“No! I won't be sent away."
Iain opened his mouth to order her from the chamber, but Black Jack spoke first. “Come here, then, and sit beside me."
Moireach mixed the poultice and applied it, front and back. Then she began binding the wounds.
“Calm yerself, Brie,” Black Jack said, aware his daughter-in-law was as terrorized as a fledgling warrior in the midst of his first battle. “I amna’ goin’ to die. What a stupendous travesty it would be for Him to call His most flamboyant sinner home on All Saints’ Day."
“You're not a sinner."
“Done,” Moireach said. “Up wi’ ye, Lady Brigette. Let's ease him back to the pillow, Iain.” Between the two of them, they gently lowered the earl. “I'll finish undressin’ him. Put yer wife to bed and then see to the other matter."
Iain led his stunned wife out and escorted her to their own chamber. He helped her change into a nightshift and put her to bed. Pausing for a moment, Iain brushed a few strands of hair off her forehead and planted a light kiss there. When he tried to draw back, Brigette clutched his hand.
“Oh,” she cried in anguish.
“'Are ye ill, hinny?"
“I'm sick with dread."
“There's nothin’ to fear.” Iain struggled to maintain control of his own rioting emotions. “Moireach said Black Jack would be up and aboot in nae time at all."
“Are you certain?” Brigette wanted desperately to believe him. “It's the same as when Papa—” She broke off, unable to continue.
“Hush.” Iain sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her cheek. “I'm verra sorry. I'd forgotten aboot yer father. Close yer eyes and try to sleep while I sit wi’ Black Jack.” When she obeyed, he pecked her cheek, then stood and left the chamber.
“He's restin’ but awake,” Moireach said when Iain and Father Kaplan entered the earl's chamber. “There's a sleepin’ draft mixed wi’ wine on the table. Give it to him when yer finished."
Perching on the edge of the bed, Father Kaplan took the earl's hands in his. Iain started to slip away, but Black Jack stopped him. “Dinna leave, son."
Puzzled, Iain turned back. “I'll be out—"
“No!” Black Jack ordered in a surprisingly strong voice. “It's fittin’ the next Earl of Dunridge learns how the feud wi’ the Menzies clan began."
15
“Do ye hurt?"
“A mite."
“Will ye die?"
“No’ today."
“Tomorrow?"
“I dinna ken.” Black Jack smiled at Glenda, standing solemnly beside his bed.
“May I go wi’ ye?” she asked, a glimmer of hope leaping into her large blue eyes.
“Wi’ me?” he echoed. “Dyin’ is a thin’ each mon must do alone. Ye ken?"
“No.” Blue eyes filled with tears.
“Set yerself right here.” Black Jack patted the edge of the bed, then winked at her. “I see ye've brought Lady Autumn to visit."
“Yes.” Glenda's expression was glum.
“Do ye love me, hinny?"
“Yes."
“And do ye trust me?"
“What's that?” she asked.
“Trust is,” Black Jack explained, “when ye believe what a person tells ye."
“I trust ye."
“Good! I've been seriously wounded,” he told her, “but I hope to be up and aboot in a few days. But I'm an old mon who's lived his life to the fullest. If I dinna recover and pass over to the other side, I'll wait for ye there. When yer life is over, we'll go walkin’ in God's garden forever. Ye ken?"
Glenda nodded. “I'll miss ye if ye go away."
“Ye may be unable to see me, but I'll always be here,” Black Jack said, placing his hand over her heart.
The door opened, admitting Brigette, who smiled at them in greeting. “No, Sly!” The fox whizzed past her. He raced to the bed and leaped at Glenda, who leaned over to let him lick her face.
“Dinna bother evictin’ him,” Black Jack said, then chided his granddaughter. “And dinna let the beastie lick yer face. People kiss people and beasts kiss beasts."
“Lady Brie lets Sly kiss her face,” Glenda returned.
Ignoring the earl's pointed stare, Brigette settled herself in the chair beside the bed, then asked, “How are you feeling today?"
“Much better,” he lied, “especially since my two favorite ladies have come visitin'. And how are ye feelin'?"
“Much better, now that I've come visiting my favorite father-in-law,” she quipped, then grinned puckishly.
Black Jack chuckled. “Ye'd have made a fine diplomat."
“Do you really think so?"
Before the earl could reply in the negative, Glenda's voice rose in anger. “Sly!"
The fox had snatched Lady Autumn and, in a whirl of copper fur, darted from the chamber. Glenda dashed after him, but stopped abruptly at the threshold and ran back to the earl's side. “Sly has a fondness for Autumn,” she told him. “I'm glad ye arena’ goin’ to die today. I'd be lonesome wi'out ye.” She kissed his unshaved cheek, then raced after Lady Autumn's abductor.
Black Jack and Brigette looked at each other and laughed. “I'm also glad you're not seriously wounded,” she added her sentiments to Glenda's. “I'd miss you too."
The earl's forehead creased in a frown that vanished almost instantly. “I'm plannin’ to hold my grandson,” he said. “Do ye doubt it?"
“No.” Brigette shook her head, then smiled to mask the uneasy feeling that all was not well.
A week passed. The earl was not up and about as he had promised; instead, he seemed to have weakened. Brigette secretly doubted he had the strength to hold a baby, but confused by Iain's optimism, she remained silent on the subject.
Brigette passed long, pleasurable hours in the earl's company. He delighted in seeing the baby's clothing take shape beneath her fingers, even as the babe took shape within her belly. As she sewed, Brigette spoke of inconsequential matters, which seemed to soothe him. Other times, Black Jack reminisced about his younger days with Iain's mother. Whenever Brigette's stomach shifted or she gasped at a sudden kick, the earl's expression became radiant.
“Percy,” Brigette cried when the door opened one day to admit Iain and his brother.
“By God, yer bloomin'!” Percy grinned, more than a little surprised by her size. “Wee Glenda was correct. Ye do look like ye swallowed somethin’ whole."
“Why, thank you, Percy,” she returned drily. “I've missed your sweet, flattering ways."
“Would ye leave us, Brie?” Black Jack spoke. “I want to speak privately wi’ my sons."
Iain was instantly at her side to help her rise, then escorted her to the door. Pausing outside the chamber, Brigette leaned against the door and frowned.
All is not as it should be, she thought for the hundredth time. Why would Percy leave Edinburgh if Black Jack is in no danger? It's almost as if he'd been called home for ... No! It could not be! Brigette argued with herself. Iain would not hide such a thing from me. But what other reason could Percy have for returning?
Brigette's heart was as heavy as her ungainly body as she walked downstairs to the great hall, where she thought Glenda and Sly would be. The fox was curled up in front of the hearth, but the child was nowhere to be seen.
Thump! Thump! Thump! Sly's tail wagged as Brigette eased herself into a chair. At his mistress's beckoning gesture, the fox sat beside her, and when she began stroking the silken fur beneath his muzzle, Sly sighed, satisfied with life.
“I see ye've finally emerged from yer chamber.” Antonia stood beside her.
“I was with the earl.” Brigette glanced at the blonde, adding, “Percy's home."
“I've seen him. I dinna ken why yer wastin’ yer time sittin’ wi’ a dyin’ old mon."
“He's not dying,” Brigette cried angrily. She tried to leap to her feet to confront her sister-in-law, but was unable to propel her ponderous body up. “And don't call him an old man."
“Ye'll be co
untess when he's gone,” Antonia countered. “Ye should be prayin’ for his death."
“I could never wish for anyone's death. Not even yours."
Antonia stalked away in a huff. Tears of frustration and grief threatened to spill from Brigette's eyes. Struggling to control her emotions was a losing battle, and fat teardrops slid down her cheeks.
“What's this?” Iain asked, squatting beside the chair.
“I—I had an argument with Antonia, and when I tried to stand, I couldn't get up. It was humiliating."
Iain chuckled.
“Percy's not home for—for...” Brigette searched his eyes for the truth. “Black Jack will recover, won't he?"
“Of course.” Iain gently brushed her tears away. “I've said as much. Dinna ye trust me?"
“I do,” she replied without hesitation. Knowing he lied, Iain felt his heart sink to his stomach.
Brigette sat between her husband and brother-in-law at the high table and pushed her food around on her plate. Thoughts of Black Jack dying troubled her, especially since Percy's homecoming. In fact, the earl was failing rapidly.
“Ye arena’ eatin’ much,” Iain observed.
“I'm not hungry."
“What's troublin’ ye?"
“If you must know”—Brigette turned on him, her expression long-suffering—“the skin across my belly itches horribly. It's unspeakable torture and I dare not scratch here."
“What misery to be born a woman,” Percy quipped, feigning sympathy.
Brigette cast her brother-in-law an unamused look, then turned back to Iain. “I believe I'll retire to scratch in peace. Help me up?"
As she left the hall, Brigette gestured Spring to stay where she was. After all, she thought sourly, I've been unable to squeeze into my beautiful gowns for months. I look more like a scullery maid than a countess. And a fat scullery maid at that!
In her chamber, Brigette pulled the brocaded, tentlike shift over her head, then pushed the straps of her chemise down and let the garment fall to the floor.
Vigorously rubbing her distended stomach gave Brigette no relief. She sat down and massaged herself with Moireach's lotion; it soothed her tormenting itch.
Relieved, Brigette pulled a nightshift over her head, then tied the ribbons running from its neckline to navel. After donning her robe, she left her chamber to visit Black Jack.
Moireach was on her way out of the earl's chamber. She carried his untouched supper tray. “He isna’ hungry,” the housekeeper grumbled.
“That's not a good sign."
“Perhaps,” Moireach returned, “he's followin’ yer example. Ye didna’ eat much tonight either."
Ignoring the admonition, Brigette brushed past her into the earl's chamber. His eyes were closed and he lay motionless. Without a word, Brigette sat in the chair beside his bed.
“Is that ye, Brie?"
“Yes. How are you feeling?” Brigette noted the glaze in his eyes.
“I've seen better days."
Brigette rose slowly from the chair and eased herself onto the edge of the bed. She placed her palm on Black Jack's forehead and decided he felt warm. Gathering his hands in hers, Brigette hesitated and then asked, “You—you're not going to recover, are you?"
Only a dead man would have failed to recognize her anguish. Black Jack was silent for a long moment. “No, lassie,” he admitted finally. “I amna’ goin’ to recover."
Brigette swallowed painfully, fighting back her tears. “Why didn't Iain tell me?” Her voice was a hurt, bewildered whisper.
“It was by my order he held his peace,” Black Jack told her. “I didna’ want anyone, especially Glenda and ye, mournin’ before I was gone."
“I've come to love you like a father.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Whatever will I do without you?"
“The one who passes on travels the high road,” Black Jack said, “but the ones remainin’ behind must walk in this vale of tears called life.... And I've come to love ye like the daughter I never had. Do ye recall yer first day at Dunridge? I asked Iain if ye were simple."
Brigette smiled wryly. “And I called you ‘a blustering old man.'” The dying earl and the future countess chuckled at the memory.
The door opened silently. Iain entered, but stood back in the shadows, reluctant to intrude on their camaraderie.
“My only regret,” Black Jack confessed, “isna’ bein’ here when my grandson arrives."
“But he's already arrived.” Brigette shrugged off her robe and untied the nightshift's ribbons from beneath her bosom to below her great mound of a belly. Parting the sides, she revealed her distended stomach.
“Your grandson is here,” she said, guiding the earl's hands there.
At first Black Jack felt nothing. Then came a fluttering, a gentle shifting from within. Suddenly, the babe kicked savagely.
“Oh,” Brigette gasped.
An expression of sublime happiness appeared on Black Jack's face. “The lad's active.” Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the wild thudding inside his daughter-in-law's stomach.
A hand touched Brigette's shoulder. Startled, she looked up into Iain's face.
“I love ye,” he whispered.
Black Jack opened his eyes at the sound of his son's voice. “I'm meetin’ my grandson,” he said, and Iain smiled sadly. “It's definitely a lad. I can tell by his movements. Wi’ ye to guide him, he'll grow into a fine mon and warrior."
“My son is not going to be a warrior,” Brigette insisted. Iain and Black Jack smiled at her.
“Get some rest, Brie,” Black Jack suggested. “Tomorrow we'll kill a few hours debatin’ that verra point."
Brigette grinned, then drew the sides of her nightshirt together and rose from the bed. Iain helped her into her robe. Leaning down, she kissed the earl's forehead and whispered, “Sleep well."
Iain sat on the edge of the bed and studied his father. The earl's face had sagged with Brigette's departure.
“She's a braw lassie,” Black Jack remarked, “even if she is a Sassenach."
“I'm grateful ye insisted on the marriage,” Iain replied.
“She'll breed up strong sons."
“Yes."
“Heed me, son,” Black Jack bade. “The day will come when ye'll send Antonia back to the MacKinnons. Keep Glenda at Dunridge. She's yer brother Malcolm's only child. And dinna fail to send Percy back to Edinburgh. When the time is ripe, he'll get to Sheena Menzies. She's the only chink in the bastard's armor. Be faithful to the queen, but yer first loyalty must be to our clan. The Stewarts arena’ always faithful to those who serve them best."
“I hear ye."
“When I was yer age,” the earl reminisced, “I didna’ believe I'd live to be an old mon and die in bed.” Raw emotion formed a painful lump in Iain's throat. Hopeless, consuming grief coiled around his heart, making it difficult for him to breathe.
“I willna’ be wi’ ye in the mornin',” Black Jack rasped. “Hold my hand."
Iain's heart broke. He longed to throw himself into his father's arms like a child and wail his misery. Instead, Iain took his father's hand in his, easing his passage from this life to the next. The earl's eyes closed wearily. He slipped away, gone forever.
Iain sighed raggedly, then kissed his father's hand. Resting his cheek against it, he wept bitter tears. Finally, Iain stood, kissed his father's cheek, and whispered brokenly, “Godspeed."
It was well after midnight when Iain walked into his own chamber. The bed was empty. Wrapped in a blanket, Brigette sat, staring vacantly at the hearth's smoldering embers.
“Are ye ill?” he asked anxiously, crossing the chamber in quick strides to kneel in front of her.
“I couldn't sleep. Iain?"
“Yes”—Iain's voice cracked—“he's gone."
Brigette opened her arms and gathered him close. Cradling his dark head against the mound of her stomach, Brigette and Iain shared their tears. It would be one of those rare times in a long, long life together when she wou
ld see her husband weep.
* * * *
The chapel bells tolled for John Andrew MacArthur, the fallen Earl of Dunridge. The earl's body lay in state in the great hall, his plain wooden coffin resting on trestles.
Before the funeral guests arrived, Iain brought Brigette and Glenda to view the earl's body. The great hall was deserted except for Jamie and Dugie, who guarded the coffin.
Iain's gaze met Brigette's. He lifted the coffin's lid, and she stepped forward to bid the earl a final farewell.
Clad in his black and green dress plaid, the earl appeared to be sleeping. Black Jack had peacefully crossed between two worlds, and his expression was placid, unmarked by his fatal injury.
Brigette touched his cheek, then leaned over to kiss it. Straightening, she glanced at her husband, who was struggling to maintain his rigid composure.
Next came Glenda. Iain lifted her into his arms and held her beside the coffin.
“Is he sleepin'?” she whispered loudly.
Iain's lips quirked. “Yes, but he willna’ awaken ‘til the Judgment Day."
Imitating Brigette, Glenda leaned down and kissed her grandfather's cheek. “Farewell,” she said solemnly. “I'll miss ye, then, ‘til the Judgment Day. And dinna forget to wait for me so we can go walkin’ aboot God's garden."
The four in the hall gulped back stricken tears. Iain set her on the floor, then closed the lid of the coffin. “Take Glenda upstairs,” he instructed Brigette. “I want ye to rest before the Campbells arrive."
Brigette nodded and led Glenda away, but the child's words drifted back to the three men. “Brie? When is the Judgment Day? After Christmas ...?"
* * * *
The Duke of Argyll and his entourage, including Magnus and his bride, Avril, arrived at Dunridge as afternoon's shadows were lengthening toward dusk. Iain, Percy, and Antonia stood in the courtyard to greet them.
The duke dismounted and shook Iain's hand, then Percy's. He'd been badly shaken by the untimely death of his most steadfast friend, whom he'd relied upon hundreds of times throughout the years. The duke felt somewhat responsible for Black Jack's death. After all, he thought guiltily, the feud with Menzies would never have begun if ... Bah! That particular folly of his had occurred so long ago.
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