continued down the path toward the village. Arms out in front of her, prepared to make contact with the solid wooden door of her former home, she paused a moment. Should she knock? She’d never had to knock before, but she didn’t live here anymore either. She knocked. After waiting several moments with no answer, she knocked again, louder this time. Still no one answer.
She frowned. At this time of day, her father was usually in the house, eating his midday meal. Perhaps he developed some new habits since she’d left home. She tentatively pulled the latch on the door, opened it a wee bit, and called him again.
“Father?”
A wet-sounding snore answered her. She pushed the door wider, stepped inside, head tilted at an angle as she caught the scent of ale. A strong scent. More like a stench.
“Father?”
She stepped inside and closed the door, none too softly, immediately annoyed and disappointed in her father. He’d been drinking much too frequently before she had left, and now it seemed he had taken to drinking even earlier in the day. To be fast asleep, likely drunk in his chair in the middle of the day? Disappointing.
“Father!” she said again, stamping her foot against the floorboards. She heard the creak of his chair at the small table in the kitchen area, followed by a loud thud. She quickly moved toward the table because it sounded as if her father had fallen off his chair.
“Beitris,” Bruce Boyd scolded, grunting as he clambered from the floor, righted his chair, and took a step toward her. “What’s the meaning of ye just barging in without announcing yerself?”
Beitris frowned deeper, holding her ground. She felt her father’s sour breath on her face, grimaced, and looked at him, hoping that he saw disappointment in her gaze.
“I did, Father, several times in fact. What is happening here? Why are ye drinking in the middle of the day?”
“What difference does it make to ye, daughter?” he responded belligerently, his words slurring slightly. “And I haven’t been drinking that much. Dinna nag me.”
“I can smell the ale in the house, and it is heavy on yer breath too, along with the stench of yer clothes. Have ye not been taking good care of yerself?”
She didn’t know what to think. This was a side of her father she rarely experienced. He smelled awful, his clothes rank with stale sweat, and the small house in which they lived felt stuffy. A sneeze began to tickle her nose. So, it was dusty as well. Was he upset that she had left? It was his decision to marry her off, not hers. For a few moments, regret flooded her senses as she stood still, listening to her father stumble around the small table before once again sinking into his chair with a groan. Likely nursing a headache, and it served him right.
“Can I make ye some tea? Something to settle yer stomach and—”
“Ye know I dinna need ye to make me some tea,” he grumbled. “What are ye doing here anyway?”
A sting of hurt jabbed at her. “I came to the village to visit with ye, Father. Why else would I come?”
“How would I know?” he muttered.
Something slid on the table, a wooden mug slammed down, and then she heard the sound of liquid poured into his mug. “Father, ye’ve had enough, dinna ye think?”
Sudden movement and the chair falling backward startled her. She took a step back, eyes wide.
“How dare ye come in here and start questioning me, telling me what to do! Why dinna ye go back to that rebel of a husband of yers?”
Before Beitris could answer, her father turned away from her.
“Maybe it would just be best if something happened to him, if...it did, the land would revert back to me.”
Beitris couldna believe what she heard. “Father, how could ye say such a thing! Yer the one who betrothed me to him!”
“Well, maybe I’ve had a change of heart.”
Beitris stilled. “What do ye mean?”
“The English magistrate is paying good coin for a reward—”
“Father, he’s my husband!” Beitris gasped.
“In name only,” he mumbled. “Unless ye’ve bedded the rogue and are carrying his ill-gotten seed.” He paused. “Are ye?”
Beitris stood stunned, mouth agape. What had gotten into her father? He was the one who had been responsible for her marriage to Alasdair Macintyre! “I dinna understand yer change of heart. Yer the one who arranged the marriage with his father! Are ye telling me that ye betrothed me to someone ye didn’t trust or even like?”
Her father offered a laugh, a rumbly, drunken laugh that erupted from deep in his chest and ended in a cough.
“I dinna have to like yer husband, Beitris. But I am having second thoughts… not about ye marrying,
because God knows, it’s about time. Still, I had to give so much away to bribe—”
Beitris clapped a hand over her mouth before she uttered words that she might regret. Pain stabbed at her heart at her father’s callous words, and though tears burned in her eyes, she desperately blinked them back. How could he say such things to her? How could he… Could her own father be so desperate to be rid of her that he would say such a thing?
She swallowed, stiffened her spine, and followed her father’s not so steady movements through the small room toward his chair by the fireplace. Another creak as he sat down with a groan.
“Ye know how things are, Beitris. I can’t take care of ye forever. I’m going to die someday and then who’s going to take care of ye? What I did was for yer own good.”
She didn’t believe him for a moment. It was his comment about the dowry that convinced her that he had not betrothed her to Alasdair for her own benefit, but to get rid of her. That thought was followed closely by another, especially as she recalled his comment about the coin offered by the English magistrate. Could he have been the one to betray Alasdair?
“Father, I’m going to ask ye just once. Was it ye who told the English magistrate where to find Alasdair?”
Her father offered another sloppy cough, his words further slurred as he replied in a low, rumbling voice. “And if it was? Not saying that it was, mind ye, but if it was, I dinna believe ye would much care, would ye? Why, if he was out of the way, ye could live there with Elspeth and—”
Without a word, Beitris turned and made her way to the door. The tears she had tried so hard to force back blurred even the vague shadows of gray and black in front of her. As she reached forward and felt for the door, she turned her head over her shoulder, facing the fireplace and her father. “If ye wanted to be rid of me, ye could’ve sent me to live there without marrying me to Alasdair Macintyre!”
“Aye, daughter, I could have,” he mumbled in agreement.
He sounded half asleep, so drunk that he probably wouldn’t remember any of this conversation. Still, she had to know. “So why did ye betroth me to Alasdair? Why insist that I marry him? Ultimately, what have ye gained from this?”
He didn’t answer. A snore was her only response. She shook her head, opened the door, and stepped outside. She slowly made her way from the house to the cart path, putting the sun to the right side of her face as she slowly walked along it. She walked a short distance from the house, far enough so that she knew if her father did wake up and peer out the window, he wouldna see her sitting on the fallen log lying close to the side of the road, waiting for Elspeth to come fetch her. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she recalled her father’s words. She had not gotten a straight answer from him, but deep in her heart, she realized what her father had done.
17
Alasdair woke to the sound of whispering. He opened his eyes, aware that the intense pain that had racked his body earlier had diminished somewhat. He tried shifting his body position, carefully and slowly, pleased that he was able to do so without causing a sharp jolt of pain that had nearly taken his breath away the last time he had tried. He turned his head, saw a small fire burning in the middle of the cave, and beyond that, Elspeth and Beitris sitting side by side, their backs to him.
“Ye sure?”
Beitris nodded in response to Elspeth’s question. Sure of what?
“My father was drunk. Otherwise I dinna think he would have said anything.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid that if it’s true, and Alasdair finds out, he may kill him.”
Beitris had gone to see her father? When? Then he vaguely recalled her telling him that she would visit him in the village… Was it this morning or yesterday? If it was this morning, he must’ve fallen asleep, and for quite a while, if she and Elspeth had traveled all the way to the village and back again. A headache throbbed behind his eyes, an unusual headache, one that left him feeling groggy, his mouth dry, and his stomach feeling a bit queasy. He inhaled slowly, then exhaled, hoping to clear his head. He was about to speak to Beitris when her next words prompted him to wait.
“The promise of the coin the English magistrate promised… too hard to resist.”
Alasdair frowned, felt his stomach clench; his heart began to race. Was Beitris involved? Had she taken a bribe, wishing to be rid of him? She and her father? He tried to sit up, to rail against the knowledge, to demand an explanation, but all he managed to do was lift his head and shoulders up off of the floor of the cave before he stifled a groan.
“Alasdair!” Beitris gasped, quickly turning and making her way toward him on hands and knees.
She knelt down beside him, extending her hand toward him. He roughly slapped it away. She frowned, a look of dismay on her features.
Elspeth soon joined her.
“Alasdair! What do ye think yer doing?” Elspeth demanded. “She wasn’t going to hurt ye, she was just trying to make ye lie still—”
“I heard ye talking just now,” he said, looking into Beitris’s face. She looked innocent enough, didn’t she? “Ye and yer father are planning to betray me for English coin?”
“What?” Beitris said, her face turned toward his, half lit by the firelight, the other half deep in shadow. She shook her head. “What do ye mean?”
A myriad of emotions rushed through Alasdair’s head, least of all a sense of what a fool he had been to place his trust in her. He believed everything she had said as she lay her head on his shoulder earlier. Yesterday?
His hope now squashed, he looked toward Elspeth, at the expression of surprise she wore, her mouth open, her eyes wide.
“Alasdair, what are ye… Och! Beitris.” She turned back to him, shaking her head. “Alasdair, yer wrong… ye misunderstood—”
Alasdair plunged on, ignoring Elspeth. “Why, Beitris? What have I not given ye? What have I not provided for ye? Have I not been patient enough?” He tried to tamp down his sudden anger and intense disappointment. He should’ve known better.
It was as Elspeth had said earlier. For want of a few coins…
“Alasdair Macintyre! Ye have so wee trust in me? So wee belief in me? To accuse me of such a horrible thing?” Beitris snapped at him, a deep frown marring her brow.
He stared up at her. She was angry with him? Nay, it was the other way around. “I heard ye and Elspeth talking about that English magistrate—”
“Well, ye certainly couldn’t have heard all of it, or ye would never have accused me of such a thing!”
“It’s true, Alasdair,” Elspeth joined in.
He closed his eyes and sighed deeply as regret twisted at his insides.
“Ye listen to me,” Beitris said firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I have not betrayed ye. I would never!” She took a deep breath. “I went to see my father today while Elspeth went to the apothecary to purchase herbs and tinctures to aid in yer wound healing, and also hoping to learn more about the English magistrate.”
Alasdair stared up at his wife, a frown pulling at his scarred forehead. He said nothing, thinking that he would make his judgment after she told her story. He owed her that much at least.
“I went to visit with my father, to see if I could learn more about the visit he paid us the other day with the sheriff and the English magistrate. My father was drunk. I fear he has been drinking more, not taking care of himself, and he told me… I dinna think he realized what he was saying, but he intimated that he regretted betrothing me to ye—” She held up a hand to halt any response. “Not for my sake,” she said, her voice tinged with bitterness and heartache. “Only because of the dowry. He mumbled something about… if ye were gone, he would have the land and this house back.”
“Bastard,” Elspeth muttered under her breath.
Alasdair glanced up at Elspeth as she turned to her friend.
“I’m sorry, Beitris, but that was a horribly cruel thing for yer father to say. Especially to yer face.”
“I agree,” Beitris said, her voice trembling with emotion.
“First to hear, to realize what my father truly thinks of me, that I am nothing more than a burden to be taken advantage of, and now to hear my husband leap to the worst conclusion, to judge me in much the same way, without even giving me a chance to explain or defend myself…” She turned her face from him.
“Beitris,” Alasdair said. “I heard what I heard. I cannot apologize for that. But I misunderstood yer meaning, lass, and I misunderstood the situation, and that I can apologize for, and I shall.”
Her eyes shimmered with tears, and then one slipped from beneath her eyelid and dropped down her cheek. Though it pained him to do so, he lifted a hand and brushed the tear away with his thumb. “I am sorry.”
He turned to Elspeth and noted, merely by her lifted chin and frown, that she wouldna be so easy to mollify either. At the moment, however, he was more concerned about Beitris. And what her father might or might not have done.
“Did he tell ye that he took coin from the English magistrate to betray me?”
Beitris heaved a sigh, glanced at Elspeth, and then shook her head. “No.” She said nothing for a moment and then offered a small shrug. “As I said, my father was drunk. I dinna even think he realized what he was saying.”
Beitris didn’t want to believe that her father would do such a thing; Alasdair understood that. He also sensed that despite her father’s actions and his behavior toward her, that she loved him. Or perhaps more aptly, that she felt obligated to him for providing a roof over her head and sustenance for her all these years. The thought prompted a surge of anger within him, bringing with it a flush of heat and a desire to confront the man himself. Beitris never asked for anything. She hadn’t been a burden to him, and he didn’t think that she had been a burden to her father. She did everything a sighted woman did. Could a father really be so cruel and heartless to his own daughter?