Rose_A Scottish Outlaw

by Lily Baldwin

  Instead of leading Rose up the central staircase, Elizabeth turned and strode through tall double doors that opened into a great room. Several trencher tables and benches lined the floor, and at its center was a massive hearth. Still, Elizabeth pulled her forward, past the hearth, then up a few wide stairs.

  “Your home is endless,” Rose said, breathlessly.

  “This is the family solar,” Elizabeth said, glancing back at Rose. “But I’m going to take you to my favorite room. We are almost there.”

  Beyond the solar was a round room, small, but only in comparison to the rest of Birch Heights. Brightly colored tapestries adorned the walls, and despite summer’s heat, a fire crackled in the hearth. It was then that Rose noticed how cool the Thatcher fortress felt.

  “Do sit down,” Elizabeth said, motioning to one of two chairs in front of the hearth. “I have so many questions for you.”

  Rose happily claimed the chair, hoping a sedentary moment would calm her racing heart.

  “I am so glad you’ve come,” Elizabeth said, drawing Rose’s gaze. Elizabeth’s eyes were darker than Tristan’s, contrasting beautifully with her light blond hair. Her cheeks bloomed pink with youth’s kiss, and her smile shone brighter than the nearby flames. “I’ve always wanted a sister,” she chirped. “Do you have a sister?”

  Rose smiled sadly. “I did have a younger sister, but I’m afraid she died some years ago.”

  Elizabeth gasped. Her hand covered her mouth. “Oh Rose, I am so very sorry. How did she die?”

  Rose leaned forward and gently clasped Elizabeth’s hand. “Do not fash yerself about that now, sweetling. Let us speak of joyous things. Tell me about yerself.”

  Rose smiled as she listened to Elizabeth chatter on about her interests and dreams, most of which centered around finding true love. She also spoke of Tristan, praising her big brother. Rose sat back in her seat and sighed, delighted to have made her first ally.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Owen Thatcher stood in the great hall, his amber eyes flashing with anger. “I sent a messenger,” he snapped.

  Tristan took a deep breath to ensure his temper stayed in check. “I received your message,” he answered calmly.

  His father’s face only reddened as he sputtered. “But…then…why…her?”

  Tristan crossed his arms over his chest. “Your message came too late. Not that I would have welcomed the match.”

  Owen clasped his hands behind his back as he started to pace the room. “I have explained the circumstances to Baron Roxwell.” He stopped and faced Tristan again. “He is not opposed to a quick annulment, and neither am I.”

  “Annulment?” Tristan repeated, shocked by his father’s audacity. “You are talking about my marriage,” Tristan said, his voice low but hard. “My wife!”

  “I am talking about your future,” his father bellowed.

  “Calm yourself, Owen,” his stepmother mother scolded, stepping forward. Then she turned to Tristan. “You know this has always been your father’s dream for you. This marriage will open many doors.”

  Tristan took a deep breath, reclaiming his calm. “I open my own doors. I am my own master.”

  His father stopped pacing again. “But you aren’t, Tristan. Don’t you see that? This is what I’ve been trying to tell you for years. They are all your masters. You are beholden to them.”

  A sad smile curved Tristan’s lips. “Only in their world, a world you fixate upon like a child with your nose pressed against the glass. I live my own life, and it is a good one. I have a fleet of ships, wealth.” He looked through the solar to the small sitting room and glimpsed Rose’s red curls trailing over the side of the high-backed chair. “I have a beautiful wife,” he said in a soft voice.

  His chest tightened.

  His words echoed in his mind. More than anything, he wanted them to be true.

  Owen put his hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “This is your destiny, my son.”

  Reality pulled Tristan’s mind back to the matter at hand. He shook his head. “No, Father. This is your misguided dream. We are not nobility. That wasn’t our destiny. We were not born to those rights.” Tristan’s voice grew louder, but not with anger. Passion infused his tone. “We were born to rise, standing on our own two feet, not on the backs of others. We are men of pride, not pedigree. We are great because we are. They are only great because it is the law.”

  His stepmother laid a gentle hand on his arm. “You could be a lord, Tristan. You have to admit that some part of you recognizes the value of this opportunity.”

  Tristan expelled a long breath. He lifted his shoulders. “Why would I wish to join them? Would you have me sit with those who would oppress me? This is a new world, and it belongs to men like me—men of enterprise. We are the ones who are truly free. We have the same means but without the restrictions of convention—the very creed of their worth.” He turned to his father. “I do not respect their class, and I would like to remind you that neither do you. Baron Roxwell enslaves his people.” Tristan shook his head. “You cannot ask me to bind myself to such a man as he.”

  Tristan drew back then, distancing himself from his parents. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to collect my wife. We will be staying in my townhouse for the next three nights. If you decide to invite us to supper, you know where to send the invitation.”

  “Tristan!”

  Tristan jerked around and raced up the stairs, through the solar, to the sitting room. Rose sat on the floor in front of the hearth, rocking Elizabeth in her arms. Tears coursed down his sister’s cheeks while she hugged her hand to her chest.

  “What happened?”

  “She tripped when she stood and fell forward into the hearth. She grabbed the kettle rod to keep her body from the flames. Her hand is badly burned.”

  A moment later, Iris raced into the room. Straightaway, she dropped to her knees beside her daughter. She gently tugged at Elizabeth’s hand. “Let me see, my darling.”

  Her hand shaking, Elizabeth stretched out her fingers, showing her mother her red skin, which had already begun to blister.

  Rose took one glimpse at Elizabeth’s angry palm and exclaimed, “We need cold water, ground oak bark and honey.”

  Isis raised her brow at Rose. “You sound rather sure of yourself.”

  “I have treated many burns in my day,” Rose explained.

  “Stepmother,” Tristan said sharply. “How many burns have you treated?”

  Iris held Tristan’s gaze for several moments before she turned and looked at Rose. “You’re not a physician, but I have heard peasant women often have some knowledge of healing.”

  Elizabeth whimpered.

  “Enough talk, Stepmother. Call Betsy and have her bring the items Rose needs.” Then he turned to Rose. “Do what you can. I will fetch the water,” he promised before racing out of the room.

  “I do not know what our pantry holds, but I’m certain we have honey,” Iris said. Then she called out, “Betsy. Betsy!”

  Within moments, a young maid appeared.

  “Betsy, find Darby and send him to fetch the physician. Then run to the pantry and gather some honey and…” Iris’s words trailed off. She looked at Rose for the item she forgot.

  “And ground oak bark,” Rose said.

  “Hurry, Betsy,” Iris cried.

  Eyes wide, the maid turned on her heel but stopped when Rose called out, “Wait!”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “We also need some strips of clean linen.”

  With a quick curtsy, Betsy rushed from the room.

  At that moment, Elizabeth started to shake.

  Rose turned to Owen, who stood in the doorway with a helpless look on his face. “Fetch a blanket,” she told him. “The initial shock of her injury is fading, and the pain is coming on stronger. The blanket will soothe her.” Then she turned to Iris. “Open the casement to invite in the fresh air.”

  Iris did as she was bade while Rose continued to hold and soothe El
izabeth.

  A moment later, Tristan returned with a bucket of cold water. He set it on the ground. Straightaway, Rose immersed Elizabeth’s hand.

  “My sweet girl,” Owen said to Elizabeth, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. “Your papa is here.” Then he stood straight. “Where is the physician?” he bellowed and started pacing the room.

  Tristan gestured to Rose to get her attention. “I think my father will be more comfortable waiting in the courtyard for the physician.”

  “Yes,” Iris said. “Take him away before he wears a hole through my floor.” Then she turned back to Rose. “Always with the ghastly pacing.”

  Rose bit her cheek to keep from smiling. Like father like son, she thought.

  “’Tis all right, lass,” Rose crooned, wrapping her arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders.

  “The water lessens the sting,” Elizabeth said, her voice bleary with tears.

  Rose smiled encouragingly. “Good, lass. Keep it under water or the pain will return.”

  Just then Betsy barreled into the room with a basket piled high. “I’ve got the honey and bark and plenty of linen,” she said, panting.

  Rose set to work mixing the honey and ground oak bark into a thick paste. Then she laid out the strips of linen so that they were easy to grasp.

  “She must soak her hand for a while longer, then I’ll need yer help to dress the wound,” she said to Iris.

  When the water had grown tepid, Rose gently withdrew Elizabeth’s hand from the bucket and patted it dry. “Be ready with the linen,” Rose instructed.

  Iris took up several strips and nodded.

  Then Rose scooped a handful of the oak paste and smeared it over Elizabeth’s red, blistered palm.

  Elizabeth whimpered from the pain.

  “Betsy,” Rose said sharply. “Boil some water and make a Willow Bark tisane. Quickly now.” Then she turned to Elizabeth. “Willow Bark will bring you comfort.”

  “What shall I do?” Iris said, holding out one of the fabric strips.

  “Gently wrap the wound, one strip at a time,” Rose advised.

  She watched as Iris laid the cloth across Elizabeth’s palm then swept it around her whole hand.

  “A little tighter,” Rose said, keeping a close eye on Iris’s progress.

  Soon, Elizabeth’s wound was fully dressed, and the strips knotted off. Iris looked at Rose with grateful, tear-filled eyes. “Thank you,” she said, squeezing Rose’s hand.

  “Ye don’t need to thank me,” Rose replied. “I couldn’t have done it alone.”

  Smiling through her tears, Iris pulled her daughter into her arms, kissed her brow, and rocked her gently.

  Rose sat beside them, swaying slowly side to side in the familiar motions of motherhood.

  “I’ve got the tisane,” Betsy said breathlessly, charging into the room, but in her haste, she spilled some of the brew. “Don’t worry,” she said, lifting a pot in her other hand. “I’ve got more.” She handed the cup and pot to Rose. “I’ll just run and fetch a rag to clean the spill.”

  “Here,” Rose said, passing the cup to Iris who helped Elizabeth drink it down.

  A short while later, Tristan and Owen arrived with the physician.

  “She’s there, Colin,” Owen said, breathlessly, pointing to his daughter.

  “He has eyes, dear,” Iris said to her husband. “Thank you for coming, Colin.” Then she turned to Rose. “Help me get her in a chair.”

  Rose stood and helped both Elizabeth and Iris to their feet. After Elizabeth was seated, Rose gave the physician an account of the accident and how she’d treated Elizabeth’s burns.

  “You have done well, Rose,” Colin said when she finished. A wide smile spread across his ruddy face, crinkling his eyes at the edges. Then he turned to Tristan. “And so have you,” he said with a wink.

  “Will our daughter be all right?” Owen asked.

  Colin nodded, causing his heavy jowls to wobble. “I’m certain of it.” He sat down next to Elizabeth and examined her dressing. He smiled once again at Rose. “You have done exactly as I would have. Ground oak bark and honey will soothe the burn and encourage healing.” He shifted in his seat and said to Owen. “Your new daughter-in-law is a skilled healer.”

  “Thank ye,” Rose said. “But Mistress Thatcher was of great assistance.”

  Iris smiled proudly. “I applied the dressing.”

  Tristan wrapped his arm around Rose’s shoulder and smiled down at her. “My wife is a woman of great character and strength. All of you have only glimpsed a fraction of her true worth.”

  The physician stood then and shook Tristan’s hand. “You are a very lucky man.” Then he turned to Elizabeth. “I will visit tomorrow at midday and see how you are feeling, my dear. Until then, get plenty of rest, and do not remove your dressings. Fresh air might renew the pain.”

  “Thank you for coming so quickly, Colin. Please take your noon meal with us on the morrow after you tend Elizabeth.”

  “Thank you, Mistress Thatcher,” Colin said. “I would be delighted.”

  Iris smiled. “We look forward to your company.” She walked Colin to the doorway. “Darby will see you home again.”

  After the physician left, Tristan stood and reached for Rose’s hand. “We should also be going,” he said. “It has been a very long day. I would like to see Rose settled for the night.”

  His stepmother’s eyes widened. “No, Tristan! It would please me very much if you and Rose would stay here for the duration of your visit.” Then she smiled at Rose. “That way I can get to know my new daughter better.”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Two days later, Rose returned to the round sitting room and collapsed in one of the chairs by the cold hearth. “I’m exhausted,” she said, smiling at Iris and Elizabeth who sat nearby, both women equally as breathless.

  Tristan smiled as he strolled into the room. “I saw Darby just now in the courtyard. He told me of your return and of your weary feet. He, in fact, looked half dead.”

  “When we asked him to accompany us on our outing, I doubt he knew what he was getting himself into. We walked all of London and had a simply wonderful day, did we not, Rose?” Iris said, dabbing at her brow with a handkerchief.

  “I cannot remember the last time I enjoyed such a wonderful day,” Rose replied.

  Iris gripped her armrests and pushed off just enough to lean over and kiss Rose on the cheek before she collapsed.

  “I agree,” Elizabeth said. “And now my feet hurt so badly, I’ve completely forgotten about my hand.”

  Rose sat up straight. “Has the pain returned?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Only a little.” Then a smile spread across her face. “Don’t fash yerself over me,” she said, imitating Rose’s accent.

  “I’ll fash myself if I please,” Rose laughed. Then she started to get up. “Yesterday, after the noon meal, Colin recommended we change yer dressing today.”

  Elizabeth laid her head back and closed her eyes. “Not yet. Let us rest a while.”

  Rest sounded marvelous to Rose. She sat down and laid her head back, also closing her eyes. The day’s events flashed by in her mind. They had walked to St. Paul’s and sat for Mass. Then, they wondered the market and ate pigeon pies and roasted chestnuts. With full bellies, they took a ferry down the Thames and saw the king’s palace where her brother, Alec, had lived for several months, spying against the crown for the cause of Scottish independence. Seeing it had filled her with pride, but it had also been an unwelcome reminder that she had yet to tell Tristan about her brothers’ secret lives, nor was she even certain if she should.

  Tristan smiled down at her and took her hand. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

  She forced the matter of her family from her mind. At that moment, she felt very content and too tired to make decisions. “I enjoyed myself immensely.”

  In fact, it had been divine to spend the day with Tristan’s stepmother and sister. Rose missed her own mother a
nd wee sister every day. She felt their absence in her bones. She smelled them in the air. She heard their laughter on the wind, which mingled with the voices of her own sweet girls. She thought for a moment of how vulnerable and yet how resilient the human heart truly was. Love is what made life hurt so much, but love is also what compelled the wounded to carry on.

  Iris took Rose’s hand. “My stepson has always had good sense, and marrying you was the smartest thing he has ever done.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes flew open. “I just had a marvelous idea.” She sat up and scooted to the edge of her seat, turning pleading eyes on Rose. “You must come live here with us when Tristan sets out again. I cannot bear the idea of you going back to Scotland and living so far away.”

  An ache surrounded Rose’s heart as she met Elizabeth’s honest and trusting gaze.

  “I…I…” Rose tried to reassure Elizabeth but she faltered. Her chest tightened against the weight of her remorse. She had not expected such immediate love and devotion from Tristan’s family.

  Tristan gently rested his hand on her shoulder. “Rose would come to miss her own family were she to live here permanently.”

  Iris smiled at Rose. “Of course, you would.” Then she turned to look at Tristan. Reaching out, she took his hand and then she grasped Rose’s hand. “I know I am getting a little ahead of myself, but Tristan’s father and I seldom travel anymore. He suffers from terrible leg pains and swelling if he is on his feet too long. As for myself, I would just as soon stay in London for the rest of my days. But mayhap, you both will consider returning for Christmas and stay until after the feast of the Epiphany?”

  Elizabeth’s eyes brightened. “Oh yes, please do. We decorate the hall with garlands and holly, and we have feasts and parties. Mother leads father’s charity, which cares for the widows of lost seamen. Many of the women stay here with us for the twelve days. We make presents for their children. Oh, Rose, you will just love it. Really, you will. Please, say you’ll come.”