by Mia Marlowe
His head jerked at the sound, and he saw a gar-goylelike face peeping at him from between the stone crenellations a little way down the wall.
It was Nab. The small fellow had been scrunched down in a hollow embrasure a few feet away from them, invisible to anyone on the narrow walkway. Now he was leaning inward toward the bailey, the floppy ends of his hat dangling. He still looked the fool, but he was clutching the scepter Will had given him tight to his chest.
“But why would ye want it to be?” Nab asked.
William didn’t understand the fool at the best of times, and now he had little patience for his cryptic question. “Be what?” he asked gruffly.
“The same,” Nab said. “Yer marriage willna be the same. That’s not so bad when ye think about it.”
“Aye, it is.” Having Katherine want to leave him was the worst that could happen. Will leaned on the stone crenellations and stared down at the frigid loch.
“But since Lady Katherine is so sad and doesna seem to like ye much, the same isna all that good, is it?”
In a strange way, Nab was making sense.
“It canna be the same,” the fool repeated. “So that leaves only two choices. It can be better.”
The words struck Will with the force of a crossbow bolt.
“Or worse,” Nab continued. “Odds bodkins, it could always be worse. It usually is.”
Better. He could make things better. As laird of his own estate, William was a problem solver by nature. He resolved disputes between his crofters all the time. Just because he was a party to this dispute, it didn’t mean he couldn’t hammer out a solution that would please both him and Katherine. He ground his fist into his other palm. He could fix this. He could—
“I know!” Nab’s mouth curved into an awkward grin and he waggled the scepter over his head. “Since I’m Laird of Misrule, I could order Lady Katherine to be happy and love ye. She has to obey me. It’s a Christmastide tradition.”
“Power has gone to your head, my friend.” Will started to pat Nab on the shoulder, but when the smaller fellow shied from his touch, he stopped short. “I’m obliged to ye, Laird Nab, but no man can give a woman that order and expect to see it obeyed. Besides, your rule only extends till Twelfth Night and I intend for Kat and me to last far longer than that.”
Will paced along the parapet, the wind stinging his eyes. “I can start afresh, do things differently this time.” He smacked his thigh with an open palm. “I could woo her.”
Nab raised a quizzical brow.
“I didna have to the first time. We were promised to each other so young, ye see. I never had to court Katherine.” He was both excited and daunted by the prospect. “I’ll win her heart.”
“I’ll help.”
“Thank ye, Nab, but I—”
“Lasses like poems, or so I’ve heard. I know lots of poems. Do ye want to hear a poem, William?”
“Not now, Nab, I’m thinking.” His mind churned furiously. There was so much to do, so many things he ought to have done before. He headed for the steps leading down to the bailey. “I have to go. Wish me luck.”
“Luck,” Nab repeated, waving the scepter, the stone atop it sparkling in the sunlight. “What d’ye need luck for?”
“I’m off to make my wife want to wed me all over again,” he called over his shoulder.
Nab sighed. “Ye’ll need more than luck. Ye’ll need a poem, William. Maybe two.”
I saw a fair maiden, sitten and sing.
She lulléd a little child, a sweeté lording.
—Fifteenth-century carol
“Dinna ye think the child might sleep better if there was less singin’ and more tiptoein’?”
—An observation from Nab,
fool to the Earl of Glengarry
Chapter Four
Somehow, Katherine kept her composure as she hurried through the great hall. She even managed to listen when Jamison, her father’s seneschal, stopped her to complain about the ravages to the castle’s larder.
“I urge ye to moderation, my lady. I’ve tried to tell Lady Margaret, but she willna heed me. If we continue feasting like this till Twelfth Night, mark my words, stomachs will be knocking on backbones around here before winter is gone,” he predicted dourly.
“Glengarry canna stint at Christmastide,” she said. “Not before the laird’s guests.”
“We might ask a few of them to leave,” Jamison grumbled.
There was only one Katherine would wish to see gone.
No, that wasn’t true. She never felt truly alive unless she breathed the same air as William Douglas. She just wished taking the breath didn’t hurt so much.
“If needs be, my father will take the men hunting and ye’ll have a boar and a stag and heaven knows what else to hang and dress in the larder before ye know it. In fact, it would do them all good to clear out of the hall for a time.” She and the Glengarry servants might be able to sweep out the soiled rushes and freshen the place if it sat empty for awhile. It would do her good to have a job to do. Something mindless, so she wouldn’t have to think anymore. Or feel. “Now let me pass.”
She pushed by Jamison, still holding back the tears that pricked the backs of her eyes, and made her way up the winding staircase to Margaret’s chamber. When she stepped into the room, her sister-in-law was humming a lullaby to wee Tam. The bairn slept in her arms. His rosebud mouth made little sucking motions, but otherwise he didn’t stir.
Katherine couldn’t keep the ache in her heart from leaking out of her eyes any longer. Seeing her distress, Margie signaled to the waiting maid.
“Here, Dorcas,” Margaret said as she transferred the babe to her servant’s arms, “do ye take the lad. He’ll sleep sweet now, I’ll be bound.” After Dorcas carried the child away, Margie hurried to Katherine’s side. “Dorcas says his wet nurse wants to wean him because he’s teething and has started biting her something fierce. I daresay those new little teeth are sharp as a dirk’s edge, but . . . ye aren’t here for me to regale ye with tales of my nursery. What news? Tell me.”
The floodgates opened. Tears streamed down Katherine’s cheeks, and mopping them up with a handkerchief didn’t stem the tide much. Still, she managed to choke out her plan to have her marriage annulled and William’s objections to it.
“He’s right. Ye have no grounds,” her sister-in-law said with annoying practicality. “Ye’re getting yourself in a fret over nothing.”
Kat glared at her.
“I didna mean that,” Margie said. “Of course, if ye’re this upset, ’tis not nothing. But if ye mean to go ahead with the annulment, ye must know ye have no cause the Church will recognize.”
“What if I was pre-contracted?”
“Before ye were betrothed to William?”
“Aye. Rabbie MacDonell. He and I pledged ourselves to each other when we were six or seven. We were young, I’ll admit, but I’m sure he’ll remember it.” She dried her eyes and stuffed the soggy handkerchief up her sleeve. “We used the most excellent oaths we could think of and swore in the haymow one day to plight our troths.”
“Since ye were all of six and in a stable, are ye sure ye and Rabbie didna plight your troughs?” Margie said with a chuckle.
“Dinna laugh at me.” Kat sank into one of the heavy Tudor chairs. “I’m serious as a case of the pox.”
“Then ye’ll have to come up with something better than a pre-contract with a lad in a stable,” Margie said. “Katherine, I love ye. Ye know I do, but ye’re a goose for even thinking of leaving a man like William.”
Kat stood. “If ye’ll not help me, I’ll go in peace.”
“Nay, steady on. Of course, I’ll help if I can.” Margaret waved one hand in a small circle. Katherine recognized it as the same gesture she used with her boys when she wished to cut to the heart of the matter. Usually this was before she was forced to check their sporrans for toads and other unchancy things that found their way into a small lad’s treasure trove. “Tell me more about this contra
ct with Rabbie. Were your parents aware of it?”
“No, but a pre-contract need not have been formalized to be held valid.”
“That’s true. Though ye’ll need a verra good advocate to convince Rome to give the claim any weight.” Margie paced the length of her chamber, arching her back and surreptitiously grinding a fist into the small of it. She never complained, but Katherine saw signs that the last few days of her sister-in-law’s confinement were becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
“But here’s the problem,” Margaret said. “The pre-contract is unenforceable. Rabbie has already wed the daughter of Owen MacNulty, aye?”
“Aye, but if I’m granted an annulment, I dinna mean to hold Rabbie to his troth.” Katherine straightened her spine. “I plan to take the veil. I’d not want to disturb his peace.”
“From what I hear, the daughter of Owen MacNulty gives Rabbie no peace. Him nor anyone else within earshot.” Margaret pulled up the stool she’d been using to elevate her feet and plopped it down before Katherine. Then she sat on it and grasped both of Kat’s hands. “Why are ye doing this? Will loves ye something fierce. Anyone with eyes can see it, and while I’m about it, he’s fair easy on the eyes himself. Why in creation would ye want to be severed from a man like that?”
Kat’s face crumpled. “Because I love him.”
“Weel, that’s no sort of sense.” Margie snorted. “Have ye gone softheaded?”
“Nay, I’ve never been more clear. As Laird of Badenoch, Will is a man of property and power. He needs an heir.” She shook her head sadly. “I canna give him one.”
“Ye’ve only been wed a few years. Give it time.” A wistful smile lifted Margaret’s lips. “Enjoy the making of a child. When all ye can hear in the night is one or another of your bairns crying, ye’ll be wishing for the days when the only reason ye lost sleep was trying to give your man his heir.”
Katherine wouldn’t be deterred. It was important that someone understood her reasons. Lord knew, William certainly didn’t. Her sister-in-law was her best hope. “Margie, ye ken we buried our little boy, but ye dinna ken about the others.”
“Others?” Margaret gripped Kat’s hands tighter.
“I’ve lost four more since then.” She hadn’t even told Will about all of them. At first when she suspected she was bearing, she’d practically sing out that her courses were late and she and William would be deliriously happy together. But after two disappointments in close succession, it was easier to try to pretend it hadn’t happened again. By keeping a pregnancy to herself, she was the only one who suffered the loss when it ended badly. “I didna bear them long. Not even long enough for them to quicken.”
She’d only felt that joyful invasion, that beloved Other fluttering in her belly, when she carried Stephan. “It seems I canna bear a child.”
Thank God, Margaret didn’t mouth any comforting platitudes. She didn’t try to deny the truth. She just put her arms around Katherine and let her weep.
When she finally had no more tears, she discovered Margaret’s cheeks were wet too.
“Margie, I’m sorry. Ye shouldna be crying. ’Tis not good for the bairn.”
“I canna help it. Dinna fret about the babe. ’Tis in no danger from my tears. The child will give me more of them once it comes. Of that ye may be certain. They all do sooner or later.” Margaret dried her eyes. “Besides, no one weeps alone if I am with them.”
Katherine couldn’t help wondering if things might be different, if she might have the courage to go on in her marriage, if just once, William had wept with her.
She gave herself a brisk inward shake. That was a selfish thought. “An heir is important to William, even if he denies it. Did ye mark that scepter Will gave Nab to use while he’s Laird of Misrule?”
“Aye, ’tis a thing of beauty and of no small value. I wonder that he trusts it to the fool.”
“He gave it up because he knows as long as he’s wed to me, he’ll have no son to hand it on to.” Katherine curled her fingers into fists. “Time out of mind, that scepter has passed through an unbroken line of Douglas fathers and sons. I canna bear to let the lineage die with William.”
“What does Will say about it?”
“What can he say? Each time he learns I lost another, he simply wants to try again.” Katherine stood and walked to the window. The sun had disappeared behind a cloudbank. The world of sparkling white was suddenly marked with cold, grey shadows advancing on the snowdrifts in the bailey. “Oh, Margie, I canna hope any longer. It hurts too much.”
Margaret came and put an arm around Kat’s shoulders. “If there was no sorrow, we’d never know joy. Ye must hope, Katherine. Even if it hurts to hope. Life has a way of evening things out. The sorrow ye feel now will make a future joy shine all the brighter.”
Katherine laid her head on her good-sister’s shoulder. “How did ye become so wise?”
“’Tis all the extra sweetmeats I’ve been eating, no doubt. Come. Let’s see if my wee heathens have left any bannocks and clotted cream for the rest of us.” Margie shuffled to the head of the stairs leading down to the great hall. “Failing that, I’ve a strong craving for one of those gooseberry tarts.”
Katherine didn’t see William for the rest of the day, which struck her as odd since there were only so many places in Glengarry where a man might betake himself. He wasn’t in the great hall with the other revelers who’d been tossing knucklebones and wagering loudly. He wasn’t pacing the ramparts of the castle walls. Even without looking, she was certain William wasn’t in the chapel.
He had little use for the Church, even on high holidays.
Finally, as the sun started its western slide to the horizon, she visited the stable on the pretext of checking on a mare that was in foal. What she really wanted to see was whether her husband’s mount was still there. Wee Angus dogged her steps, snuffling at her heels and leaping through the snow to keep up with her.
Once they cleared the stable doorway, the terrier darted after a rat and disappeared, only his stubby tail was visible above the loose straw. Katherine wandered down the line of stalls alone.
Relief washed over her when Greyfellow, William’s dappled gelding, whickered to her over one of the gates. She was more than a little ashamed of being glad her husband was still in the castle. It would be better for both of them if he were gone.
“There’s a fine boy.” She reached over to stroke the horse’s soft nose. Then she dug into her pocket for the apple core she’d brought for him and offered it to the gelding on a flattened palm. Greyfellow’s lips brushed her skin as he took the gift. “I’m glad to see ye, but he really ought to go home.”
“Who ought to go home?” William came up behind her, carrying the gelding’s saddle.
It seemed rude to tell him he should leave to his face. After all, it was Christmastide and he was still her husband.
“My cousin Ranulf MacNaught,” she said quickly. “He’s been terrifying Nab something fierce.”
“Still?” William opened the stall and settled the saddle on the gelding’s back. “I thought he led the charge to see the fool crowned Laird of Misrule.”
“Aye, it was his idea. But I suspect it was only so he could taunt Nab more easily. I think Ranulf has repented of putting him into a place of power, however ridiculous it might be.”
Will bent to cinch Greyfellow’s girth. The sight of his broad back sent a feminine thrill down her spine, but she tamped down the feeling. No good could come of mooning over her husband since she was determined he wouldn’t be hers much longer.
“Nab set the lot of them to sweeping the solar this morning after breakfast to save the maids from having to do it. Somehow in the process, a great bucket of wash water was accidentally dumped on Ranulf. I know it wasna hot, but he complained so loudly, ye’d have thought he was a scalded cat.”
Will chuckled. “Nab may not be a warrior, but he has his own ways of evening the score. Wish I’d seen it.”
Katherine resisted the
urge to ask where William had been. He might think his whereabouts mattered to her and that would never do.
He fitted the halter over his mount’s head, then slid in the bit.
“Are ye leaving?” she asked, wishing her voice hadn’t chosen that moment to break.
“Would ye care if I did?”
Of course, she’d care. She’d go to her grave loving this man, but if he wasn’t around for her to see, to hear, to simply breathe the same air, perhaps the ache in her chest would ease. “Ye do have things at home that require your attention.”
“So do ye, but I dinna see ye packing to head back to Badenoch.”
“Margaret needs me.”
“So do I.” His dark eyes burned into hers. Then his intent expression was replaced by a grin. “And right now, I need ye to ride pillion. We canna go far on Greyfellow this day with all the snow, so he needs more of a load to get the same exercise.”
Without waiting for her response, he put both hands on her waist and lifted her to sit on the padding behind his saddle. Then he climbed up into the saddle ahead of her, swinging his booted right foot over Greyfellow’s head. The gelding whickered at the indignity of such an unorthodox mounting.
“But what about Angus?”
“The wee fleabag will be fine here chasing mice till we return.”
As if the matter were decided, Will dug his heels into the gelding’s sides and they were off at a trot. Katherine was forced to wrap her arms around William’s waist, lest she slide off the horse’s rump. They picked up speed as they shot through the portcullis and over the drawbridge.
Will chirruped to the gelding, urging him to climb the hill that rushed up from the loch. Greyfellow’s great haunches bunched and flexed beneath Katherine with every lunge. Once they reached the tree line, they turned right to shadow the edge of the loch. The gelding sank into the powdery snow past his fetlocks, but Will urged him to more speed. Sprays of white fluttered around them with each pounding step.
Katherine tightened her grip around William’s waist and pressed her cheek to his warm back. His heart hammered under her ear, thunderous and strong.