“Pardon the intrusion, but are ye Mistress Freya?” Isobel asked shyly.
The woman gave her a warm smile and pulled her into the hut. It was small but clean, and smelled of dried herbs and something medicinal. She motioned for Isobel to sit at the scrubbed table, and handed her a cup of mulled wine before sitting across from her and studying her openly.
“So, ye’re John McBride’s lady.”
She said this with a touch of pity, which almost made Isobel burst into tears. She took a moment to compose herself and stated her purpose.
“I see,” said Freya with a slight smile. “Are ye sure about this?”
“I am, and I must have yer word that my husband will never ken.” Isobel felt a little defiant, but she didn’t want to offend the woman, so she lowered her eyes and took a sip of the wine.
“I dinna build my reputation on telling husbands what their wives come to me for. Dinnae worry, my dear, ye are not the first nor the last to ask.”
Freya got up and walked into the back room, where bunches of drying herbs were hanging upside down from the low ceiling, and countless jars stood on a wooden counter. She measured something into a cloth pouch and came back into the room.
“Take a spoonful of this herb and mix it with warm water, leaving it to infuse for at least fifteen minutes, then drink a cupful an hour or two afore bedtime. Ye dinnae need to take it when it’s yer time of the month.”
“What will it do?”
“It will prevent yer husband’s seed from taking hold. It has no permanent effects, so you can stop should ye change yer mind.”
Freya gave Isobel a reassuring smile, patting her hand.
“Dinnae worry, lass. Yer secret is safe with me. Not wanting a bairn is not a crime.”
“Is it not a crime against my marriage and God?” Isobel asked miserably.
“Ye wouldna be here if ye had a happy marriage. A woman must do what she can to protect herself. Having a bairn ye dinnae want is a crime against yerself. Come back if ye need more. Now, put on yer hood and dinnae walk back through the village. Take the trail to the left and it will lead ye back to the road. No one must know ye were here.”
Isobel pressed a coin into the woman’s hand, and hid her pouch inside her cloak. She’d be all right for the next few months, and by then she would determine if she needed to come back for more.
Chapter 16
Winter had arrived with snow and blustery winds and more time was spent indoors. Joan seemed to spend less time at the castle, which suited Isobel just fine. She heard a rumor that Joan was being courted by the gunsmith, but no news of an engagement came as Christmas approached. John still performed his husbandly duties with great vigor, and his frustration with her grew as there was no sign of a pregnancy. Her marriage made her miserable, and she tried to find escape in books, but John didn’t approve of women reading and forbade her the use of the library. She frequently looked out of the window at the white-capped waves crashing against the cliff face and wished she could sail away on that vast sea, away from this place and her loathsome husband.
Her father-in-law had developed a hacking cough that left him breathless and weak. The apothecary pronounced it to be ague, and left some evil-smelling potions for him to take. He took to spending more time in his bedchamber resting, and sometimes didn’t come down for meals for days at a time. John never said anything outright, but Isobel knew that he didn’t wish his father to get well. John longed to be the Laird and his feeble father was the only thing standing in the way of his ambitions.
The mood in the castle was somber, and sometimes Isobel longed to get away. John didn’t allow her to venture away from the castle, so she came up with an idea that would allow her to leave.
“John, I would like to go to kirk tomorrow,” she told him demurely, keeping her eyes down.
“Why?”
“I want to pray for a bairn,” she lied smoothly.
“So pray here,” her husband answered turning to leave.
“Please, John. I feel so much closer to God there. I really feel it will help.”
He gave her an appraising look. “All right. Just take Mary with ye.” He was half way out of the door before Isobel realized she got her way.
The next day Isobel asked for her mare to be saddled, and headed out of the castle. Mary rode behind her on her mule, happy to be excused from her morning chores. The day was cold but bright, and Isobel felt an intoxicating sense of freedom as she made her way toward the little stone church where she was married four months ago. She let her mind drift as the mare walked along the road, enjoying her outing as well. She wasn’t alarmed to hear the sound of hoof beats coming toward her. There were many messengers coming and going to and from the castle these days. As the rider got closer, she felt her heart beat faster. It was Rory McBride on a big, black gelding. His hair was whipping in the wind, and he was wearing a dark cloak.
“He looks like the devil himself,” Mary whispered as he drew closer.
“Good day, my lady,” he greeted her, bowing. “Where are ye headed?”
“I’m on my way to kirk,” replied Isobel, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered she felt. Every time she saw Rory her heart beat faster and she felt a little short of breath. They’d hardly seen each other since their trip to the cave. Rory was often away from the castle for long periods of time, and she wondered where he was going. He was constantly in her thoughts, and she longed to run into him on the stairs or find him waiting for her on the battlements.
“May I escort ye?” he asked, turning his gelding around.
“Dinnae ye have pressing business at the castle, Rory?” He was obviously returning from another sojourn away, and looked as if he’d been travelling for a long time and sleeping rough.
“No business is as pressing as the cleansing of one’s soul,” he answered with a grin. “I’ve a mind to make confession.”
“Oh, really? What will ye be confessing to?” Isobel couldn’t believe she was being flirtatious, and ignored Mary as she mumbled something under her breath.
“Impure thoughts,” Rory answered gravely. “I’m plagued by them.”
“How dreadful for ye. Anyone I ken?” What was she doing? She wanted to stop, but couldn’t. She was enjoying herself for the first time in months. What was the harm?
“I’m tormented by thoughts of a fiery-headed lassie who’s stolen my peace of mind.”
“She must be quite something to affect ye that way,” countered Isobel, hoping desperately he was referring to herself.
“Aye, she is, but my honor doesn’t permit me to reveal her identity,” he replied with a grin. He was looking at her in that way again. His eyes were warm and filled with longing, and suddenly their banter wasn’t just words. Isobel longed to touch his face and taste his lips, and she found herself blushing again. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice and think it was just from the icy wind blowing off the sea.
Too soon they came to the church, and Rory helped her down from her horse. They stood there for a moment looking at each other until she heard Mary’s cough, reminding her that she was forgetting herself. Isobel took off the hood of her cloak and headed through the gate into the church. She lit a candle in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary and asked for forgiveness for her duplicity. The herbs were obviously working and she was eternally grateful to Mistress Freya for her help.
She said a heartfelt prayer for her father-in-law’s health and then turned to go back. She was eager to ride back with Rory and enjoy a few stolen moments in his company.
Mary was on her knees, praying fervently, and she decided to give her a minute before setting back. She’d never known Mary to be overly pious, but maybe she had something on her mind. She’d always been a happy, carefree girl, but these last months had changed her. She’d become quiet and jumpy, especially toward the evening. Isobel hoped that once she made some friends among the other girls she would regain her good spirits, but they’d been at the castle for some months and she knew that Ma
ry didn’t lack for company. Mary was always gossiping with Morag and she saw her chatting with the stable boys. Maybe she was in love and it wasn’t returned.
Mary finally rose to her feet and tucked a stray blonde lock into her cap before turning toward the door. She walked past Isobel without looking up and headed straight for her mule. Isobel noticed that she gave Rory a wary glance as she pulled on her hood and took off, staring straight ahead at the road.
“What were ye praying for?” asked Rory as they headed back toward the castle. “Must be something special if ye came out here to do it.”
“For my father-in-law’s health. He seems to be failing,” which was partially true. She didn’t want to tell him the other reason.
“There will be much change if he dies.” She could see that Rory was debating how much to tell her of what was to come.
“What kind of change?” she prompted. There was a lot of coming and going and she knew that something was brewing.
“Auld Alan would like to see a Stuart king on the throne, but time and experience has made him cautious. He lived through the other uprisings, and remembers how they turned out. To openly support the Stuart cause is treason, and Alan doesn’t want to commit afore he kens which way the wind is blowing. Once he’s gone, and John is Laird, things will change.”
“You think John will immediately declare for the Stuarts?” She’d heard rumors of another uprising, but nothing definite.
“Aye, he will. He’s already written to His Majesty pledging support, but Alan doesn’t ken, or maybe he does and chooses to remain silent. He is not long for this world and he kens it. His son will do as he pleases once he’s gone.”
“Will His Majesty really come?” she was shocked by the idea. People had dreamed of the day the Stuarts would regain the throne, but it was a lovely dream, not something that could imminently happen. Prince Charles had been trying in vain for years to gain support and raise money and troops.
“He has the backing of the French king and a promise of ships and men. If he can gather enough support in the Highlands, it just might come to pass, and soon.”
They were already at the castle walls, and Isobel was sorry to part company so soon. Rory had given her something that no man ever had. He’d spoken to her as an equal and trusted her to keep the information to herself. She promised herself that she would be worthy of his trust and thanked him.
“What are ye thanking me for?” his eyebrows rose in surprise.
“For the respect ye’ve shown me, and the trust. I willna’ betray it.” With that, she trotted through the high arch of the wall and headed for the stables, Mary trailing behind her. For the first time since coming to Kilmaron, she felt something resembling happiness, and she knew the danger of it full well.
Chapter 17
By Christmas Eve, the castle was a beehive of activity. The Great Hall was decorated with pine boughs, and hundreds of candles in silver candelabras were placed around the chamber. The kitchens were humming as the servants roasted pigs and pheasants, and prepared numerous puddings that would be served at the Feast of Fools the next day.
Ronnie, the son of the cooper, was chosen to be the Abbot of Unreason for the third year in a row. He was a favorite of the Laird, and his witty rhymes and outrageous pranks were on everyone’s tongue for days after the feast. At seventeen, Ronnie missed very little of what went on at the castle, and his jabs always found their mark.
Alan had invited Father McDonald to come stay at the castle, since the church was not spacious enough to accommodate everyone, and the old man would hold Midnight Mass, and then another Christmas Mass, in the morning before the feast. The priest didn’t lack for a sense of humor and looked forward to the festivities as much as anyone else, as well as to the never-ending flow of spirits that usually led to mass drunkenness and untold mischief.
Isobel had chosen a gown of deep violet to wear to the feast, and she proudly displayed her crystal necklace above the low-cut bodice. She wore her hair up, as befitting a married woman, and John uncharacteristically offered to escort her into the Hall. Alan was already there, sitting in his seat of honor. He looked frail and ill, but his eyes were sparkling with merriment, and he was calling for more mead.
Isobel looked around the room. The Hall practically glowed with the light of hundreds of candles, and the sconces on the walls cast flickering shadows on the assembled clansmen. She saw Anna, in a lovely blue dress, walk in with her parents and siblings, and then Dougal came in supporting his elderly father. Rory was among the last to arrive. He was in his dress kilt and coat and looked dashing as he came up wishing them all a Happy Christmas, and then took his customary seat to the right of the Laird.
The servers began to bring out the food, and the Hall was filled with the mouthwatering smell of roasted meat and the yeasty smell of fresh bread. Platters of vegetables accompanied the succulent piglets, and everyone tucked in with unrestrained enthusiasm, including the servants, who took their seats as soon as they brought out the food.
Ronnie came running into the Hall wearing a jester’s hat with bells and began his routine. He did a couple of backflips to general applause, and then sang a song about Christmas. He gave his audience time to get sufficiently tipsy before his jabs became more personal. Ronnie walked around the room choosing his prey, then made up rhymes about them on the spot. One of his first victims was Joan. She sat demurely next to her parents looking lovely in a rust-colored dress that brought out her hair and accentuated her hazel eyes.
Ronnie stopped before her and bowed, looking thoughtful.
“Mistress Joan,” he cackled. “What can we say about ye? Oh, I ken.” He waited for the crowd to quiet down then sang his little verse.
Joanie’s nose is out of joint
And still she dinnae get the point,
Her lover’s wedded to another
So he need nay longer bother.
Joan blushed beet-red as the crowd snickered and laughed, but Ronnie had already forgotten about her and made his way to the front of the Hall. He stopped in front of Rory and winked at the audience. Everyone held their breath waiting for another rhyme.
Yon coal-black eyes and wild curls
Are in the dreams of all the girls
Yet our Rory’s still unwed
Lift yer kilt and do your duty, lad.
This particularly appealed to the young ladies in the room and they giggled, hoping that Rory would heed Ronnie’s advice. Rory laughed with the rest of the company, and waited for the Abbot of Unreason to move on to someone else.
Ronnie bowed to John and cocked his head as if thinking hard. Then he looked up as if he thought of something, and picked on the one thing that he knew would rile John.
If John’s tread was a wee bit lighter,
He’d surely be a bonnie fighter
His enemies would fear his sword,
Instead of being deathly bored.
The Hall erupted in laughter. John’s clumsiness was legendary and he looked fit to be tied, but raised a glass to Ronnie and toasted his wit. However, Ronnie wasn’t done with John yet. He turned to Isobel giving her a lewd stare and licked his lips, winking at her until she blushed.
With eyes of green and flaming hair
Our Lady Isobel is mighty fair,
Alas, it’s wasted on her Lord
So, it’s by others that she’s adored.
He looked around the Hall as if looking for Isobel’s admirers and his eyes briefly rested on Rory as he moved on. John looked livid, but restrained himself, and Ronnie went in search of other victims.
The mummers came in to put on their show while Ronnie took a break to have his dinner. Everyone was thoroughly enjoying themselves, and soon the musicians would begin to play and there would be dancing. As the mummers finished to roaring applause, some of the tables were moved to the side, and the musicians took their place. They would play until dawn, and by now everyone was itching to get up and stretch their legs.
Ronnie ran to the fr
ont, his bells jingling and raised his hands asking everyone to wait.
“For this first dance, I, the Abbot of Unreason, will choose the partners.” He went around the room choosing the most unlikely pairs. He paired the tallest woman with the shortest man, the youngest with the oldest, and a skeletally thin man with a woman who could have easily crushed him if she sat on him. Then he gave a malicious laugh as he paired up John and Joan, and Isobel with Rory.
A momentary hush fell over the crowd, but Ronnie made a show of being displeased, and waved to the musicians to start playing. The music began and the couples took to the dance floor, laughing and twirling to the music. Isobel’s cheeks were flushed, and she felt light as air as Rory partnered her skillfully. She could see John’s sour look out of the corner of her eye, and it made her even happier. Rory’s eyes caressed her as they danced, but she knew that people were watching, and lowered her eyes in false modesty.
John grabbed her arm as soon as the dance ended and pulled her back to her seat, but his reaction just added fuel to the fire, making everyone whisper and giggle as Joan walked alone through the crowd, like Moses parting the Red Sea.
The dancing continued into the wee hours of the morning, but Isobel didn’t get a chance to dance with Rory again. She watched him dancing with other girls and felt a stirring of jealousy, chiding herself that she had no claim on him. She saw Alan nodding off in his chair and offered to escort him upstairs. He gratefully accepted, and she walked him up to his room in the tower before going to the battlements.
The Inheritance Page 6