Stay With Me

by Ruby Duvall

  “He is here?” Donald straightened his clothing and took a second to smooth down his brown, windblown hair. Iain nodded in response. Donald heaved a sigh. “This must stop. I canna protect him if he dinna stay where he’s safe.”

  “I would say that wherever ye are is where he’s safe,” Iain said as they walked together toward his home, “but I ken that ye’re frustrated. I thought that Kenneth might bring Beth to the castle again to see Colin but she didna like the idea. The men-at-arms scare her.”

  Donald let out a deep breath. “I never should have scolded her.” Iain gripped the other man’s shoulder.

  “Children scrape their elbows and knees. Ye canna protect a child from his own clumsy feet. They throw themselves on the ground with such force that a grown man would break his leg, yet always spring to their feet again.” Donald made a sort of amused snort.

  They entered a noisy home. Malcolm and Kenneth were discussing the uneventful hours spent keeping watch. Colin had stuffed his mouth with honey oatcake and was showing Beth the mushy remains on his tongue. Aili and Emma were both laughing at his antics.

  “Donald has arrived to reclaim his charge,” Iain announced. Everyone fell silent except for Colin, who let out an earsplitting wail of rebellion, his mouth still full of food. Beth’s smile fell away and she scrambled off the bench to hide by her father’s side. Iain looked askance at a tight-mouthed Donald.

  “Och, Donald! Could ye no’ have waited an hour?” Aili complained. “We’ve four adults here. Colin would have been safe.”

  “Malcolm dinna count,” Donald said. It was Malcolm’s turn to frown. “And I dinna know her.” He pointed at Emma, who stepped back as though he had leveled a sword at her rather than his finger.

  “Emma is a—” Beth tried to say but her father covered her mouth.

  “I want to stay here!” Colin cried. “Why do I have to go back? Why-y-y?”

  “Colin, we’ll see about what we can do but for now, ye should leave with Donald. Ye did sneak away from him,” Kenneth said. Colin’s bottom lip still trembled and he wiped at his eyes.

  “It isna fair,” he said. “It isna fair!”

  Donald’s voice deepened as his temper grew shorter. “My duty isna to be fair. ’Tis keeping ye safe.”

  Emma walked to Colin, crouched down to his level and turned him toward her. She leaned to whisper in his ear. Colin continued to sniff but his breaths slowed down. The boy nodded once and then nodded again. Emma leaned back with a smile and patted his shoulders.

  “Are you ready?” she asked. Colin wiped at his eyes one last time as he nodded a third time. Emma then stood up and looked at Donald. “He’s ready to go home.”

  Iain’s jaw dropped. Colin walked toward the leuchd-crios as quiet as a lamb. Donald, with nearly the same expression as Iain, offered his hand and Colin obediently took it.

  “Bye, Colin,” Beth called. The heir waved at his friend and left the house with his guardian. Once they had both gone, Kenneth looked at Emma and asked the question to which everyone wanted the answer. “How did ye do that?”

  She smiled coyly. “Magic.”

  —

  Emma was incredibly grateful when the day was over. She and Aili had made all three meals, had started a large batch of ale, though it would sit awhile longer overnight, and had made an enormous amount of fennel-scented soap that Aili said would last her many months. Emma hadn’t realized how dangerous a process it was, handling all that lye. She had also labored to heat water for a bath while Aili watched the pottage they were to eat for dinner. Her back, arms, shoulders and hands were throbbing with pain from overuse but she reluctantly avoided another aspirin.

  She had barely kept her eyes open through the last meal of the day.

  By the time everyone had left, it was only an hour past sunset, yet she wanted to sleep more than anything else. Sitting at the table and tiredly pulling her brush through her hair, she watched as Iain added more fuel to the fire. All day, the image of his wet, naked back had been there to haunt her mind’s eye whenever she looked at him, but it had made eye contact with him too embarrassing. She had been extra careful to avoid walking in on him that night and didn’t return to the house until she saw him carrying out buckets of his bathwater to toss away.

  He glanced up from stoking the fire to look at her and she averted her eyes. Her cheeks felt warm. “Ye look as though ye may pass out,” he said.

  “I might,” she admitted. She folded up her hair brush, slid it into her purse and zipped the bag shut.

  “I’m sorry I canna set up the other bed yet,” he said.

  “Well, as you said, you don’t have the straw. There’s room for both of us. That is,” she paused, yawning from behind her hand, “if you’re not upset about sharing with me.”

  “’Tis no trouble,” he mumbled.

  Emma stood and gratefully made her way to bed, thinking how proud her mother would be to see her making soap and ale from scratch. Her throat was sore from being near the smoky fire all day though. Something was constantly being boiled, grilled, or heated. She made a mental note to wear a kerchief over her face tomorrow.

  Taking off her kirtle was a painful few seconds. Once it was folded and lying on the trunk lid, she turned to walk to the side of the bed but jumped with surprise. Standing only a few feet away, Iain watched her with an odd expression.

  “S-sorry to make you wait,” she stuttered, quickly slipping off her shoes.

  She slid to the far side of the bed and then turned onto her left side away from Iain. The mattress, despite being filled with straw and bog myrtle, seemed to her as comfortable as a king-sized bed at an expensive hotel. Once Iain settled behind her, she closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to pull her under but despite her utter exhaustion, her mind was still wide awake and she was unable to dispel the same worries that had kept her on edge the previous night.

  How would her parents find out? Would an officer come to their door like last time? Her memories tortured her with images of her mother breaking down, of her father backing up in shock.

  Then there were her more immediate problems. She had met people willing to help her, albeit some begrudgingly, but she was a woman with nothing to her name and no one to protect her in a time when women had no rights. Was she safe? What would happen if her locket were stolen or broken? Where would she go once she had overstayed her welcome? Would she ever have a place to call home again?

  Why had she ever wanted to leave home so badly?

  Her hand went to her mouth as hot tears fell from her eyes. The tears rolled over the bridge of her nose, across her cheekbone and then down to her neck, growing colder as they slid across her skin. Her chest grew tight with pent-up sobs. She tried to breathe slowly, to calm down.

  “Dinna cry.” Iain’s voice rumbled even when he whispered. She sucked in a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry I woke you up,” she managed to say without blubbering.

  “I wasna asleep.” She heard Iain turn toward her and his hand touched her shoulder very lightly, almost hesitantly. “Dinna worry about yer troubles. We’ll take care of ye.” She tried to swallow her tears, to thank him and get some semblance of control over herself. She almost succeeded when he added, “I…will take care of ye.”

  Coming from him, the sentiment was unexpected. More sincere. More upsetting.

  One of the sobs escaped and she shook as the rest clamored to follow. It was mortifying, crying in front of a man as shrewd and serious as Iain. She wanted to be stronger, had tried her best. He probably thought she was pathetic.

  She was therefore shocked when he pulled her back against him, sliding his biceps under her head and wrapping his arms around her. He shushed her cries, stroked her arm, held her tightly.

  “Ye’re just tired. Ye’ll feel better in the morning and even better the morning after that,” he whispered. He was a furnace and his warmth saturated her body, softened her tense muscles. “Soon ye�
�ll be happy again.”

  “Thank you…so much,” she breathed. Her eyes stung from her tears and the long day in a smoke-filled house but she was glad to be in someone’s arms, just like in her dreams. Iain shifted closer and then settled, softly breathing against the back of her neck.

  After that, she remembered no more.

  —

  “I want you,” she whispered. Iain groaned, knowing instantly the vixen to which that voice belonged. “And I know you want me, Iain.” She was atop him again, rubbing the hard tips of her breasts across his chest, grinding herself against his swelling loins. He opened his eyes.

  They weren’t on his bed but on a pile of soft furs in a room lit by candles. Her blood red lips seemed to glisten. She smiled at him and cocked her head to one side.

  “But am I what you really want?” she asked. “Maybe you’re afraid of me?” Her eyebrow arched.

  “I’m no’ afraid,” he said. She leaned down to kiss his mouth and he turned his head away. She laughed, pressing a searing kiss to his neck instead.

  “You are,” she affirmed. Iain grasped her shoulders and pushed her aside, pinning her face down on the furs. It was a second while he disentangled their legs but he kept her from moving despite her struggles. Her black wings shuddered with agitation. One hand on the back of her neck kept her from rising but his other hand forced her onto her knees.

  “I’m no’ afraid of ye,” he insisted.

  She spoke with her cheek against the floor. “Then why did you turn your head away?” Frowning, he penetrated her with one lunge. She cried out.

  He knew she wouldn’t move again and grasped her hips with both hands. He pounded in and out of her, reaching as deep as he could go and rolling his pelvis against her soft backside.

  “Do you really…think this is who I am?” She sounded out of breath and out of control, as though she would fall apart at any second. “Do you…really think this is…what you want?” His eyebrows slanted down in confusion. “Or do you want her?” Iain looked to his left. The Emma he knew was lying on the bed, asleep.

  The one on the furs with him screamed. He felt her muscles shuddering over his length and woke up.

  Chapter Seven

  The next few days went by in relative peace, for which Iain was grateful. It had been common for Colin to sneak out to the croft once a week but once a week turned into every other day. After the third time, Donald relented and promised to escort Colin out to the croft for a few hours once every few days on the condition that their visits would be unplanned.

  The laird sent out a decree asking all his outlying crofters to keep a wary eye open at all times and promising a reward for the capture or death of any thief. Though Iain and Kenneth took turns keeping watch at night with the farmhands, Iain needed to rest before the next day’s work and every night he expected to be woken by the frantic barks of his dogs and the shouts of his farmhands calling for help. However, each morning found them as yet unmolested.

  Iain didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but Emma was quickly becoming essential to their daily lives. She kept a tidy home, made excellent meals and even her ale was quite good, though she drank none of it. The pink disappeared from her reddish-blonde hair after her fourth night, so she chose not to wear her kertch from then on. He couldn’t deny that her hair was especially beautiful during dinner when it was still damp and well-lit by the firelight. Whenever he saw her out washing clothes or fetching fresh water, he could not help but stop and watch her from a distance.

  Neither could his farmhands, both of whom were much more eager to eat at the house than they had been before and Iain knew that it wasn’t because of the higher quality of the meals.

  After the night he had taken her into his arms, Emma had grown more confident with every new day, smiling more and losing her shyness to speak. He deliberately held her only that one night but continued to wake up in the same position—one arm asleep, the other tossed over her side and stiff loins pressed against her rear. His dreams grew more intense, leaving him increasingly desperate for release every morning. A quick retreat to the side of the house for relief had become a daily necessity, yet he found himself strangely content.

  He hadn’t realized how lonely he had been.

  Emma was confined to the house most of the day, keeping house and learning from Aili, but sooner or later she was bound to be noticed, to become a piece of gossip for those too idle to make better use of their time or their mouths. It was only a matter of time before those who lived in the village learned of his brother-in-law and niece’s far-fetched notions of her origin. Colin would surely be the first to let it slip. The laird was known to be rather superstitious and there was no telling what his reaction might be.

  Iain was still trying to learn the truth from her but she still resisted and he began to feel guilty for always stifling her levity with his questions. However, he needed some way to explain why she had come to live with him. It wasn’t appropriate for a single young man and woman to live together. He thought about suggesting that she stay with Aili in the village but he could never bring himself to speak it.

  Sending her to the village would be like sending her to the wolves.

  —

  “Aye, just like that.” From her seat at the table, Aili supervised as Emma kneaded a hunk of bread dough. Emma couldn’t believe how long it had taken to prepare leaven for making a loaf of bread. They had started the recipe a couple of days ago. “Keep at it,” the old woman said. “’Tis ready when the dough is smooth and dinna stick to yer fingers.” Emma rubbed her palms together to remove the gooey dough from her skin and then plunged her hands down again.

  Aili was carefully wrapping the leftover leaven for when Emma would make more bread tomorrow and Beth was quietly playing with her doll at her seat across from the old woman. Kenneth had left early that morning with the farmhands to harvest some hay from an unused meadow in another glen and claim a portion for their own livestock but they would return mid-afternoon. Iain, however, was inspecting the lambs that had been born that spring and then would drive his large herd of sheep to a paddock with fresh grass.

  Though the work was hard, Emma felt quite satisfied by her accomplishments every day, especially when the others ate what she had labored to make. Kenneth’s enjoyment was by far the loudest but the shy, pleased smiles of the two farmhands and Iain’s silent nods of approval were surely a compliment. Aili also heaped praise upon her, usually at Iain’s expense.

  Perhaps she was more resilient than she had thought.

  “Is this all right?” she asked a short while later.

  Aili reached across the table to test the dough and nodded. “Roll it into a ball. Then cover it up and let it rise.” Emma set the bowl aside just as someone stepped into the doorway. Someone new.

  A beautiful blonde woman held a covered basket against one of her generous hips, her free hand resting delicately on the doorframe. Emma couldn’t help but notice her dress first because it was blood red and very loud against the browns and greens of the house and landscape beyond. Finally meeting the woman’s eyes, she saw that the newcomer had a very clear complexion. Emma wished she had some makeup with her.

  The woman looked Emma up and down with undisguised condescension, a tiny sneer curling her lip, and her gaze lingered on Emma’s locket for a few seconds. Offended and confused, Emma barely stopped her flour-dusted fingers from grasping protectively at the precious weight hanging from her neck.

  “Good day,” the woman finally said. Her cheery smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Rossalyn?” Aili said. The old woman squinted in the newcomer’s direction. “What in God’s name are ye doing here?” Despite all the time she had spent with Aili for the last week, Emma was still shocked at the woman’s open dislike of the other.

  “Auld Aili,” Rossalyn said with a sigh. “I was wondering why I hadna seen ye verra much lately, however happy it made me. Ye’ve been here, it seems,” she giggled. Without asking permission, she wa
lked inside to the table wearing a pout that looked rather rehearsed. “I do worry so much about Iain, living out here with no one to give him good meals or…care for him,” she said suggestively. “I thought yesterday that I might cook something for him. How surprised I was this morning to hear from my good friend Ruth that a woman,” she said, looking at Emma, “has been living here for the past week.”

  What the hell was this lady’s problem? Was she Iain’s girlfriend?

  “She heard loveable little Malcolm talking to precious young Thomas about this woman when the boys were in the village yesterday afternoon,” Rossalyn continued. Emma already hated the way the other woman spoke and noted the frown on Beth’s face, whom Rossalyn hadn’t yet acknowledged. “Even stranger, they said that this woman was some kind of fairy!” Rossalyn giggled again. “How silly!”

  Shit! Emma had been hoping to have some other story to spread around once she could make up something to tell Iain, not this fairy crap again. Even worse was that others would look down on an unmarried woman living with an unmarried man to whom she wasn’t related. How severely they treated such a situation was an unknown she didn’t like to ponder.

  “She really is a fairy!” Beth insisted. The little girl stood up on the bench, though she still wasn’t as tall as Rossalyn.

  “Oh I didna see ye there,” Rossalyn said nonchalantly, not even looking in the little girl’s direction and still staring at Emma with half a smile on her face. “Can she even speak, this fairy?”

  “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not in the room,” Emma said.

  Rossalyn’s eyebrows shot up and she pressed her free hand to her chest. “How rude,” she breathed. “And she talks so strangely. She isna…English, is she?”

  “Ye know Iain dinna like ye to invite yerself into his home.” Aili slowly stood. Rossalyn used the same rehearsed pout on the old woman as she set her covered basket on the table.

  “I could say the same of ye. I rather thought I was doing him a favor.” She settled her gaze on Emma once more. “I’m certain my cooking is far better than what an outsider would make. Why is he even offering his good hospitality to someone like her? Would it no’ be better if she leeched from someone else?” The more Rossalyn spoke, the more Emma’s body shook with anger, for she couldn’t deny any of the other woman’s accusations. She indeed was a leech, an outsider who didn’t know how to cook or run a home at all—at least, not the way they did. Despite all that, she had never felt better about her situation than she had that morning but the day was turning sour faster than her bread dough.