by Seonaid
“And what are you doing here, in my chamber, in the middle of the night?”
“I’ve sent Padraig to the cottage with the healers. Couldna’ sleep with them in my chamber,” he groused.
“And now that it’s empty, you come to keep me from sleep.”
“Aye,” he stretched back, a whole body yawn.
She threw up her hands, only to scramble and grab the blankets she’d let go of. “Is the lad with them?”
“Aye, and I hope his mother is, too.”
“And the horse?”
“Surrounded by guards, though they’re supposed to be hiding in hopes she’ll go for the beast.”
“A sound plan.”
“Ho!” he shouted, “she’s agreeing with me!” He looked to the ceiling, as Alissa tried to quiet him. “Did you hear that, Lord? She’s agreeing with something I did.”
“Shush!” She was on her knees, waving her hand at him. “Quiet! I’ve not saved my innocence for you to tarnish by being here!”
Startled, he stilled, the whole chamber eerily silent. “I’d not thought.”
She sat back down. “More fool you.” And looked away again rather than fret over how worn down he seemed. “Ya’ need your sleep. Go to bed.”
“I canna’ sleep.”
“Don’t be daft. You look about ready to keel over.”
“I want to share your bed.”
Alissa scuttled to the far side, pulling the blankets above her chin. “Oh no, you don’t.”
“Och, I’ve made a mess of this.” He rose, all rough six feet of him. “Not like that…well, aye, like that, but not to ruin you. I want you to stay here with me, by my side, running this keep like your ma did.”
“As your mistress?” she gasped.
“No! Woman, do you not ken what I’m askin’? I want you to wife.” He stalked away, toward the door. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Am I the only one who sees what we have between us?”
And he stalked out, not checking to see if anyone saw. Not giving her a moment to absorb his words.
I want you to wife.
Oh, Lord, no, he was not the only one to see what was between them.
Alissa collapsed back on the bed. And here she’d gone and promised herself.
The man had a poor sense of timing.
CHAPTER 17 ~ CONCESSION
Seonaid finished her exercises to the gray-tinged sky, prelude to dawn. She was late, preferred to be at prayer by this time, but there was no hope for it. The night had been long and full, even after her escape from Eriboll. Images of Deian calling to her, running across the courtyard, thwarted rest. Her heart ached, broken in two pieces, her thoughts in turmoil.
Just over her shoulder the rise in land led to a view of Eriboll Keep. To stay or to go? She folded down to her knees, hands raised before her chest, hands pressed together.
No matter the gravity of life, gratitude must come first. A meager list this morning, feeling small and alone, with little to no hope. Faith a distant spark, but enough to believe things would get better. Had to. If she could just be thankful for something.
Anything.
Deian was alive and well and cared for. Padraig, though sore—she would do penance later—would live.
And she was thankful her secrets were out. Och, awful, horrible secrets twisting her inners, squeezing out bitter, hostile anger. The irony of the release, of everyone knowing, that it stripped her of dreams, stole her son at the same time it purged its weight. Like a candle lit in a cave, prelude to a bright fire, she felt a brightness touching her heart.
Alone, that’s what those secrets made her. So alone she couldn’t even enjoy her son, left his care to others, rather than taint him with the anger of all that was hidden. Deian would be free of that now. He would have a new life, a better life, without any stain to ruin him.
And Padraig would find a sweet, kind wife. A wife who would always see his kindness, consideration, strength. Not like her, throwing it back at him as if it held no value.
Because he was valuable, a prize to any woman.
“Thank you for Padraig,” she said aloud, for he had changed her in these days, with the secret released from its stranglehold. “Thank you for his patience, his laughter, his love. Reward him, please, for being so good to me.”
“The best reward would be you.”
She spun around to see him there, holding Peregrine’s reins. She wanted to run to him, to wrap her arms around him, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t. He’d brought her the means of escape.
He ripped her heart out by doing so.
“You should be abed,” she chastised. He looked to the heavens, as if he believed in God, would look to God for answers. She knew better.
“Come with me.” He held out his hand.
That he would trust her, after what she’d done, kept her from getting up from where she knelt.
“I don’t deserve you.” Honesty, she was learning, offered more comfort than lies. Even when it robbed you of those you loved.
“Don’t you? And how are you to know? Maybe your God wants you in my life to offer an introduction. We’ve yet to meet, Him and I.”
How did he do that? Make her laugh when life was at its lowest ebb.
She rose. “Do you think that’s His plan? To stick you with me to torture you for your blasphemy?”
He nodded. She was pleased to see him flinch when she moved closer. Good man, to be prepared, though she wouldn’t hurt him, owed him penance for what she’d done.
Still, she wasn’t sure what she moved nearer for. Probably just to be closer, to feel the heat of him, even from a distance. To see how he fared. Could he really stand there, just like that?
“If you leave Peregrine with me, how are you planning to get back to the keep?”
“You’ll get me there.”
“And if I decide not to?”
“The wolves will get me?”
She stayed her approach, remaining an arm’s reach away. “I don’t know what to do, Padraig. That’s where I was going with my prayers, to ask for help.”
“And I’m here. The answer to those prayers.” He smiled, shifted Peregrine’s muzzle so it protected his injured shoulder.
“Smart man.” She nodded, brightness, happiness welling inside, even when she knew she should dampen it. Nothing was light and bright; there were too many obstacles.
“Deian and I need you, Seonaid.” He stepped forward now. “More than any slaying by gossips.” He reached out, for her to take his hand. “We were made to fight battles, Deian, too. Let’s fight them together. We’re strong enough, never doubt that.”
She couldn’t take his hand, turned away from it. “I don’t know, Padraig. It’s easy to imagine how life should be, could be, but you don’t know how it’s been. Even with all my secrets hidden inside, people looked and whispered and frowned at me.”
“Seonaid, you are beautiful and proud and stand your ground. Of course people are going to wag their fingers and whisper. They’re jealous.”
“And now it will be pity.”
“Aye.” He didn’t deny it. “And if you wander off all by yourself, giving up your heart, you will deserve that pity.” He let his hand drop. “So show them you don’t need their condescension. Show them that you have love in your heart for your lad, for your man. Show them the joy you can feel, instead of that deep well of pain. It’s gone now, Seonaid. It’s the past. Let us be your tomorrow.”
So easily said, promised, but he didn’t know.
“Did you really only bring the one mount?”
He looked back over his shoulder, at the round top of the hill, before facing her, as if all the pain of his wound, of her life, rested on his shoulders. She didn’t want him burdened with who she was.
“No.” He sighed. “I’ve Tarvos with me.”
“Do you need help mounting?”
Padraig snorted, lifted one side of his mouth, a little half moon of a smile. “Oh, I’d love your help to mount.” And she knew he didn’t
mean the horse, but refused to let him know that.
“If I remember correctly, there’s a large boulder that can help you.”
“Aye,” he nodded. “And it’s sitting right on your shoulder.”
That hurt, but he deserved his snipe.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Padraig, but somehow, I will get word to you.”
“And Deian?”
“I will meet with him, try to help him understand. I know that now, that he needs that.”
“He needs more than that.”
“He needs what is best for him,” she countered.
At an impasse, they stood, each stubborn in their ways. Padraig relented first. “Here.” He handed over Peregrine’s reins.
“Thank you.” Her last obstacle, she took them.
“Did you mean that, what you said in your prayers, about being grateful for me?”
With all they’d been through, the travels, the battles, the passions, how could he ask such a thing?
Lips thinned with impatience, he said, “You asked God to reward me.”
Of course she did. He was one of the best parts of her life, but she dared not speak, less a torrent of sorrow escape. She dipped her head.
“I know what I want that reward to be,” he told her and walked away.
vvvvvv
Padraig made it back to the stone cottage where he found Jasmine surrounded with bowls and herbs. After a sharp look to see who entered, she returned to her work. Deian hurtled from the window seat and grabbed both his legs in a bear’s hug.
“You said you wouldn’t leave.”
Padraig untangled the young boy, knelt down, took him by the shoulders. “Only to do chores. You were sleeping and needed to be after last night. You did good, lad, getting Peregrine here.”
Deian leaned into him. “I would have helped with the chores.”
“Aye, and you will this afternoon.” He tousled the boys hair and rose.
Deian, unlike the self-assured lad he was two days ago, hovered close, tugged at Padraig’s tunic. “I canna’ this afternoon. Lady Alissa is writing an ode and wants my help.”
“She wants your help with an ode?” Deian nodded. “Well, then, I believe her rank is higher than mine. But try to be back by feeding time. The horses are used to you, settle best when you’re there talking to them.”
“I’ll be here!” His eager nod was tinged by desperation.
“I’ll not go anywhere.” Padraig reiterated. The boy’s fear of abandonment was palpable.
He didn’t dare tell him Seonaid would be there, this very evening. Too large a secret for a small boy to hold. It would be even worse if she came in secret, did not show herself to him.
“Jasmine,” Padraig looked about the small croft. “Where’s Angelica?”
“Asleep in the loft.” The girl didn’t look at him, but neither did she cringe in fear. This was good. “I’ll change your bandages before I go out to the people.” She spoke to her herbs.
“The wound’s not troubling me.” That earned him a quick scowl.
Oh, aye, it hurt, ached, but nothing compared to days past or the night before, when Angus and Seonaid did their damage.
“They do it to keep it clean.” Deian bounced around him. “They told me, if I ever get a wound like yours, I have to wash it with clean water gathered far from where the animals drink.”
“Do they now?”
“They do, don’t you, Jasmine?” He rushed over to the table, toppling a small jar the girl quickly grabbed.
“You’re in luck,” she chastised. “That was capped.”
Deian pushed away. The poor lad, caught between too much energy and too little space. “Come on, you, let’s get you up to the keep and see what Lady Allisa wants with you.”
“To write an ode!”
“Aye, well, I’ve yet to see you as a poet.”
“What’s a poet?” Deain asked, putting his hand in Padraig’s.
“A poet is a person who writes odes,” he explained.
“What do you do with an ode?”
“You sing it. To tell a story for all to hear,” Padraig explained.
“Is there an ode about the faerie Seonaidh? The one my ma is named after?”
Padraig stopped, looking down at the earnest little face. “Aye, I’m sure there is. You’d best ask Lady Alissa, she may know.”
Brow furrowed, Deian whispered. “You’d tell me if you saw my mama?”
“We’ll watch for your ma together, Deian.” Padraig squeezed his hand. “She wouldn’t have run it if weren’t for the guards.”
“You called me Deian.”
Padraig tightened his lips. He had forgotten to use the other name. “Eban, then.” Foolish game she played.
“My mama ran when I got there.”
Such a mess, this. “She wasn’t running from you, lad,” Padraig promised. “You mean the world to her, you do.”
“Then why hasn’t she come for me?”
“I think she did, Deian…I mean, Eban. Last night, only the guards frightened her.”
“You wouldn’t let the guards hurt her.” Deian bobbed his head. “She should know that.” And he let go of Padraig to run ahead, explore nooks and crannies and vendors’ wares, as they headed for the keep.
The hall was quiet when they arrived, except for the plink of an instrument from the gallery above.
“That’s Lady Allisa!” Deian chirped, excited as a nesting bird when a worm is brought.
“A bit early for the ode writing.”
“She won’t mind,” Deian cajoled. “I know she won’t. She will have missed me ’cause I protect her at night.”
“Do you now. Well, then.” Padraig nodded toward the stairs. “Run along, but be sure to bow and ask her permission to sit with her. If she’s busy, you come find me.” He had to call out the last words, as Deian had run across the wide hall and was halfway to the stairs by the time he finished.
There was a loud thrum of what he suspected was a harp, and the scrape of bench or chair being pushed back.
“Eban!” Lady Alissa called out. He saw her running along the balcony, heard the slap of Eban’s shoes as he ran to meet her.
The boy was breathless by the time they met. “I’m early, is that all right? Can we work on the poem? Padraig said an ode is a poem.”
He wished it didn’t, but Seonaid’s plan had merit. Lady Alissa would care for the boy as if he were her own.
Time to stop thinking. He went to find Angus. In the exercise yard, no doubt. Injury or no, Padraig had been abed for days. He needed to do something to rebuild his strength.
He found The Reah by the stables, yelling at a stable hand. “What do you mean, falling asleep? I don’ care if you’ve been awake all night or for the next five nights. You canna’ be fallin’ asleep when the animals need tending!”
“Reah,” one of his guards interrupted.
“Don’t ‘Reah’ me,” Angus said gruffly, but he did stop chewing on the poor lad and stomped off.
“Oye!” Padraid shouted.
Angus glared at him. “Your fault. You brought all this chaos on us, so no one’s sleeping and things aren’t getting done and people are thinking of runnin’ off.”
Somehow, Padraig didn’t think he was referring to Seonaid. “So who’s made you surly as a thwarted troll?”
Angus cut a glance at Padraig’s wounded arm. Padraig stepped back.
Disgusted, Angus snarled. “What do you want?”
“Exercise, man, work out the kinks of too much laying about.”
Angus’ smile might have been a snarl. “You want to get fit, do ya now?” He walked around Padraig. “Well, I’ve just the way.” He gestured for his guard to move in. “Tie me arm behind me back, Padraig MacKay has just challenged me to a fight.”
CHAPTER 18 ~ THE MEETING
Bruises and cuts did nothing to stop the pain of his heart.
Angus Reah, The Reah, looked down the long balcony. Lady Alissa sat at the harp
, her head bent over young Eban, seated on a bench beside her. Both too deep in their conversation to notice him, dripping blood on the floor, barely holding the sword in his hand.
Och, he didn’t want to scare them, didn’t mean to bring the sword into the keep. Hardly knew it was in his hand, ready to take down anyone, everyone.
He swallowed a groan as he raised his elbow high enough to slide the weapon into its scabbard. He wasn’t in his right mind. Distracted, he was, thoughts on something, someone, rather than the moment.
Thank God he hadn’t killed Padraig, though he probably set back his mending more than he should have. The minute he’d pulled his sword free, his friend called feign knights. Truce. “We’re having a friendly battle here, Angus. Whatever you’re fightin’, it’s not me.” And he’d limped off the field.
Angus the brute. Aye, a good thing on a battlefield, but not in his home, to his guests.
It was her fault.
He willed anger to suppress yearning, to douse the fierce ache billowing for release. He hadn’t a clue how he kept silent, but he did.
Alissa was to marry a Macleod. He hadn’t even bothered to see which one. It didn’t matter. She was lost to him, to the Reahs. The people would blame him forever. She would be gone, probably never to return. It didn’t help that he liked them all, the Macleods. Good men.
Damn them!
And there she sat, so earnest and focused on the lad, as if he were her own kinder. She’d be a wonderful mother, a good and strong helpmate.
It was no matter to him.
Yet here he was, drawn by the plucking of the harp, the sweet pitch of her voice. Powerless to do anything, but climb the stairs to join her. By the time he pulled his exhausted self halfway down the gallery, she wasn’t playing any more.
He should go back to his chamber, have his page patch him up, dress him in something that wasn’t caked in blood and grime. He turned around, released the hilt of his sword. He’d had it in a death grip, as if it kept him upright. Too tired, too drained to do anything but feel it slip, land with a clunk and a clang on the boards of the floor.
“Angus?” Alissa called, but he couldn’t answer, it took too much out of him just to crouch down and get his sword, chastising himself as he did so. Obviously, he hadn’t slipped it into its scabbard at all.