Once Forbidden

by TERRI BRISBIN

  "Robert, yer back from yer search? How goes it?"

  Old Ada limped over to him. She was a part of his life here. She had taken him in when he arrived here—no more a child and not yet a man. Her own children had died and she needed someone to tend. He never knew his own mother and needed one to care for him. They served each other's needs and watched each other's backs. It had worked well for years.

  "The miller and his family have moved onto the grounds. Their house was damaged by the raid."

  "I'll see to them in the morn. Now, I have a hot bath ready for ye in the alcove. Come, take off those horrible things ye wear."

  "Ah, Ada, I do love the way ye care for me." He followed the old woman through the cooking area to another small room near the laundry room. Robert could see the steam rising from the large tub of water.

  "Put yer rags in that basket and I'll get rid of them. Ye smell as if ye have been rolling in horse manure."

  "And what if I have?" He challenged her, rising up to his full height.

  "Makes no difference to me, lad. Ye have a way of cleaning up nicely. Climb in afore the water cools."

  Robert peeled the sticky, smelly clothes from his sweating body. Winter or not, the long hard ride left him as winded and soaked with sweat as his stallion who was even now being tended in the stables. Ada's look was that of a mother's as he stripped before her. He threw the rags into a basket and stepped into the tub—moaning loudly as the heat slowly crept into his feet, then legs. After a moment, he sat down and submerged as much of his body as he could.

  "If ye dinna stop making those noises, people will think more is going on here than really is." Ada picked up a bowl of soap and a washing cloth. "Here now, wet yer head so I can lather ye."

  Robert sank below the water for a moment and let the hot water soften the grime in his hair. He did not enjoy the filth, but he did as he must in his duties. As he opened his eyes and saw Ada approach, he knew that telling her the news wouldn't be enjoyable either.

  * ~ * ~ *

  The rest of his bath was accomplished in the warm quiet of the alcove. Over and over in his mind, he hashed out the words he needed to say to Ada. Later, he would need to use them again on the lass who waited in his bed.

  "Ye are too quiet, Robert. The news from yer faither is bad?" Ada held out a drying cloth to him as he stepped from the tub.

  "'Twas certainly no' what I expected." He rubbed most of the wetness from his body, then his hair. Ada offered a clean shirt to him and he pulled it over his head. It would be sufficient to cover him until he reached his room.

  "Well, open yer mouth and speak. I could only overhear bits and pieces of it from the doorway." She swatted his behind as she spoke.

  He smiled at her admission of spying. Ada meddled wherever and whenever she thought she needed to—particularly if it involved him. Robert offered up another quick prayer of thanks to God for placing her here for him. Robert took her by the hand and led her to a bench. Sitting down next to her on it, he took a deep breath and found that the news from Dunnedin came forth from him in a rush of telling.

  "Struan haes called me back to Dunnedin. Dougal is ill and is no' expected to live."

  "Will ye go?" Her voice quivered with fear.

  "Aye. He's my laird—I must follow his command." That was the safest approach—the claim of duty.

  "Oh, pish. I ken too much of the sad tale to believe that 'tis the only reason ye go to Dunnedin. Tell me what I dinna ken."

  "Since this will be but a temporary stay, I thought..." Robert hesitated to put into words his deepest desire.

  "Ye thought what, my boy?" Ada looked at his face, looked deep into his eyes, discerning the truth before he spoke it.

  "I hoped to get to ken my true faither."

  "Nay, Robert, ye hope that yer real faither will acknowledge his natural son afore the clan."

  He could only nod at her insight. His eyes and nose burned with the unshed tears of that lost boy. His throat tightened, making it impossible to speak. The feelings of the fifteen-year-old, almost a man but still a boy, confronted with the truth of his birth washed over him again. Disbelief, denial, anger. Pain and humiliation. For himself, for his mother, and for Dougal.

  "I canna say how things will go but ye have no choice in the return. Please, Robert, do no' set yerself up for disappointment. Go and see what comes yer way."

  He nodded agate at her words. The tightness was passing; he swallowed deeply to clear his throat. "I will try, Ada." His voice was low and gruff, filled with more feelings than he would admit.

  "Remember, the MacKillop awarded ye the position ye hold because of yer skills. Ye will always have a place here."

  "Aye, Ada, I will remember that." He paused and looked at her. She was worrying for him and not about herself. "But who will care for ye while I am gone?"

  "Ah, my boy"—she reached up and caressed his face—"I was here afore ye came and will be here after ye leave. I, too, have a place here that no one will take away. I will wait for yer return."

  He stood and helped her to her feet. They walked arm in arm down the hallway that paralleled the great room until they reached the stairs. His room, suitable for the castellan, was on the second floor. Hers, on this lower floor, with the other women of the keep.

  "I willna see ye go so I give ye leave now. Send for me if I can be of service to ye in yer duties for the clan MacKendimen. I will await yer return, Robert. Godspeed go with ye."

  He leaned down to her and pressed his lips to her weather-and age-roughened cheek. Stepping away, their eyes made contact for a moment, and more was said without words. They turned from each other and he ran up the tower steps.

  He feared his next farewell would not be as easy.

  If this one could be called that.

  * ~ * ~ *

  The fire burned low in the brazier in the corner, casting rippling shadows on the walls. Robert walked to the window and peered through the thick glass. Frosted over by the frigid air outside and the warmer air inside, he slid his finger around in the moistness on the surface. Duncan had spared no expense with this inner tower. Glass filled the windows in the private chambers as well as the large solar. No skins over the openings for the laird of the MacKillops!

  Although just as rich, and higher in rank than Duncan was, the laird of the MacKendimens didn't spend his money on his own comfort. Unless he had changed it, Struan's chamber was a plain one—containing only the furniture the laird needed. Struan balked at tapestries on the walls, rich rugs underfoot. The laird used all his riches for the betterment of the clan. None in the village went hungry or cold. A place and a keeping was found for any and all in the clan. Struan saw to the survival of his people first.

  Struan was a good leader for his clan, a man to be proud of, to be admired. Struan was... his father.

  Even the thought hurt. The pain of the truth still haunted him, pain made worse by the truth having been kept secret by those who knew. Hated by the father who raised him and denied by the man who fathered him. Mayhap going back into the fray was not the best of ideas. But, as he told Ada, he had no choice. His honor demanded he obey the call from Dunnedin.

  A rustling of the bedcovers broke his concentration. He turned back and saw Helena sitting in his bed, her long blond hair flowing over her naked breasts. His body stirred in reaction to the inviting pose she struck.

  "Robert, I was waiting for ye but fell asleep. Come, 'tis late." Helena pushed back the covers, exposing more very comely naked limbs to his view.

  Pulling his shirt over his head, he accepted her invitation. She settled into his arms and he covered them both with the heavy woolen plaids. He felt her leg slide over his and the warmth of her body spread through his own as she lay curled up at his side.

  "Will ye be gone for long?" Her soft voice broke into the comfortable silence of the chamber.

  "I dinna ken how long." He would be honest with her; he had always been so.

  "Will ye come back?" She tilted her head
back, watching his face as he answered.

  "I do no' plan to stay in Dunnedin. I will come back."

  "Should I wait for ye?"

  They had spoken of this before. The miller's son wanted her as his wife, in spite of her sharing the castellan's bed. The young man's presence now in the keep stirred the pot.

  "I canna offer ye marriage, lass, ye ken that. Mayhap my leaving will be for the best for ye and..."

  "Bain."

  "Ah, yes, Bain. He willna hold this"—he squeezed her tighter in his embrace—"against ye?"

  "Nay, he willna. As long as I am faithful to him once we marry, he haes sworn to forget my past."

  "Can ye do that? Be faithful to him?"

  "Aye, Robert, I can. I will."

  "And will ye forget it as well?" He thought of the many nights they had spent in his bed—talking, fighting, loving. He would regret losing her, but she deserved the happiness that a life with Bain could offer.

  "I dinna think I will forget it or ye, but I will make him a good wife."

  He made note in his mind to provide her with a small dowry. He earned his own money and owed her at least that for their time together.

  "Are ye too tired to love tonight, Robert?"

  He was never too tired for a good bout of loveplay, but he found the urge to be inside her heat had disappeared. He would not feel right about lying with another man's wife, or almost wife.

  "I would rather just hold ye this night, Lena, if ye do no' mind?"

  "I do no' mind, Robert."

  She turned on her side and he fit behind her, draping his arm and leg over her body. Her breathing soon deepened and began a steady rhythm. Sleep tried to claim him, but his thoughts were still too strong. It was a long time before he gave in and surrendered to the quiet of the night.

  Chapter 3

  "I did it for ye, lass."

  "Oh, Struan, I canna believe ye are replacing me in my duties." Anice's voice rose in pitch and her accent was back. Struan knew she was mightily upset with him and his decision. But she had left him no choice.

  "Ye canna continue to drive yerself into the ground, Anice. Ye are a woman breeding and ye must consider the babe."

  Her face drained of all color; she wore the look of a wounded animal. He felt ill at ease hurting her feelings this way but, as laird, he had to step in and stop her. The next generation of the family lay in her belly and he would protect it as he should have protected her.

  "I am no' replacing ye, Anice. The new steward will need yer guidance until he finds his way here. Ye will still have yer work."

  He watched as she approached him. Her eyes darted back and forth, her breathing was irregular, and her skin took on a gray pallor. Fear was overtaking her—he had seen this before. She reached out to take his hand and then stopped cold as she realized what she almost did. She must be desperate— she never tried to touch anyone. Not since...

  "Please, Struan, dinna do this to me. I have been faithful to the clan, to ye. I have done my duty well. Please, I need my work. I need my duties. It keeps me... going." He knew the word she stumbled on: sane.

  "Lass, yer belly is getting bigger by the day and ye canna keep up the pace ye've set yerself to for much longer. The new steward will help ye now that Dougal canna, and he will carry on yer duties when ye are in yer childbed."

  She must have realized that he would not back down from this, because her eyes lost their wildness. He could see her regain control over herself bit by bit until the Anice known to the clan was back facing him.

  "Who have you chosen for the position, Laird?"

  Struan saw that the terrified child was gone and Anice was back in control. He prayed to God nightly that she would rid herself of the paralyzing fear that still ruled her life. That she would begin to enjoy life within the clan again, especially before the babe came. But, so far, the Almighty was ignoring his pleas.

  "Robert Mathieson, Dougal's... son." It did not matter that eight years had passed since the terrible argument that had revealed the truth. Struan could not allow himself to think of Robert in any other way.

  "Dougal haes a son? I did not know."

  "He left Dunnedin long afore ye came to us, Anice. He went to the MacKillops for training and now serves as their steward." The old excuse still worked; he would make use of it.

  "And he will stay on here?"

  "Nay, he will no'."

  Without meaning to, Struan raised his voice in denial. Robert could not stay here after he fulfilled his duty. Too many problems, too many lies, too many mistakes from the past would lie open. Nay, he could not.

  "The MacKillop wants him to return as soon as he is no' needed any longer here. So, ye see, Anice, ye will have yer duties back after ye recover from the birth of yer bairn."

  With her head bowed, she nodded. "Yes, Laird," she whispered. "I will obey your commands."

  Oh, dear God, what he wouldn't give to have the old Anice back. The one with the noble airs and the infuriating tone of voice. The one who insisted on being addressed as "milady" and who never trembled in fear before any man.

  "Robert will arrive in a few days, Anice. Can ye find a suitable chamber for him to use during his stay?"

  She smiled at him and nodded, obviously pleased to be given a task, however mundane it was. He watched her turn to leave the room, when she stopped at the door.

  "Struan, may I ask a boon?"

  "Anything wi'in my power to give ye is yers, Anice." He meant it.

  "Can we keep my dealings with your... son a private thing?"

  "Aye, Anice, there's no need for Robert to be privy to yer private life."

  "Thank you, Laird."

  One day, long ago, he had waited for the day this lass would finally call him Father. He had waited for the day she would joyfully give him many plump grandchildren to carry and spoil. 'Twas not meant to be. He regretted that more than anything else ruined by his son.

  Sandy, as it turned out, was the despoiler not only of virgins, but also of dreams. Struan shook his head in regret as Anice turned and left the room.

  * ~ * ~ *

  Anice made her way to Dougal's chamber. The poor man was withering away before their eyes and no one could slow his deterioration down a bit. Moira tried all the potions and herbal concoctions she knew how to brew and it was all for naught. Well, Anice thought, at least his son would see him before he passed over.

  The door was open and Moira was tending the dying man, wiping his brow and face. Anice had tolerated Dougal in his role of steward, but she had never liked him, although that thought felt uncharitable as the man lay near death. At least he had lived a long, full life and God had granted him a son.

  Her hand moved to her belly as it always did now when she thought about children. Would this be a son for the clan or a daughter for her? If only Moira would share her knowledge.

  Instead she always answered that things would work out for best. But whose best? Hers? The babe's? God forbid, Sandy's?

  "Does the bairn move inside ye?" Moira's voice broke into her thoughts.

  "Aye, he moves much more now than before." She always called the babe "he" as if she knew the matter had already been decided. She rubbed her fingers over the spot that moved.

  Moira stood as she approached the bed. The healer reached out towards her belly but paused, waiting for permission. Moira was one of few whose touch she could bear, but the woman always asked first. Anice nodded her consent and Moira's hands encircled the bulge of the babe and spread outward. She pushed lightly against the movements from within.

  Anice smiled as Moira continued her poking and prodding. For some reason, Moira's touch soothed her and she felt the tension of the encounter with Struan leave her body. Moira stopped with her hand on top of the mound and smiled, too.

  "All is well?" Anice asked, hoping for some small clue.

  "All is well. Have ye been resting?" Moira met her glance.

  "I try."

  "Ye are a liar, Anice MacNab, and no' a verra go
od one at that."

  "When the new steward arrives, I will have nothing to do but rest, Moira."

  "New steward? Haes Struan spoken of him to ye, lass?" The news of the visitor seemed to excite Moira.

  "Aye, Moira, Dougal's son is coming home to serve in his faither's place. Until I recover from the birth of the babe."

  Moira walked around her and sat by the bedside again, tending to Dougal. Anice could see she was deep in thought about the return of the son. Mayhap she knew this Robert Mathieson and could tell her about him.

  "Struan said that Robert left before I came here to live. Did you know him, Moira?" Anice pulled her woolen shawl tighter around her shoulders and sat on a stool next to the window.

  "Aye, he grew up here and left for the MacKillops at the same time I was marrying my first husband Gordon."

  Anice shivered at the thought of marriage. If God was merciful, she had seen as much of married life as she would ever see.

  "Duncan, the MacKillop, offered to train Robert as a steward."

  "But, 'tis so strange. Why did Dougal not train the boy himself?" A father usually trained his own son, unless he was noble born—then he was sent as a foster son to another clan. Even daughters were fostered before their marriage, just as she had been sent to the home of her betrothed. Another shiver rocked her being. That had been another Anice, at another time.

  "The two of them fought at every step, as faither and son sometimes do. Struan thought it best to make arrangements with Duncan. The plan was always to have him back with us but it haes never come to pass."

  "Until now. He returns within the week, Moira." She stood and walked to the door. "Which reminds me—I must pick out a suitable chamber for him and have it readied."