by Sondra Grey
T o say that the transition between village healer and Chieftain’s wife was a dramatic one would be an understatement. Isla had never been so overwhelmed in all her life. Only a day after they’d arrived at Dundur, Calum sat down with the housekeeper and came up with an extensive list of duties that Isla was to daily perform: She needed to learn all the servant’s names and positions. She needed to oversee the castle’s cleanliness, as well as its food, stores, and menus. She needed to become familiar with the books in case something should ever befall Fergus (who acted as Dundur’s steward). She would need to settle castle disputes as well as local village disputes when Calum wasn’t around. She needed to plan for guests, maintain a list of necessary repairs. The list went on.
Calum was tireless in his attempt to educate her to her station. He spent a week overseeing her progress and was quick to offer a correction or a criticism. Isla was so overwhelmed it was all she could do to maintain her equilibrium. She felt inferior and foolish, and, upon feeling foolish, had to work to control her stubbornness and her anger. She found out, quickly, that being angry with Calum was about as useful as kicking a boulder. He was stimulated by her ire and had a way of turning any moment of anger into an hour of ardent lovemaking.
Worse than trying to master an ever-expanding list of duties that required skills she did not possess (reading, mathematics, patience…), was trying to master them without Calum’s instructional presence.
Calum was frequently away from Dundur. He was tireless in his mission to secure peace amongst the clans. He’d ride off and stay away for days on end, coming back and sequestering himself in his office to write more letters and missives.
And then there was the pregnancy. Isla had known many women who were breeding, knew what to expect – having delivered a fair number of babies herself – but she felt like a stranger in her own body. Some mornings she was terribly ill, and other times she felt flushed, or lightheaded, or irritable. Her moods would swing wildly, and the smallest things would spur her to the edge of rage, or to the brink of tears.
One day, after two hours spent fouling up the numbers in that month’s ledger, Isla broke down and sobbed. It was Mrs. Allan who found her and comforted her. “Lass,” she’s said, softly. “Do you think you might be pregnant?”
At just three months, Isla was starting to show and so she wore her gowns loose. Uncertain of what to say when Mrs. Allan asked her, she’d stared at the woman helplessly. Mrs. Allan peppered her with questions about her flux. Isla had avoided the questions, but apparently, Mrs. Allan spoke to Calum, for it was soon confirmed that Isla was pregnant. The whole castle now knew.
Isla had never before felt so exposed. As a healer, her services were in demand, people were grateful for her aid, and they compensated her accordingly. As a chieftain’s wife, Isla was expected to be adept at her job, and when she performed her tasks wrong, when she fumbled over a dinner menu, forgot to do village rounds, and forgot about certain duties entirely – she felt harshly judged. People looked at her expectantly. If she did a task to the best of her ability, they would merely give her another. When she failed at one, there was confusion, and a silence that smacked of judgement.
Isla, who had never cared in the past what people thought of her, found herself now caring very much. As she strove to take up her rightful place as lady, and do all the work that her position entailed, she found herself, for the first time in her life, feeling entirely inadequate. Calum would return home from a few days off and find the castle in a barely functioning state of disarray. He spoke to her sharply and with a frustration that, to Isla, signaled regret. He might have wed someone who’d been trained their whole lives to take on the responsibilities of a keep. Instead he was married to her. Surely, he regretted his decision.
Isla wished, often, that Calum had been just another village boy. The more she got to know him, the more she understood why his clansmen were so devoted to him. He worked tirelessly on their behalf. He was selfless in a way that made her heart hurt. Not only did he fail to ever act in his own self-interest, but he didn’t act in her interest either. Like the clansmen, he expected things of her that she could not give him. She longed for her uncomplicated life in Elleric, when her purpose was simpler: she saved lives, she made people feel better, and they loved her for it.
When Calum was gone, Mrs. Allan took up his position at her hip and was often on hand to offer a practical suggestion or a wry bit of instruction. The woman was too polite to ask Isla, outright, how she’d managed to grow up an Earl’s niece, and yet not learn any of the skills necessary to running a keep. However, the woman let slip the occasional comment that made it clear she was pondering that very issue.
“Did you not have to help your aunt choose new fabrics?” Or “Do you not have any experience with preparing the winter stores?”
Calum was gone for the entire span of Isla’s third month at Dundur. He’d ridden off to Inverness to spend time at his Clan Chief’s side. Isla was frustrated by his absence, for it meant that she’d more work to do, herself. But she hadn’t thought it strange to be left behind until, one afternoon, the ladies were in the kitchens, pealing and sorting, and Greer said, loudly, “It’s so odd that the Laird didn’t take his new lady to visit the Red Bard.”
Mrs. Allan had come to Isla’s defense, but whatever reason she’d given for Calum’s oversight had been a weak one. Isla realized that, while they had a series of passionate nights together, Calum was, ultimately, ashamed of her.
She was lonely in the month that Calum was missing. The company of the castle women had become too judgmental for Isla to bear, and so she passed a good deal of time with Geordie. This lasted only a week, until Greer began commenting loudly on how interesting it was that Geordie and the Lady Dundur spent so much time together. Then Mrs. Allan had warned her about appearances, and so Isla had spent more time with the castle women.
She found she had favorites – Calum had a bevy of first cousins who were practical, loyal women, and so Isla spent a good deal of her time with them. But they’d been raised as noblewomen, and Isla had little to speak to them about. Towards the end of that third month, she had become entirely overwhelmed with everything and had taken to spending time by herself. When people asked after her absence, she lied and said the pregnancy was making her ill.
It was at month’s end, when the air was growing bitter and the fires had to be lit more often, that Calum returned. In fact, it was his nephew, Hugh, who returned one day at first light to warn Isla that the Laird would arrive that evening with guests.
“Guests?” asked Isla, groggily. She’d been rousted from her bed by insistent servants and had met Hugh in her husband’s solar. In the three months since she’d returned to the castle, there’d been no guests. That it was her responsibility to ready the castle to receive – that she’d less than a day to do it – set her heart racing.
“Yes,” Hugh explained. “Uncle has been sending letters to some of the nearby clan chiefs and they’ve been answering him slowly. But he’s managed to secure a meeting with the Stewarts of Appin. He’s left from Inverness this morning and will meet them at the foot of the hills. Everyone will be arriving tonight and things must be ready, he says… My lady, are you all right?”
Firm hands grasped Isla’s elbows, and she blinked. Hugh had stepped forward and was clutching her hard, effectively holding her on her feet. Had she swooned?
“I’m sorry,” she said, weakly.
“You don’t look well,” said Hugh, voice full of concern. “You’ve gone quite pale – shall I fetch Mrs. Allan?”
Isla tried to clear her head, tried to draw in a deep breath. The Stewarts were coming.
“Is it The Stewart himself, or one of his chieftains?” Her heart hammered in her chest. If it was Joss Stewart coming, she was done for.
“It’s Robert Stewart himself who is coming,” said Hugh. “Can I get you a chair?”
“We should get her to bed, lad,” declared Mrs. Allan, striding into the roo
m. She was known to waken early and must have heard of Hugh’s arrival. “Isla, you look terrible,” she said, baldly. “Do you know what ails you?”
“It’s common to feel faint during pregnancy, is it not? I’m just dizzy… we’ve got to get the castle ready.”
“The housekeeper and I had better take care of it,” said Mrs. Allan, quickly. “You rest. And when you’re feeling better you can join us.”
Hugh didn’t leave Isla’s side as he walked her back into the Laird’s chamber. Before he left, he asked if she wanted to have anyone sent up to her, but she shook her head. She didn’t need help. She needed a plan, needed to think. She should have known that Calum would be speaking to the Stewarts in his attempt to gain peace in the highlands. The Stewarts had a good many alliances and were friendly with the MacDonalds, the Camerons, the Maclarens…
That it was Robert Stewart, and not his second cousin Joss (Gavin’s father), attending was meant that there was still a chance she might get through this encounter unscathed. Robert Stewart would probably not remember her. She’d been a child when she visited Castle Stalker, and Niall MacLeay had worked on behalf of the old Lord Stewart, not the current one.
The greater risk was that there might be men from Elleric in Rob Stewart’s riding party… She knew that Calum would expect her to dine with them that evening. Isla paced her room for a full two hours, trying to hatch a plan to make herself scarce. She could ride for Rhona’s, and beg forgiveness later. Was there time to pack up and flee without raising suspicion?
She was startled from her thoughts by a knock on the door. Isla hurried and tucked herself into bed before calling out, “Enter!”
She was expecting Mrs. Allan, but instead it was Moira, one of the village women who worked in the kitchens.
“I’m so sorry to bother you milady, especially as I know you’re feeling unwell, it’s just…” Moira was crying and Isla sat up, intent.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s my son. He’s been so sick and nothing we can do will help him. I’d take any suggestions, Milady, anything you might recommend that could help.”
“Better than that,” said Isla, standing. “I will see your boy myself. Allow me a few minutes to dress and we will leave.”
Isla refused to call for her lady’s maid. Instead, she dressed herself, fixed her own hair, and grabbed her bundles of herbs and salves. Putting on a heavy cloak to ward off the cold, she followed Moira out of the castle, and off towards the village.
Moira, who was a few years Isla’s elder, was a small woman who was usually quiet. Now she couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t stop thanking Isla for coming to see her son.
The boy, it turned out, was actually quite ill, and Isla fell into her healer’s role with little trouble. It took only an hour, but Isla felt like her old self again. She took complete control of the situation, ordering Moira to boil water for tea, checking the boy for symptoms, placing a cool cloth on his head, and waiting to see if his fever would break. It was full nightfall, and the boy was still feverish when someone pounded on the door of the small cottage.
The sound startled the two women, who’d been sitting over the small boy’s bed, Moira telling Isla soft stories about village life, and some of the local hill legends.
The knocking came again and Moira stood, slowly. “Will it be Joseph then?” she wondered to Isla. Her husband had ridden to Inverness to find medicines for the boy’s fever.
But when she opened the door, Isla heard her muffle a gasp. Turning, Isla saw Calum stoop through the door, and though she was still hurt that he’d left her, hurt that he’d spent a month away and not written, she was so happy to see him. His presence made her feel instantly warmer, safer than she’d felt in the month without him there.
Calum’s eyes swept the small cottage and landed on Isla, seated on the side of the boy’s bed. “Isla,” said Calum, his voice was hard and he looked grim.
“Hello,” said Isla, quietly.
“Did Hugh not tell you that we’d company this evening?”
“He told me, yes,” she said. “But Moira’s boy is very ill, and the housekeeper had the castle well in hand.”
Calum stared at her a moment before nodding a greeting to Moira, who stood near the door quietly. “Moira,” he said, formally. “I do hope your boy is feeling better. But I must take my wife with me now. The hour is very late.”
“Of course…”
“His fever isn’t broken yet, and I’d like to stay until I’m sure he’s going to be all right,” said Isla, firmly.
“Isla,” Calum’s voice was a low warning, and Isla turned to look at him over her shoulder. He was, she saw, furious. He’d been exasperated with her on occasion, annoyed once or twice, but never furious. Now he seemed to radiate anger, and Isla felt her heart drop into her stomach. He knew. Somehow, the Stewarts had found out about her and told him.
Cold fear gripped her gut and she was standing before she realized it, ready to run again if she needed to.
But Calum only held out one, commanding hand. Isla didn’t take it. Instead she looked at Moira and said, “Give him more of the tea in an hour, and keep applying the cold cloths to his head. The fever is dry, he wants to sweat. See if you can get him to drink…”
Moira was nodding, looking worried, and Isla would have been angry, only she was too frightened. Instead, she followed Calum as he exited the small cottage.
His brown stallion was tied to a fence post, and a few villagers stood in their doorways, watching their laird fetch his lady home.
He led her to the horse, and she said, quickly, “I’d rather walk.”
Calum’s jaw firmed, and he replied, voice like iron. “We. Have. Guests.”
“I’m not fit for company. You ride on without me…”
“What’s this about?”
“What’s what about?”
He stared at her, stared at where her belly was pressing against her dress. She was starting to show now in earnest. Even Mrs. Allan had commented that most women only just started to show in their third month. Isla wondered if she’d ever have to confide that she was, in fact, in her fifth month of pregnancy. “If you were not with child, I’d throw you over this horse and drag you back to Dundur. If a laird has guests coming to the keep, then it his lady’s responsibility to…”
“I’ll not have you dictate to me!” she said, her fury flashing up in a sudden blaze. “You left me alone for an entire month. A month!”
“I had pressing matters to see to!” his voice rose incredulously.
“I don’t care what you had to see to!” she said, keeping her voice low, as there were villagers within earshot. “You don’t get to send your nephew riding up making demands of me…”
“You think not?” his voice was deep and deadly. “In fact, that is exactly what I get to do! You are the Lady Dundur and it is your job to see to the comfort of our…”
“I’m a healer,” she objected. “I heal, which is what I was doing before you dragged me away from that poor boy! Your castle ran like clockwork before I saw to it, and it runs better without me meddling. Between Fergus and your housekeeper everyone’s needs are met! So why must I intervene?”
She whirled and strode angrily down the lane, hating that people were hearing them, hating that word of their fight would be on the tongues of the servants in the morning. That Greer would know and smile her horrible, smug little smile…
“Isla!” called Calum from behind her, sharply. She could hear him following – hear the horse’s hooves against the lane’s hard-packed earth. But she kept walking. Outwardly she was fuming, but inwardly she was nearly sobbing with relief. It didn’t seem as if Calum had learned of her history with the Stewarts. She still might be able to escape their visit undiscovered.
Calum came abreast of her but didn’t reach out and stop her. Instead he strode with her, matching her pace.
As they approached the castle and Isla’s pace slowed, Calum spoke. “You’re not to heal the
sick anymore,” he said. He reached out and gripped her arm, bringing them both to a halt. “Not while you’re pregnant with our child.”
“I’ll do as I please, and you’ll not stop me.”
“Isla.” His voice wasn’t angry, but it was firm, hard. “I will stop you Isla. I’ll not have you sicken. You’ll not put our child at risk. You’ll obey me in this, or I’ll have you guarded. And how will that look? The Lady of Dundur watched night and day?”
Isla was speechless. She stared up at him, looking for some sign of softness. Nothing. He was resolute.
“Calum please,” she said. “It’s all I have. I’m lost in that castle. I don’t know who I am without…”
“You have to think of the child,” he said.
That stopped Isla cold. She stared at him. The baby had been moving now for a few days, but Isla had been so preoccupied with her new station that she’d barely time to think about the child growing inside her. But that wasn’t what had stopped her. The words were familiar, said by her father to her mother when illness had spread through the village, and Deirdre had taken Isla’s two-year-old brother with her.
Deirdre hadn’t much considered the baby when she’d taken him on her rounds through the village. And he, too, had caught ill. He was so young, so sick, that Deirdre hadn’t been able to heal him.
“Who will think of me, then?” Isla asked finally, not willing to cede the point to her husband. “Not you. You’re too busy with your treaties. Not your clan. To them, I am merely a means to an end.”
Calum was silent, then, “Is that how you feel?”
Isla just stared at him in response.
Calum sighed. “The Stewarts are staying a few days. We will remedy this, you and I, after they are gone. Until then, you will not embarrass me. You will act your part. And you must watch your sharp tongue around Rob Stewart. Try to be pleasing. If I can secure peace, at least in this part of the highlands, I could save hundreds of needless deaths. There are lives at stake Isla.” There was such intensity in his voice, and if Isla knew about anything, it was lifesaving.