Her Highland Destiny

by Leanne Burroughs

  Before the nooning she felt fine. Catherine stood before the wardrobe and selected a simple kirtle. Having no lady’s maid, she’d paid close attention to her clothes, had worn none that fastened up the back.

  After brushing her hair she tied it back with a ribbon to match her dark blue gown.

  She headed downstairs and took her place at table. The women were making tallow and ash candles this morn and she hated missing any of that. She wanted to watch the entire process this time, although she wouldn’t touch them like she had a sennight earlier and burned her hand. I never imagined running a home could be so dangerous. I certainly do not remember Mother burning her hand after picking up freshly formed cakes of soap or newly made candles. Catherine chuckled. Mother may not have had such mishaps, but I have used enough violet leaf salve to heal my burns since arriving here. Thank goodness Rowena packed some for me before I left home.

  Cook brought out food for the head table. Eyes narrowed, she looked closely at Catherine. “Fare you better? Angus said you took ill this morn.”

  “Much better. Thank you for asking, Cook.” Catherine watched the woman walk away. What a difference in attitude. She remembered the first altercation she had with Cook when she approached her to plan meals.

  “What might you be qualified to do? Cut vegetables?” Cook queried snidely.

  “Nay,” Catherine admitted, standing straighter. “I have never cut vegetables, but I am qualified to run this abode.” She’d made an effort to keep her voice level. “I wish to start no argument, Cook, but you will not drive me away. Whether you like it or not, I am Cray Hall’s mistress.”

  Cook stomped about the room, bumping into and clanking metal pots. She’d stormed to a table and angrily kneaded bread dough. She slapped it down onto the table then slammed her hand into it.

  Catherine tried to hide her smile from the angry woman. She imagined Cook delighted in thinking the dough was Catherine’s head.

  Later that day servants changed rushes in the large Hall. Catherine stood and watched. “Mayhap we could sprinkle the new rushes with flower petals. Think you it might make them smell better when they are stepped on? Let me fetch some petals.”

  Angus had grown used to her saying we whenever anyone did a task, but this morn Catherine thought he seemed upset about it. He’d actually argued, “Lady, I will not have you running up and down the stairs helping with chores. You were ill this morn and should rest.”

  “I feel fine now,” she insisted, “and I believe Lord MacThomas would enjoy fresh worts in the rushes.” In truth, she had no idea what Duncan would like.

  Angus frowned. “You are my laird’s wife. Duncan will be angered when he discovers how you work yourself.”

  “If you will not let me see to the rushes, then I have a boon to ask.”

  “What have you need of?”

  Catherine assured, “I know ‘tis early in the year, but I would like to fetch flowers.”

  “Indeed,” he quirked a brow. “I shall have someone look for some.”

  A brilliant smile transformed her face. “I wish to gather them myself. ‘Tis such a lovely day.”

  “You need not ask permission to go outside.”

  Catherine smiled engagingly and headed toward the door.

  Catherine experienced the same illness the next morn. Laughing and crying at her misfortune, she clutched her belly, its contents emptied into the chamber pot. She turned to Siobhán for help in rising. “I hope this is not a forecasting of things to come, to spend the rest of my days on my knees before a chamber pot.”

  Siobhán eyed her with compassion.

  After sending her away, Catherine lay abed, alone and dejected. Duncan hadn’t returned. Her husband had abandoned her. Had she done aught to make him leave? Oh, she was English and some hated her for that, but such things no longer mattered. She wasn’t the pampered wench these people thought her and the sooner everyone discovered that, the better.

  As the wave of nausea hit, Catherine cared little about proving anything. She jumped out of bed and lurched to the chamber pot, thinking surely she was dying.

  By the nooning she felt fine, though panicky. Something seriously afflicted her. Why else would she sicken each morn? She couldn’t speak to Angus about this. He was but a man. Instead, she asked Siobhán, “Have you a healer?”

  “Not one specific healer, m’lady,” Siobhán informed her. “We have several women we see for different ailments.” She gave instructions on how to find one in the nearby village. “Maddie is the one we use the most. If she cannot help, she shall direct you to another.”

  Catherine walked to the village, taking advantage of the beautiful weather. She hated that several of Duncan’s men accompanied her through the lush green countryside, but they refused to let her walk out the gates unattended.

  She’d complained, “My absent husband cares naught what I do.” He’d made that painfully clear. Her lower lip trembled. She’d grown used to Duncan comforting her when she was upset. He’d been tender and patient. A gentle caress with his fingertips, the tender brush of his lips...

  Where had that thought come from? Aghast at her thoughts, it mattered not what he’d done before. Indeed, he was the cause of her upset.

  Catherine easily found the small brown hut Siobhán described. She ducked her head to enter the darkened room, the smell of herbs overpowering. Seeing a woman in the far corner, she introduced herself. “Good day. I am Catherine Gillingham.”

  The old woman grunted. “I know you, Lady MacThomas.” She emphasized the MacThomas. “I am Maddie. How may I help our Lady?”

  Suddenly afraid, Catherine couldn’t stop her tears. “I fear I am dying.” Her hand covered her mouth.

  “Dying?” A look of surprise crossed the crone’s face. She narrowed her eyes. “You are as healthy as one of Laird MacThomas’ steeds.”

  Catherine inhaled sharply. Could this wizened old woman actually believe those words a compliment? Striving for composure, she sniffled and explained, “I sicken each morn since my arrival. At first I thought I had eaten something spoiled, but ‘tis obviously more.”

  Maddie steadied her lady and offered a chair when she swayed. The healer asked several questions, but listened inattentively as if she already twigged the answers. Eventually Maddie rose from her wobbly wooden chair. She crossed to Catherine, helped her rise and escorted her to the door. She squeezed Catherine’s hand and smiled encouragingly.

  “Go home, Lady MacThomas. I can do naught to help you.”

  Catherine’s eyes widened. “‘Tis as I feared. I am dying then?” She felt hurt when Maddie’s mouth twitched in a smile, clearly trying to keep from laughing.

  “Nay, lady, as I sayeth, you are as healthy as a horse.”

  “But you said you could not help.”

  “I cannot help you now.” The crone’s wrinkled hands patted Catherine’s. “In about seven moons I will be delighted to deliver a braw laddie or a bonnie lassie.”

  Catherine’s mouth dropped. “I am...?” She could say no more.

  The auld woman chortled, her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “You breed with Laird Duncan’s child.”

  “But how...?”

  Maddie cackled, “Only one way for that to happen.”

  Catherine walked slowly back to the Hall, her emotions in a dither. One moment her heart swelled with the news and the next it plummeted to her belly as she considered the implications.

  A baby.

  Visions of a handsome face flashed through her mind. Why did Duncan leave? Couldn’t he have stayed to work out whatever problem he thought they had? Surely between them they could have come up with a solution.

  Angus met her coming in the Hall. She forced a smile. “I shall be upstairs. I had a pleasant walk, but wish to rest.” She needed time alone to think.

  ~ * ~

  The next morn again found Catherine kneeling on the floor, leaning over the chamber pot. Siobhán went to the basin and returned with a wet cloth and pressed it to Cather
ine’s forehead.

  Catherine stared into her maid’s green eyes. “I am with child, Siobhán. What am I to do?”

  The maid reached out to embrace her hand. “What mean you, Lady Catherine? You shall birth a beautiful bairn. Laird Duncan shall be pleased.”

  Catherine rose. Pulling her garment tighter around her still flat belly, she walked to the small arrow slit and looked toward the majestic mountains. Upset at the turn of events, she saw naught.

  “Lord Duncan has no intention of returning.” Catherine turned to face the young maid. “Please tell no one. I must decide what I shall do first.” She paced the room.

  Siobhán hesitated, bit the inside of her cheek, then mumbled, “As to that, everyone already knows.”

  Catherine’s head snapped around. “They know I carry Lord Duncan’s child?”

  Siobhán nodded.

  “How? I said naught.”

  “We knew afore you went. ‘Tis why your stomach turns each morn,” Siobhán answered truthfully.

  “Am I the only one—aside from my lord husband—who did not know?” Catherine sank onto the large bed and absently traced the intricate pattern of ancient Celtic designs on the bedpost. Feeling self-conscious, she moved her hand into her lap. “How can I face everyone? I have no husband, Siobhán.”

  Catherine spoke as if the verity didn’t bother her. Nothing could be farther from the truth. She wanted Duncan to return. She thought they’d formed a bond on the journey home. Showed how little she knew about men—or love.

  “How can I face people with them knowing that? I want no one’s pity.”

  Catherine’s eyes brimmed with tears as they rose to meet Siobhán’s.

  Siobhán continued. “In spite of what others say, I believe Laird Duncan shall return. If he does not, shame on him and the loss is his—not yours.”

  Catherine realized a bond had been forged between her and the young woman offering encouragement.

  With a weak smile and determination driven by desperation, Catherine walked out the bedchamber door and downstairs to formally announce Lord Duncan would soon be a father.

  Chapter Nine

  Angus rubbed the back of his neck as Catherine gathered her blue mantle. A whirlwind of energy, this woman befuddled him. Though no one expected to like her, in the fortnights she’d been here she wormed her way into many hearts. She in no way acted like the spoiled Sasunnach they expected.

  He informed her, “I must leave Cray Hall. Torchil shall be in charge. Inform him if you need aught.”

  “I can care for myself, Angus, but I thank you for your concern.” Her eyes lit with mischief. “Will you be gone long?”

  He teased, “I am away to Dunkeld. Hardly long enough for you to miss my handsome face.”

  Catherine laughed, a beautiful, lilting sound. “Travel safe. I shall miss you.” She stopped before she reached the door. “Carry tides to my lord husband. I look forward to his return.”

  Catherine disappeared before he answered. However had she known?

  ~ * ~

  Duncan sat inside Dunkeld’s inn and wondered why Angus hadn’t arrived. After all, he needed to check on Cray Hall, be sure everyone had enough food. He needed to know his clanspeople had enough peat to get them through the winter.

  Peat? Winter? Och, why couldn’t he just admit the only thing he really craved to know—how fared his wife that he ridiculously stayed away from? Vexing, in the time they’d been together, she’d somehow become part of him, as important as his next breath. Could he live without such a vital part of himself?

  Alone at the rear of the crowded inn, Duncan spotted his friend when he walked in. Angus looked tired, worried. Watching his friend’s painful movements, Duncan berated himself for suggesting meeting here.

  Unwilling to share his thoughts, Duncan stood and greeted him warmly. “Angus, how fare all at Cray Hall?

  Angus took a seat. “We lost cattle to the neighboring Farquharson’s, but it did not take long to recover them.”

  “Plus a few more?” Duncan chuckled.

  “Och, aye.” Angus nodded, a twinkle in his eye. “How fare Laird Grant and his Lady?”

  Duncan smiled. “Still sparring.”

  He’d hoped to have such a home. A place where love and happiness abounded. Now he doubted that would ever happen. Would contentment forever elude him?

  When Angus just sat drinking his ale, Duncan growled with frustration, “Enough! I wish to know about the woman.”

  “The woman?” Angus chuckled, his mouth full of food. “You mean the lass you brought home and abandoned.”

  “I did not abandon her.” Duncan sat up straighter, masking his response before Angus saw the regret in his eyes.

  “Aye, you did.”

  “I left her safe.” Duncan’s eyes flashed his annoyance.

  “Aye, and she seems grateful.” His tone forced Duncan to meet his eyes. “So grateful, she cried every day after you left.”

  “The lass cried?”

  “Aye.”

  Weary, Duncan swiped a hand across his face. “I thought she might be pleased to be rid of me.”

  “Dinnae be daft. She is stubborn,” Angus stated. “Almost as unyielding as you.”

  “What mean you?”

  “She insists on caring for herself. The only thing she allows us to do is bring water.” Angus laughed. “The young woman does like bathing.”

  Duncan said nothing. He couldn’t. Memories of Catherine flooded through his mind. He could still feel the softness of her wet skin, smell the gentle scent of her hair.

  “She can do whatever she wishes,” Duncan said. “She is my lady wife.”

  “Och, so you do remember? How would you feel if someone dumped you amidst strangers?” Before Duncan responded, Angus pounded his point home. “Och, you do know how that feels. MacThomaidh did the same when he fostered you with Clan Kerr.”

  Embarrassment rose on Duncan’s face. For a fleeting instant he couldn’t breathe. The memories those words brought back were too painful.

  “What I did is naught like what MacThomaidh did,” Duncan said through gritted teeth. “He abandoned me because he wanted naught to do with me.”

  “What you did is different?”

  “I left her with people I trust. MacThomaidh cared not where he took me. His only desire was to be rid of me, never checked to see if Laird Kerr hurt me. I probably would not have lived out the year had Laird Drummond not arrived one day and taken me to Drummond Castle. They became my family.” Duncan ran his hand over the back of his left shoulder to ease the building tension, the phantom pain of the scars lingering in his mind. Had Angus’ cruel charge meant to evoke the dark memories? What he’d done in no way compared to his father’s actions. Yet a frisşon of doubt niggled at his mind.

  Angus continued, “Your mam was proud of the man you turned into. On her deathbed she forgave your lord father for sending you away. Said his actions forged you into the finest man in all of Scotland.”

  Duncan silently cursed Angus’ insight. It twisted his insides to hear his mam had been proud. He’d never known. “Mam may have forgiven MacThomaidh. I never shall.”

  “’Tis the only reason why you are not with your young wife now. Because your da chose her. You are lying to yourself if you think to deny what you feel for the lass.”

  Duncan forced his fisted hands to relax. “After what happened with Helen, I swore never to wed again. She was no better than Father. She left, just like he did.”

  “Thankfully, not all women are like Helen.”

  “Are they not?” Duncan grumbled.

  “Och, you are stubborn. You are more like your da than you know.”

  “I am nothing like MacThomaidh!”

  “Mayhap if you returned and got to know the lass better.”

  “I did get to know her.” Duncan shook his head as the memories of their trip home burned into his mind and his heart.

  Angus drove his point home like a pike into stone. “Aye and you liked w
hat you saw.”

  Duncan sat mutely. There was nothing he could say. Angus was right.

  “You must admit naught,” Angus said softly. “Your feelings were plain as heather on the hills.”

  Duncan rubbed his hand across his chest. It hadn’t ached before Angus arrived and started nattering about the lass.

  “It matters not.”

  He handed Angus a bag of coins and pushed his hands against the table to rise. “For whatever she desires. I had no other choice than to leave, Angus.”

  The old man stared long and hard while Duncan’s emotions roiled with a disturbing combination of pain and loneliness.

  “You always have a choice. Just as your da did,” Angus said sadly. “He chose wrong. You chose wrong. ’Tis what you do now that makes the difference.”

  “I am tired, old friend. Join me if you wish to share a room. We could break our fast afore we depart.”

  Angus yawned widely. “I am tired.” He stood and stretched, threw coin on the table for the food.

  Just as Duncan blew out the candle on the bedside table, Angus yawned. “Goodeve, lad. Sleep well. Och, before I forget, you are going to be a da.”

  Duncan stared in amazement as Angus rolled onto his side and faced the far wall. A father? He was going to be a father? His Catherine carried his child?

  He shook Angus and thrust his face close to the auld man. “What mean you I am going to be a father? Do not be spouting such words and think to ignore me.”

  Angus rolled over and looked up at Duncan, a smile on his cagy face.

  ~ * ~

  There was no further point denying it—he wanted to go home. Duncan paced the Great Hall in Crieff, but turned when he heard footsteps. He smiled at the interruption. “Tory.”

  Another pair of brown eyes flashed through his mind. Shaking his head, he realized Tory spoke to him. “I am sorry. I did not hear what you said.”