“Shhh.. “
Her eyes flew open with a start. She flipped over, dragging the heavy counterpane to her chin. Children. She smelled children, and they were layered in rows at the foot of the bed grinning and snickering. Two, four, six, eight… She counted them in pairs. Mercy Mary! There were eighteen of them—blue eyes, green eyes, some so brown they were black, dirty boys holding wooden swords and freckle-faced girls with flowers laced through their braids. Lizzy stared at them. What else could she do? She was naked. Curse it! Broc had told her to sleep in her skin and think of him often while he was away. Why had she obeyed that order?
She s’posed she could scream, but she didn’t want to frighten them.
“Good den, m’lady.” A girl in the back with carrot-colored hair splayed her crossbar kirtle and dipped a quick curtsy. “We were eager to meet ye and snuck away from our morning chores to do so.”
The rest of the children nodded.
“I am Lucy, Radella’s daughter,” the same little girl said.
“Broc’s aunt?” Lizzy asked and continued to fret over the state of her undress. The children shook their heads side to side and frowned. “Nay, m’lord’s sister. M’lord’s Aunt Radella is my grandmum’s sister, but not the old grandmum who lives in the little castle on the border.”
Wide-eyed head shakes followed that comment. A little boy with black hair, huge dark eyes, and grime smudged from forehead to chin reached out an equally filthy hand and pinched her toe.
She jerked her foot back. She had no experience with children other than Eli and Martin. Two was a lot smaller number than eighteen. And she knew there were many more. How was she ever going to manage such a household? The little boy reached out and pinched her other toe. He covered his nose and mouth to hide his mischievous grin. “Broderick, behave,” Lucy scolded.
Broderick? “You are m’lord’s nephew?” Lizzy asked, already warming to the little hellion.
He nodded, puffed his chest, and pinched her toe again. His was ornery, arrogant, and would, no doubt, grow to be as handsome as his uncle.
“Get up,” he demanded, reminding her furthermore of her husband. Lizzy’s cheeks heated while they all waited for her to follow Little Broderick’s order. Of course, this wasn’t going to happen. “Mayhap I could have some privy time.” They all nodded, but didn’t move. The girls twisted back and forth, swinging their skirts, and the boys stood and stared. Mayhap she said it wrong. They did talk differently here in Scotland. “I need to tend my morning ablutions in private.” Again came the nods, but not one of them turned to leave. She was trapped. Little Broderick hiked one knee up onto the bed, and she felt her eyes go round and dry. “Ye are all in verra big trouble. Verra, verra big trouble.”
A tall woman towered behind them, fists on her hips, with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. The children all swiveled, giving Lizzy their backs. Little Broderick jumped from the bed and clasped his hands behind him the same as the rest.
“Ye all are going to be scrubbing the steps before noonday. Ye laddies lay down your swords. There will be no play this day. Get yer arses to the stable and finish your chores. Girls, go to the kitchens and help prepare the morning meal; then go to the gardens to help your Aunt Jean pull weeds.” The children pushed each other like a herd of sheep to get to the chamber door. Wooden swords clattered at the woman’s feet as they took their leave.
“Ye, too, wee Broderick.” She pointed out the doorway. “Be nice.” Little Broderick wagged a stubby finger at the woman. He then glanced back at Lizzy, squeezed both eyes together in what she thought might be a wink, and then darted out the door. Relief made Lizzy smile, but she kept her humor silent, not knowing the temperament of this woman. At least she wasn’t wearing a sword. She shared Broc’s features: wavy black hair, light blue eyes, heart-shaped full lips. Lizzy guessed she was one of his many sisters and could only hope the woman didn’t have her mother’s disposition. Just thinking of the many sidelong looks Muira Maxwell had given her on the way to Skonoir Castle made her cringe. The woman gathered up the little swords with a frown. “Forgive their curiosity, m’lady. I can assure ye they will be severely punished.”
“Nay. Please.” Lizzy’s eyes pooled instantly, which was ludicrous, but what she imagined as severe punishment for those children made her nauseated. “They only wanted to meet me. ‘Tis my fault. My sleep has been minimal as of late, and I fear I retired before making an appearance yester eve.” In truth, after Broc left the solar, she didn’t have the courage to leave the chamber and face his kin alone. The woman smiled, displaying the same dimples as Broc. “Four of those bairns belong to me and my husband, Gregor, including the wee Broderick. I will let them know ye saved them from cleaning out the cistern. I am Deirdre, Broderick’s sister.”
“Pray forgive me if I do not get up.” Lizzy felt foolish for continuing to hide beneath the covers.
“John’s wife is in the corridor. Shall I send her in to help ye dress for morning mass or would ye prefer a maid?” “I need no maid, but do send Celeste in.”
“Aye, m’lady.” Deirdre bowed.
Lizzy craned her neck, wishing she felt more deserving of Deirdre’s reverence. “’Twas lovely to meet ye. I am Lizzy.” “I ken. My mam talked about ye all eve to the womenfolk. We are all eager to meet ye, but have more discipline than our bairns.” She batted her lashes. “Welcome to Skonoir, m’lady. I hope ye like it here.” She bowed again, arms full of swords, and swished through the door.
Lizzy was going to love it here, as would her nephews. She could already picture Martin with a wooden sword playing warrior among Broc’s kin. Her happiness felt selfish. Since learning the boys were alive, she’d thought little about Father’s well-being. Even if she had the courage to ask Broc to help Father, she doubted he would ever come to Scotland, much less pledge fealty to a Scottish lord. He would live and die in the Tower serving the next King of England, then likely spend eternity in Hell paying for his sins. She would continue to pray for his soul and hope that God might show him mercy.
“Lizzeeeee!” Celeste squealed as she skipped into the solar, slammed the door behind her, and then dove onto the bed. The feather tick dipped low and bounced Lizzy sideways.
“’Tis good to see you safe and well, my friend.”
Celeste rolled to her side and propped her head up on her elbow. “Ye were right, Lizzy. Scotland is magnificent. John has a cottage in the bailey. ‘Tis small, but all I will need to bring our child into this world.”
“Pray forgive me for telling your secret to Lord Maxwell.
I worried over your well-being.”
“Tis past. John is thrilled, as are all of his kin.” Celeste plopped onto her back and stared at the dome ceiling of the bed. “There is so much to tell ye. Beatrice has settled nicely in the courtyard with the other hens and is holding her ground with the cock. He is a wicked, arrogant creature, much like some of the Scotsmen I’ve met.”
“Thank you for seeing her to safety. She traveled a great distance, and I’m certain she is happy to be settled.” Lizzy chuckled, but was grateful to have something to remind her ofEdlynn.
Celeste rolled back onto her side. “Ye will be happy here, too. ‘Tis like being at festival. The clan gathers every eve in the Great Hall. They eat and drink, sing and dance, and act like fools. Wait til ye meet Radella and Jean. They will have your gut aching with their jesting.”
“Broc’s aunts?” Lizzy asked, hoping she might one day get all of their names straight in her head.
“Aye. They cannot wait to meet ye. Why are ye still abed?
Are ye ill?”
“I am naked.”
Celeste hooted and jumped out of the bed to search an antechamber for garments. She prattled on about all the people she’d met since her arrival until Lizzy was fully dressed in a scarlet velvet gown and wrapped in a plaid arisaid. Her hair was pulled into a crown of braids atop her head and sprinkled with colored gemstones set in hairpins. “Ye look like a queen.” Celeste stood back an
d admired Lizzy’s attire. “Naught at all like an executioner’s daughter.”
Lizzy’s hands instantly clutched the tails of her sleeves and started twisting. “Celeste, please tell me you have kept my secret safe.” She couldn’t help but fret. There had been so few people in her life and she wanted Broc’s kin to accept her. Celeste’s face lost its glow. “I confess to telling John, but he is all. I did not tell the whole clan. I promise ye this. ‘Twas Lady Maxwell.”
“The whole clan knows?” Lizzy sank on the bed and stared unblinking at her silk-covered toes. Her fingers found the beads of Mother’s rosary inside her skirt. She didn’t belong here, in this gown, in this room. They would fear her at first; then they would discover she was a coward. She couldn’t bear it if Eli and Martin were treated poorly because of who they were.
“Ye are fretting for no reason. Lady Maxwell has already assured the womenfolk ye do not carry an ax.” Celeste giggled, pulled Lizzy back to her feet, and guided her toward the door. Broc’s mother would make it difficult for her, and she didn’t know if she possessed the strength to defeat the woman. “What else did Lady Maxwell say?” “I overhead her talking to Radella and Jean. Lady Maxwell said she intended to train ye.”
“Train me? What does that mean?”
Celeste shrugged, smiled, and pushed Lizzy into the corridor.
Chapter 18
Five days in Muira Maxwell’s clutches felt like an eternity. Lizzy readjusted the heavy helmet atop her head and stared cross-eyed at Broc’s mother around the metal noseguard. Just once Lizzy wanted to put the woman down.
Mayhap then she could have a moment of peace to herself. Broc’s kin lined the outer parameter of the training field whooping and bawling their support—men, women, children, all dressed in multicolored plaids. Celeste stood beside John watching through her fingers, and seemed to be the only one who showed any concern for Lizzy’s wellbeing. “Come now, Lizbeth. Take up your stance.” Muira held her sword at a threatening angle, giving Lizzy no other choice but to poise herself for defense. After sparring with the woman until dusk every day, Lizzy admitted she no longer cringed when her hand touched the hilt. In fact, if she wasn’t forced to wear so much protective gear, she might make a worthy opponent.
Muira circled her in the dirt clearing and then delivered another strike. Lizzy blocked. The clash of metal coiled through her ears and felt like fingernails scraping the inside of her skull. The heat of the day made her movements sluggish, and the weight of her helmet caused a pinch in her neck. Gloved in metallinked chain mail and men’s trews, her legs failed to cooperate around the awkward plate armor covering her thighs and shins.
“Your guard is pitiful this day.” Muira swung her sword wide, leaving herself open for a forward thrust, then threw one hand out in disgust. “Ye miss an opportunity to attack. Think ye can kill your adversary with defenses alone?” Blood boiling, Lizzy controlled her tongue, but in truth, she wanted to bite the witch. If her gullet wasn’t filled with bread, mead, and salty fish from a midmorning meal, she might have done just that.
“Mayhap the lass needs a wee bit more energy.” Aunt Radella held up a scone dripping with raspberry sweet sauce. It had become apparent the aunts had taken on the task of fattening Lizzy for breeding. If they dare tried to stuff another mutton pie or bannock or wretched kipper down her throat, she would dump their trenchers over their red heads. Although she’d been eager to gain the respect of Broc’s kin, she feared her body paid the punishment for her intentions. “Eat it yourself, Rae,” Muira said and reared her sword toward the sky. “The lass is soft enough.”
Clang. Lizzy blocked another blow that pulsed through her arm and into her shoulder. With her gut in turmoil, her muscles spent, and her head swimming with daily instruction, she doubted she possessed the stamina to live among these people. Even through the protective gauntlets, the calluses on her hands had already blistered, peeled, and healed into hard knots. Dressed in men’s garb and smelling of leather and sweat, she no longer felt like the woman Broc married. “Drive your sword, m’lady!” Gregor, Deirdre’s husband, bellowed his opinion while little Broderick mimicked Muira’s actions with his wooden sword.
“Put both hands on the hilt and thrust.” Reynold, Beth’s husband, suggested. She jerked her forearm high to block another blow on her steel arm guard. “M’lady, please. Tis enough for today.” “’Tis not even noonday.” Swapping hands with the hilt, Muira rolled the sleeves of her tunic to her elbows, did a little skip, and brought the metal edge of her sword down upon Lizzy.
Swiftly, Lizzy shifted her blade to a horizontal angle above her head. Ringing traveled up her spine when the metal connected. Curse this woman and her sword into the devil’s privy pot. Mayhap Muira would break a sweat there. Lizzy threw down her sword, pulled the leather gauntlets from her hands, and stripped herself free of armor.
“Think ye are going to quit? Do ye not want your husband proud of ye when he returns from Edinburgh?” Broc was the only reason Lizzy parried every day with this diabolical fiend. She wanted to be strong for him and make him proud, but she grew tired of being a docile toy. She raised the sword in her bare hand with ease, feeling remarkably agile without the encumbrance of all the excessive metal. “If I win, you will leave me in peace for the remainder of the day.”
Muira scoffed. “Even if ye were fortunate enough to gain such solitude, ye would only spend the hours fashing over the welfare of your nephews. Your Tower warder granted Broderick his grieving period and travel time. His terms were plainly written in his missive “ Terms that nearly sent Lizzy into an apoplexy when the English page delivered Lord Hollister’s missive three days prior. The bastard wanted her returned to her father’s care, along with the other half of the document, else on the Sabbath he threatened to remove the boys’ eating privileges. “I do not trust the man.”
“He will not kill his only bargaining power. There is naught ye can do but train and wait for your husband. ‘Twill keep your mind free of the fashing.”
With Hollister’s deadline fast approaching, Lizzy awaited Broc’s return with the greatest anticipation. Not only for herself, but for Eli and Martin.
And while she waited, she battled. “Mayhap I intend to fret over the well-being of my husband this day. Or the whereabouts of Smitt and the five Maxwell warriors who have yet to return from their mission.”
“They are grown lusty Scotsmen. Smitt disappears for months at a time, the same as Ian. They are most likely tupping their way across the border. Unless ye have something else to bargain for, then we shall keep your mind occupied whilst we train.” Muira smiled and tilted her head. Even if Lizzy wanted to go back to the Tower, Broc had forbid her leave of Skonoir Castle. She hadn’t been allowed outside the stronghold since her arrival, and she began to feel the familiar pangs of imprisonment. If Muira wanted to bargain, then she would abide her. “If I win, I want a bath … in solitude. And I wish to pick flowers .
. . alone. And on the morrow, ye will grant me the day to work in the apothecary.” Muira rolled her eyes heavenward, reminding Lizzy of Broc. “Tis done.”
Now Lizzy had something to fight for. Peace from all these chattering folk. She braced her legs and held her elbows tight to her side as she’d been taught. She blocked every blow Muira thrust at her, her shoulders jarring with each one.
“M’lady, m’lady.” The roar around them escalated. She didn’t know if Broc’s kin cheered for her or Muira, nor did she care. She wanted a bath with oils—scented oils—
and some of Aunt Radella’s special soap. She wanted a peaceful eve in the laird’s solar, regardless of how lonely she felt there. Odd that she would yearn for the very thing she’d detested the most in the Tower—solitude.
“If ye intend to win this battle, ye will have to at least thrust upon me once.”
Hades wouldn’t want this woman and her arrogance. Lizzy raised her sword and swung with all her might. She missed and lost her footing.
Muira laughed at her. “Ye call t
hat a thrust? Looks more like a dance. Wield the sword and jab, lass. Jab! Picture your enemy before ye.”
Lord Hollister’s face appeared behind her eyes and filled her with so much anger she was near blinded by it. She attacked, once, twice, gaining momentum. She counted each thrust.
Muira blocked, and blocked. Lizzy would never win this battle. She would never have peace. Curse Broc for leaving her in the hands of these people and their barbaric ways. She growled behind gritting teeth and wrenched her sword upward. She struck her.
“Mo chreach”
Lizzy nicked Muira on the outside of her thigh. Blood seeped through her tan-colored trews, horrifying Lizzy. “Mercy Mary! Pray forgive me, m’lady.”
Winded, Muira wiped her brow on her sleeve and waved in a squire to retrieve her sword.
“A warrior does not ask forgiveness in battle. Ye struck me. I bled. Ye win.” She bowed her head in concession, gaining applause from the crowd encircling them. “Ye are ready.”
“Ready for what?” Lizzy panted through a chafed throat.
“To defend yourself, lass, should ye be attacked.” Victory pulsed through her veins. She felt like she could march into England and up the Tower stairwell and gut Hollister down with her own blade. Her fingers gripped the hilt while she reveled in this unusual feeling of triumph. “Come. I’ll have the maids bring ye water.” Muira took a step toward the keep.
“I intend to pick the flowers first.” With her sword resting against her shoulder in an upright position, Lizzy brushed past Muira and started down the worn path leading to the gatehouse. “Where are ye going?”
“Lest there is another way over the moat, then I am going that way.” She pointed in the direction of the drawbridge. John and Reynold stepped into her path, stealing the lift in her step. She didn’t have to see Muira to know the woman had placed them there, and most likely with a flick of her finger.
“Ye cannae go outside the bailey. Your husband forbid it.
Tis dangerous.”
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