But, in the end, she had been forced to surrender.
She had felt the compulsion, the need, for fresh air and open plains so that her mind might have the space to breathe.
Caoimhe drifted her hands over the top of the grass, the prickly little ends ticklish against her palms. She moved through the long and swaying flora, avoiding the odd patch of bramble that had snuck boldly towards the sandy shore. There was even a strand of knotgrass that had risked the journey far from its native home.
“When they bloom they’re delicate and beautiful… You just have to look closely to see it.”
Niall’s words slipped across her memories and stilled Caoimhe’s hand. He had called her pretty. Implied that with time she would become something of a hidden beauty. And yet, after their night together, he had dismissed her. He had not wished to stay in her company. He had shunned her, implying that he only embraced her as a necessary evil to his marriage.
It had been a month since their wedding.
Was she doomed to be the player of a child’s game? Stuck in the corner of the board, darting back and forth, forever? For every step she seemed to gain in appeasing Niall, in drawing closer to him as a wife and friend, she felt knocked back to the starting block a moment later.
Three nights ago, she had thought the trials were over, the walls demolished, and her path to a life of contentment within her reach. It had not been perfect; no storm clouds had cleared to offer her pristine waters and smooth sailing. But there had been a brightness, a joy that had lulled her to believe in happy endings. She had joined with Niall, allowing him to touch parts of her that she had never shared with anyone. Her body still warmed with only the thought of their lovemaking.
And yet…
His words, all the more cutting for their simplicity, and his retreat from her chambers had set her firmly back to the beginning of the board.
Lost in her own morose, cyclical frustrations over the difficulties of life’s complexities, Caoimhe allowed time to slip away from her. The morning seeped into afternoon, and she continued to walk and forage amongst the leaves.
She stopped and stooped for any herbs or roots that she knew to do well for muscle pain, for she knew Mary suffered on her feet. But the efforts were not so well managed, for her mind kept drifting and she would growl and slash at the reeds in resentment that something so simple should be so complicated.
Though, to be fair, she wasn’t sure if such anger was directed at Niall or herself.
Slipping her shoes from her feet, Caoimhe tipped out the sand that had wriggled its way beyond the soft hide and turned her ire inwards. It had been on the tip of her tongue to claim feelings for Niall in that singular moment of ecstasy. To part her lips, meet his gaze, and tell him just how much his presence had come to mean to her. How the castle felt hollow when he was away, how the imprint of his hands still felt hot beneath her skin. How she liked to watch his eyes brighten in those rare moments where he smiled.
Somehow, that smile had become so precious.
She felt foolish that she had been so close to admitting something that Niall would have only found distasteful.
“Lady Caoimhe!”
The call was lost upon the winds from the loch, only a few of the syllables catching at Caoimhe’s ears and hair. She turned with a frown, her locks wild and free upon the breeze, shielding her eyes against the falling sun.
She was surprised to spy Fanny from the kitchens running towards her. The girl struggled with her skirts and tried to keep her apron clean and out of the way of the reeds and bushes as she navigated the sandy rises towards her mistress.
“Lady Caoimhe! The master wishes for your return!” she called, waving her hands with urgency.
Caoimhe glanced at the sun, moving steadily towards the horizon, and worried for her time away. Her thoughts had blinded her to the hours that passed.
Fanny tried to catch her breath. Clearly, the girl had run the entire way here on the off chance that the figure on the horizon was, in fact, her mistress. Caoimhe took up her skirts and hurried to join the girl, shortening her journey at least by some. She felt guilt at forcing the girl so far and so fast!
“I would have returned by sunfall,” she assured the girl, and Fanny nodded, still trying to swallow down air. Her words were breathless in her efforts to see explanations rendered.
“The master did not know where you were. He is in a panic, my lady. He thinks something untoward to have happened. Please, we should return and set his mind at rest.”
Confused by the sudden care and attention shown her way, Caoimhe only nodded and followed the girl back across the dunes. It would not do well to imply before Niall’s staff that he had, until now, been decidedly lacking in his husbandly attentions.
By the time the two of them reached the front gates of Aberlynn, the sun was beyond the tops of the trees across the forest way and had started to stain the sky orange. It was clear that Caoimhe had caused a frightful scare amongst the staff for being gone so long, as Fanny was not the only one running about the estate trying to find her. As they approached the gatehouse and Duncan’s home, Roy appeared from around the wall and ran towards them with a relieved smile.
“Miss Caoimhe, you’re safe!” he cried, his hands raised in praise and thanks to the Almighty. Caoimhe felt herself blush in shame over the excitement she had caused with a simple walk.
“I seem to have caused a ruckus. I had not thought my absence to be so noteworthy for a single day.”
“His Lordship has made it clear that no one on the grounds is to eat until you’re found, my lady,” Roy informed her, innocently digging the knife of guilt a little deeper. “I’ve never seen the master so frantic.”
Caoimhe had no idea what to make of such news.
Did Niall really care so much? Was he so desperate to see her safe and unharmed? And if so, why harm her himself, by leaving her rooms that night? He may not have pulled a weapon or seen her injured, but his dismissal of her place at his side had been wounding enough to draw blood. Why now did he show his care? Why only now after they had...
The answer came to her quickly and simply.
For not only had Caoimhe thought their time together that night to be a connection of hearts, it had also been one of bodies. Even now, she might be with Niall’s child. A slip or a fall, a chilling grip caught in the winds of the October weather—all could be fatal to an unborn heir.
Niall’s concern was not for her, but for the child they might have conceived together.
Saddened by this realization, Caoimhe felt all the energy that had seen her stalk the dunes with a confident stride drift from her muscles and leave her feeling desperately tired.
Fanny was quick to notice her mistress, usually so sweet and energetic, wilt before her eyes.
“Lady Caoimhe, are you alright?” she asked, taking hold of her mistress’s arm. She guided her through the archway of the wall and along the gravel path towards the estate. Aberlynn was so large and the walkway so long that it almost felt as if the castle grew no closer with each step.
“I am well, Fanny,” Caoimhe assured her, hoping to draw a smile to her face. Roy moved into step beside them. “I think I just need to lie down before dinner.”
The sound of a horse, drawn to a harsh stop, and the skidding of hooves upon stony ground, had the three of them looking back over their shoulders. In a whirl of crimson tunic and sooty black cloak, Malcolm Brodie dismounted from his gelding with a face of thunder and a determined stride.
Drawing herself up to her full but insubstantial height, Caoimhe brushed away Fanny’s touch and laid her hands before her in a dignified manner.
“Lord Malcolm…” she offered, the tiredness gone from her voice.
Niall would have to wait for the discovery of her return. There were many things she could not do right as his wife, but greeting guests did not have to be one of them.
She continued. “It is a pleasure as always. You come with such speed. What brings you to Aberlyn
n?”
“Don’t toy with me, woman!” Malcolm growled, all chivalry dispensed with.
Caoimhe felt Fanny shrink beside her, and Roy bristled at her elbow.
“I’ll not speak with you over your husband. Where is Niall?”
Unwilling to be treated as one would an unsturdy chair—unappealing and of little use—Caoimhe decided that she had had enough of being dismissed as lacking by the Brodie men for one week.
Her chin rose and her gaze was firm upon Malcolm’s.
“I’m sure that I do not know, Lord Malcolm. But perhaps if you would care to enter our home with quiet manners, I’ll be sure to see him found and accounted for.”
“Your home! You speak very naturally for a stray let within these walls for only a few weeks.” Malcolm took a demanding step forward, but Caoimhe held firm. “You’ll do as I say, and find Niall so that I might set my aggression upon him. Fail and I’ll have no choice but to see you pay for the cavalier ways he treats his loyal nobles.”
This had to be about the taxation of Malcolm’s lands. The change that Duncan had told her about almost a week ago now. She remembered how Malcolm had been attempting to squire away funds for his own means. How such money might be used against Niall and Aberlynn.
Caoimhe felt resentment fire up courage from deep within.
She thought of Mary with her sore feet and Stewart with his wispy ears. She thought of how Roy had been so pleased to secure a job upon the grounds and Eliza’s new baby. How the staff here were small in number and vulnerable. But, in their own ways, a family.
She breathed in, slow and sure, and held her ground.
“I apologize for my curtness, Lord Malcolm, but I think it best that you leave. Such resolutions are rare to be found when men think with their hearts rather than their heads. I’m sure you’ll agree that another time would suit better?”
For a moment, Caoimhe thought that the man might strike her. After he blinked, taking a shocked moment to process her dismissal of his presence, Malcolm took an aggressive step forward, his arm lifting. Despite all her courage, Caoimhe faltered and she fell a step backwards. Clearly, she was not the only one who smelled violence, as Roy tensed beside her and Fanny reached to take her shoulder, ready to pull her further out of harm’s way.
The bellow that came from behind them, however, saw everything fall to a standstill.
“Malcolm!”
In an instant, Caoimhe felt her body relax, her fears settle, and her heart beat faster in her chest.
That was Niall’s voice.
After it had whispered such sweetness in her ear, she would recognize that voice a mile away, in the middle of a thunderstorm. And if Niall was here, that meant that she was safe.
The reassurance was short-lived as the sound of Niall’s boots trebled and the pattering of paws on stone spiked that age-old anxiety.
In his effort to see off the intruder, Niall had brought his dogs. Guardians of their domain, they barked and growled at Malcolm as they sprinted across the lawns. Their intention was the protection of their lands, but all Caoimhe could hear was the violence in their cries and the aggression in their howls.
Lost to the memories of childhood, where terror had gripped her raw and rendered her motionless, Caoimhe screamed. In all her days at Aberlynn, she had managed to stay away from the animals, but now they roared and growled around her! Her hands came over her ears, her knees softened and fell away. She was on the ground, crumpled in the work of a moment. Her eyes were squeezed closed, her lips drawn back in a grimace of horror, and she could barely hear what was happening anymore. Her four-year-old self wanted only to run and hide, however she could. Visions of wild eyes and foaming mouths were drawn from her subconscious to terrorize her.
Had she opened her eyes or pulled her hands from her ears, Caoimhe might have been able to explain her reactions. However, she was lost to her own fears, tumbling in a turmoil of sounds that she couldn’t make clear sense of.
“What did you do?!” Niall demanded.
A scuffle of boots and the riotous barking grew louder. Caoimhe whimpered when a furry leg brushed against her arm.
“Nothing!” The word was Malcolm’s, defensive and shocked. “She’s crazy! I did nothing!”
“Master, it’s the—”
“It’s true, my lord, he did not touch the lady.”
Chaos reigned as everyone spoke at once. The dogs would not stop, and now Malcolm’s horse whinnied in fear. The sound of stones underfoot were loud and abrasive. Even the wind seemed determined to break between Caoimhe’s fingers, stoking her fears with howls of its own.
A sharp bark rent the air and Caoimhe cried out. It was so close—right by her ear!
“Master, it’s the dogs! Shoo! Shoo!” Roy was trying to get rid of the animals, and she felt her heart go out to him.
“Miss Caoimhe has a fear of dogs. She’s scared.”
Caoimhe felt a pair of unfamiliar hands touch her shoulders, and she jumped. They were soft and slender, and seemed to be trying to comfort but, unable to see, she did not trust them.
“Don’t touch her!” Niall spoke again, his tone commanding.
And suddenly, Caoimhe was in the air, her body drawn close into familiar arms and her comfort found against the shoulder of her husband. She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing herself higher, away from the dogs on the ground.
She felt Niall’s orders rise through his chest and then burst from within in a violent directive that had the barks cease immediately. Caoimhe felt her muscles unclench a little.
His next order had the sounds of paws on gravel shooting away towards the castle.
Too emotional now to calm herself entirely, Caoimhe was left to cower in Niall’s arms, breathing in his scent and turning to his breast for comfort, like a babe. Strange how this man had been the source of so many of her fears not so long ago and was now her shield against them all.
“My wife asked you to leave, Malcolm. I suggest you honor her wishes. I’ll not see her diminished or yourself forcibly removed from the grounds. Leave now, and we shall speak on whatever topic has brought you another time.”
Caoimhe felt the breeze of movement as Niall turned away, rejecting his cousin with so simple a dismissal. She felt her heart break a little as she remembered how he had done the same to her only a few days ago.
As they moved across the lawns and into the estate, Caoimhe was lost to the orders that Niall gave. One sent Roy headed for the laundry rooms, and another had Fanny running for the kitchen. She neither noticed, nor heard any explanations he gave to the servants he passed, carrying her in his arms. Instead, she heard only the beat of his heart beneath her ear. It pounded hard and heavy, as if recovering from some great shock.
Gently, Caoimhe felt the softness of a lounging chair beneath her, a cushion settled in the small of her back, and another moved to behind her head. Only then, when the room was so quiet and without animals or spectators, did Caoimhe brave opening her eyes.
Niall had leaned over her with a worry that had set his pallor ashen. His eyes were intense, but his hands soft as he pushed hair back from her face.
“You are not to leave the grounds without an escort, Caoimhe,” he said.
The little bubble of hope that his anxiety came from his care for her popped and evaporated. It was not her fears that he wished to settle. It was her disobedience.
She tried to look away from him.
Niall took hold of her face and drew her back, his fingers unyielding but gentle.
“Caoimhe, do you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
What else was she to say to such a demand? She could not fault the man for fearing for his child, even before either could know if it existed. Such paternal diligence was what was wished for by every woman, surely? And yet with every reminder that he cared more for whatever heir they might create, Caoimhe’s heart lost a little more hope that he might ever turn such love upon her.
When Fanny and Roy returned, Caoimh
e was subjected to an evening of coddling. The stablehand had brought a thick woolen blanket, and Fanny had a warm drink and fresh pastries to eat. Mary had made her favorites—the ones with the blackberries.
As balms went, it was a soothing one. If she could not have the love of her husband, at least she had a family here that would care for her in her heartbreak.
18
Little Families
There were not enough doors in his estate suitable enough to slam in his ire, but Malcolm made do where he could. There were three in total that he shoved and shook against their hinges, rattling them in their frames until their latches fell into place with a resounding crash. It took until the second slam for the whimpering to begin upstairs and, by the third door, Grahame’s cries could be heard around the Fraemlynn manor. Malcolm felt a thread of guilt in his heart over disturbing his son’s rest, but it soon evaporated in the heat of his wrath. He had only to think of his cousin’s face, the righteous indignation of Malcolm’s presence on his pathway to relive the shame all over and have all his soft feelings of compassion thrown to a far-off corner of his mind.
Huffing and stomping with an aggressive stride, Malcolm found his way to his mother’s parlor. His Brodie blood saw his temper rising, and it had always been his natural instinct to seek her wisdom in times of discontent.
Fiona sat as she so often did in the evenings, embroidery on her lap, and her spine ramrod straight. She barely looked up at his entrance, her attention held more by her pretty little threads than his violent sense of iration.
She was the spider queen with her web.
“A productive visit to Aberlynn, I see,” she suggested, in all her cool presumption of wisdom. It grated all the more that he could not deny the accuracy of such a sarcastic statement.
“He threw me out, Mother!” Malcolm regaled with all the appropriate levels of disgust and irrevocable insult. “The bastard would not see me! He dismissed me from the grounds, as if I were a common member of the peasantry!”
Haunted By A Highland Curse: A Steamy Scottish Medieval Historical Romance Page 15