Lady Nellie

by Verlin Underwood

  “What, pray tell, would you like to read to amuse yourself with?”

  That was when Nellie noticed the bookshelf behind him. Her eyes brightened as she walked over. What audacity to walk across my study like she owns the place. Still, Adam did not move. He only watched the peculiar creature as she craned her delicate neck to look at the tomes.

  “Roman de la Rose,” she finally stated. “That was the book I was reading before I left Burrach Castle. Do you have it?”

  “Nay.” Adam replied, standing up from his desk. He walked over to the bookshelf and stood behind her. The top of her head came just below his collarbone. Her back was still turned and her wispy hair tickled his chest. He felt the urge to wrap his arm around her and press her against him, to smell her, and to feel her heartbeat against his own.

  Nellie stood deathly still, as though she could also feel the rising tension. He reached his arm above her to take a book off the shelf. He thought he saw a shiver run down the lass’s body as he held the book in front of her.

  She took it in both hands and read the cover. “What is this?” She let out a quick exhale as she turned around to face Adam. “The Lament of Edward II? Some light reading, aye?”

  “You’re part English, yes? I thought you’d enjoy it.”

  His arms were around her now, hands brushing her backside. The book was clenched tightly in her hands as she looked up at him. Her blue eyes were wide like a fawn and her mouth was parted in an unspoken question.

  Then, she narrowed her eyes. “You are teasing me. You are very much a brute,” she said viciously.

  “Hmm,” Adam dropped his arms and felt a bit disappointed when she started to walk away. “That is not the first time a woman has told me that.”

  “And probably not the last.” He struggled to keep himself from chuckling as she turned to go.

  “Wait, I’ll give you somethin’ else.” He reached for another book on his shelf and handed it to her. “It’s a book of poems, written by my mother. Don’t worry; it’s not about a pathetic English monarch.”

  He was quick to see her hesitation. “Una?”

  “Lady Una Maxwell,” Adam corrected; he couldn’t help himself. “And no, my birth mother, Isabel. She was taken to the written word, so I hear.”

  “Your mother wrote this?” Nellie asked softly, flipping through the pages of delicate script. “Thank you,” she told him. This time, her words seemed genuine.

  The guilt he felt when she left was foreign to him. Lachina was right. Although the lass wrongly and ridiculously accused Una for being a leannan sith, she was innocent from whatever crimes Malcolm Maxwell committed. Perhaps it was silly to involve her in his desire for retribution. The lass was miserable at Dunaid Castle.

  Perhaps I will just give her a horse and a chaperone and have her go wherever she pleases.

  Not for the first time, he missed his stepmother, Una. He wished he had some way to contact her—if, in fact, she was still alive. He wondered what she would say to him if he told her about Lady Lyall. After what Una went through, he doubted she would be too pleased having her reside in his castle.

  Adam went back to his paperwork with a sigh.

  Chapter 8

  When Nellie closed the door to the laird’s den, she leaned against it, trying to catch her breath. He had been so close to her. By all means, she should’ve felt repulsed, but her body seemed to respond differently from her mind. All that her body wanted to do was to lean into him like she was a wanton!

  Sure, he was handsome, and perhaps it was only a natural reaction. But we are enemies and shall remain as such.

  She shook her head as though to clear it. There was still some light left in the day, so she decided to take her newly acquired books to the courtyard. She had just finished sweeping the Sanctuary, as she had christened the ruined structure, and would very much like to sit on the bench and read perhaps The Lament of Edward II first. Despite being given to her facetiously by the laird, the book did spike her curiosity.

  On the way over to the red door separating the castle from the courtyard, Nellie was stopped by a woman’s voice.

  “Harlot.”

  Mary was sitting in the alcove by the entrance hall, her legs crossed under her blue skirt, her hands gracefully resting on her knees. She was looking at Nellie darkly. “If y’know what’s good for you, you’d stay away from Laird Maxwell.”

  As vicious as the threat sounded, Nellie was not at all intimidated by her. Instead of fleeing, as perhaps Mary wanted her to do, she walked over to her.

  “Oh? Are you two betrothed?” she asked sweetly.

  Mary shrugged. “We basically are. Our fathers were close. If he’d lived long enough, he would’ve agreed to a betrothal, I’m sure. I’ve been watchin’ you try to get close to him. I don’t want my man to be… influenced by your affliction.”

  Nellie’s eyebrows rose high on her forehead as she laughed. “What, do you think I am going to curse him? I am not a fairy.”

  “We’ve heard tell of the clansman that escaped Burrach Castle,” Mary said. “They all died under mysterious circumstance. Laird Maxwell may be kind to you, but we won’t allow you to curse him. Isn’t that right, Isla?”

  Nellie did not have time to process Mary’s allegations as she had just noticed Isla standing off to her side. Her eyes looked pained, but a sharp look from Mary made her nod her head in affirmation. Ah, so she has become Mary’s puppet, then? Poor girl.

  “I don’t want to be here any more than you do,” Nellie told them. “But it seems like we both do not have a choice in the matter. I will stay out of your hair if you stay out of mine. Agreed?”

  Mary didn’t say anything, but turned her head away from Nellie. Nellie walked away from them as she heard Mary say. “It’s not just us who hate you, you know. All the men, the servants, and everyone in this castle wishes you were gone. We don’t want you here. And we are not afraid to get rid of you when the laird isn’t looking.”

  Was she threatening Nellie’s life?

  Not for the first time, she wished she had her dagger nearby, or perhaps a lock on her door.

  A chair was the next best thing. That evening, when she got back to her room, she closed the door and propped the chair so that it rested just underneath the doorknob, making it impossible for someone on the other side to open. It’d do for now.

  She sat down on the bed and opened the book of poems written by Laird Maxwell’s mother. At first, her eyes glossed over the painstakingly handwritten letters, flipping the pages carefully as she marveled at how one person could make such a work of art.

  But perhaps it was best to start from the beginning. She went back to the first page and noticed a small note on the corner edge:

  To my darling baby. May God give you all that you desire.

  Her heart wrenched at the loving words. Whatever happened to Isabel?

  She read well into the night, and was still awake when she heard the first howl breaking the silence of the castle.

  She jumped and closed the book with a snap, hearing the cry yet again drifting down the hall like a trickling fog. She got out of bed swiftly, removed the chair from the door, and stepped outside.

  Laird Maxwell was not there for her to run into. Instead, she followed the cries until she stood just outside his room. She hesitated. It was definitely coming from his room, but should she go in? Why should she care that he was having some fretful dream? Still, with shaking hands, she pushed the door open.

  Adam was asleep in his bed, the blankets strewn about, and his body curled tightly with his knees near his forehead. His eyes were closed, but as she came closer, she saw how they darted back and forth beneath his eyelids. A candle burned next to his bed; the dim light revealing his pained face gleaning with sweat. Or were they tears? Whatever terrible dream he was in, it would be cruel to leave him trapped in it.

  “Laird Maxwell,” Nellie whispered, but he didn’t seem to hear. “Adam,” she said, louder this time, and rested a hand on his
shoulder.

  His body convulsed, causing Nellie to jump, startled. She tripped over her feet and landed hard on her bum. Adam opened his eyes, but they were unseeing. He still wandered in his dark dream.

  “Adam, wake up,” Nellie tried, once again putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. This time, he reached up and grabbed it, holding it tightly like he was afraid to let go. “It’s all right, Adam. There is no danger here,” she told him.

  She paused, not knowing what else to do. Realizing she still had the book under the crook of her arm, she held it open with her free hand and began to read the first passage she found.

  I will be a light for you,

  Even when the nighttime comes again.

  Even when you cannot see if e’er the morrow will come,

  If the days greet you with naught but rain,

  I will be a light for you, my sweet son.

  When she finished, she noticed that his breath was no longer labored, but slow and steady. He had released her hand and seemingly fell into a calmer dream.

  Perhaps Lachina was right; he was prickly on the outside, but deep down…

  Did she really desire to know who he really was?

  She took two deep breaths and stood up, but not before spotting her dagger in its sheath on the ground beside the laird’s bed. Carefully, she reached for it and held it close to her body, then quickly left his room for the comfort of her own before he awoke again.

  Chapter 9

  He could not face Lady Lyall the next morning as he came down to the great hall for breakfast. Instead, he took his food and escaped to his study, knowing that he looked as tired and disheveled as he felt.

  He couldn’t bear to look at her after what she’d witnessed last night. She saw him in bed, crying. She held his hand, and read to him like a bairn. And the most insufferable part was that it calmed him! He liked her being there, but it was also excruciatingly embarrassing. Nobody else knew what he went through most nights, and he had wished to keep it that way.

  After he finished eating and began more work on his ledgers, he noticed Lady Lyall walk by and was quick to stop her.

  “I would like to speak to you.”

  Lady Lyall nodded and stood stiffly in front of his desk, waiting patiently for him as he finished writing a few numbers in his ledger. Setting his pen down and leaning back in his chair, he propped his long legs on the wooden desk as he looked at her.

  “I know you took that dagger. Is it tucked somewhere in your dress?”

  Her blushing face betrayed her.

  “I would strongly suggest you do not use it against me. I have many people around me who wouldn’t hesitate for revenge if you so much as nick my shoulder with that thing.”

  “I have no intentions of killing you, Laird Maxwell,” Lady Lyall insisted. “You have not threatened my life, only my freedom.”

  He furrowed his brows, not liking the meaning he heard in her words. “Is there someone who has threatened you, Lady Lyall?”

  He noticed her hesitation. “Nobody has threatened me. This dagger is important to me, is all.” She paused. “My laird, about last night…”

  “You willna speak to anyone about what you saw last night.”

  Her eyes softened. Was that pity he saw? Ach, he wanted none of that.

  “I have no one to speak to. But do you think you might need help…”

  “I said, we willna speak about it.”

  She lowered her head. “Very well.”

  “You may go,” he told her, lowering his eyes to his work. He picked his pen and dipped it in ink, cuing the woman to leave. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her turn around, but then she stopped.

  “My laird.”

  “Yes?”

  “I need to see the healer.”

  “What is it that you need?” Adam asked. “I ‘ave knowledge myself about the healin’ arts an’ can save you a trip to Lachina.”

  The woman seemed bashful. “I doubt you know much about what I’m going through,” she said demurely. “I need to see Lachina for womanly needs, if you follow me.”

  He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the thought of discussing such things with her. “I’ll have Alister walk you over there,” he told her.

  “Oh, thank you.” The smile she gave him was startling. It was the first real smile he’d seen from her and it lit up her face like a beacon.

  All for a trip to Lachina’s house? he wondered as she left. Ach, no. I’ve allowed her to get away from Dunaid for a wee bit and she is thrilled about it.

  His hand knocked against his ink bottle, spilling the sable liquid all over his work. He cursed, but whether for the ruined documents or for the fact that Lady Lyall had been so blatantly unhappy, he knew not.

  Nellie noted with a bit of satisfaction that Laird Maxwell did not ask for the dagger back when she left. And before she was set out to go to Lachina’s, she took it with her to the courtyard and used it to clear back the ivy from the windows. She had the idea of clearing her own window in her bedroom upon her return and heartened at the prospect of being able to finally see outside.

  A few days ago, she unearthed a patch of overgrown herbs in the courtyard. She recognized a few—basil, thyme, and mint—but there were many she did not know. Nellie remembered back at Burrach Castle when they grew chamomile to help her da’s insomnia. She wondered if that kind of herb would also help Laird Maxwell with his unpleasant dreams. There was only one person she knew who would know the answer.

  So, indeed, she was not going to Lachina’s for relief for her monthly cycle, but for Laird Maxwell’s sake.

  However, it’s not because I care about him, she reasoned, trimming some more ivy, perhaps with a little bit more vigor than was necessary. Indeed, this is just so that I can sleep better and not be awoken by him.

  Although, she knew that wasn’t completely true. The vulnerability she’d witnessed in the man changed the way she saw him. As arrogant as he was, it pained her that he was having such terrors in the night. It was no way to live.

  By mid-morning, Alister was standing by the entrance door, waiting for her. He had a sword strapped to his waist and a mantel around his shoulders. He eyed Nellie warily.

  “You ready?” he asked curtly.

  “Yes, I’m ready,” she replied, just as tartly.

  Nellie relished at finally being able to step outside, to walk in the grass, and to stare up at the sky without walls surrounding her. The courtyard was nice, but it was nothing compared to actually being out in an open field. She wanted to run and skip through the grass, but she doubted Alister would very much approve of that.

  Instead, she kept a steady pace with him. He was silent, which she thought unusual for him as he always seemed to be the loudest one at mealtimes. But it was very clear that he would rather be anywhere than walking next to her.

  Lachina’s house sat at the bottom of a hill. Flickering lights shone through the windows and a small horse chewed grass outside, looking achingly like a healthier version of Lily before Burrach was faced with famine. It was a cozy place, something Nellie could picture herself living in.

  A small herb and vegetable garden grew out front. Although late in the season, there were squashes spilling across the stone pathway to Lachina’s front door. A pang of sadness tore through her as Nellie remembered her and her mother tilling the soil around Burrach, planting seeds in the hopes of growing more food. All those plants were now dead, perhaps still buried under snow.

  The two of them stopped at the door as Nellie knocked on it. Lachina opened it within moments, giving them both a big smile.

  “Alister and Lady Lyall! Welcome in.” She ushered them both inside.

  Alister made a move to follow her, but Nellie turned around and held up a hand.

  “You are most definitely not going in with me,” Nellie insisted.

  “I don’t take orders from you,” Alister replied, folding his arms as though he dared her to defy him.

  She didn’t think it wise
for the laird’s cousin to listen in as Nellie talked about his private moments. She doubted if he knew at all what his laird went through every night. As arrogant as Laird Maxwell was, it wasn’t Nellie’s place to destroy his stony façade.

  “We’re going to be talking about my monthly bleeding, so if you’re interested in that, go right ahead and follow me in.”

  Alister recoiled as though he’d been struck by lightning and turned around and sat down on the steps. “Fine, I’m stayin’ put.”

  Nellie let out a sigh of relief.

  Lachina’s house smelled of herbs and freshly-baked bread. Dried herbs and flowers decorated the walls and above the burning fireplace hung an iron pot cooking something that made Nellie’s mouth water. The place was homely, and everything Dunaid was not.

  “Oh, I could just stay here forever,” Nellie told her, taking a sip from the tea Lachina handed to her. “Laird Maxwell would have a thing or two to learn from you.”

  “If I didn’t already have an assistant, I would invite you to be mine.”

  “Is she here right now?”

  “Elspeth is actually on her first run by herself. A neighbor has an ague.” Nellie noted how proud Lachina was, like a mother speaking of her daughter.

  “I never thanked her for caring for me. Or you, for that matter. Thank you, indeed,” Nellie told her. It was also Laird Maxwell, too, who had cared for her during her direst time. He had dressed her wounds, gave her water, fed her, and ran his fingers through her hair…

  “It is my joy to help you feel better,” Lachina said, interrupting her intrusive thoughts. “Are you looking for something for the pain?” she asked as she directed Nellie to sit in a chair next to the fire.

  “Oh, no. I’m not here for any of that.”

  Lachina’s eyebrows rose with interest. “Oh, what are you here for then, lass?”

  “It’s about Laird Maxwell.”

  “I should’ve guessed.” Lachina frowned, narrowing her eyes. “Is he treating you poorly?”