The Highland Hero (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  Chrissie covered her mouth with her hands, surprise mixed with horror coursing through her.

  “Alina! No!”

  Alina smiled, though the smile had a bitter twist to it. “Aye. I did. It was painful. I mourn his passing. But at three months, we will not know if he would have lived.”

  Chrissie swallowed, nodding. Of all the pains, to lose a child, your firstborn, was a cruel one. Especially since Chrissie knew Alina had longed for one, for Duncan, more than for herself, as a product of the joy in one another.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don't be,” Alina said with that same irony in her voice that made Chrissie at once smile, for memory of her, and wince for the bitterness that she now carried deep within her. “I mourn him, as I said. And it has left me...changed. As you see. I lost too much blood.”

  Chrissie swallowed hard. She blinked rapidly, trying to understand what Alina was telling her in that strange, detached, dispassionate way.

  “You aren't...you won't...you're not dying? Please, Alina. Please! Don't die! You mustn't.”

  Alina smiled the gentle smile that always made her look like an angel, at least what Chrissie imagined an angel to be like. She gulped, remembering how Alina had been to her when she was four, missing her mother who had suddenly disappeared. She had seemed an angel then, her dark hair loose around her adolescent slim shoulders, her face with its same grave glory.

  “I will try not to,” she said, the irony back in her voice. “But...” she gestured at her body, a gesture that took in the wasted form, the pale skin, and the cold hands.

  “You will get well!” Chrissie said angrily. “I will look after you. I'll make you better. I will! I'll try.”

  Alina smiled at her, a smile of tender sweetness. “My little girl. You were always like a child to me. Well, now, it seems, you look after me.” she grinned, something of her old spirit back in her face. “I believe you will try hard.”

  Chrissie scowled, feeling suddenly frustrated. “I'll succeed, too,” she said hotly. “And then what will you say?”

  Alina laughed, her head tipped back, long neck stretched, showing the ivory soft skin. Chrissie felt her heart thaw a little, seeing how she looked, in that instant like her old self, the woman who had them all in stitches with her comments about Uncle Brien in the bedchamber they all shared when they were girls together.

  “I am glad you're here,” she said.

  “I am glad I'm here.”

  They sat in silence for a while. Chrissie leaned back, enjoying the closeness, the sense of trust. She had not, she realized, felt so safe for a long time. Blaine made her feel safe, and Alina as well. The rest of the world less so.

  “Your secrets do not hold you,” Alina said, startling Chrissie so that she turned and squinted at her in absolute amazement.

  “What? I mean, sorry, Alina. But...”

  “You once thought they would be poison in you, those words you did not speak. However, like a wound that heals cleanly, the poison has gone. You are whole and still wonder at it.”

  Chrissie sighed out, a shuddering out breath. She said nothing. Did not have to say anything. It was exactly how she felt. She could not have put it into words, but Alina had just put it so for her. She had been awaiting a healing that had already happened. She was whole; she didn't just think she was. She had not simply forgotten. It truly had left her life.

  “Thank you,” she said, simply.

  Alina smiled. She changed the position of her hand, so that it covered that of her cousin. They sat together in silence, each with her secrets the lighter for having been shared, in thought if not in word.

  They were surprised by a voice in the corridor.

  “There you are! You little rapscallion! What have you been up to, then? Eh?”

  Amabel. They looked at each other, smiling. An instant later, their beloved cousin and sister appeared, a babe in her arms.

  “Alina! There you are! I think Joanna wanted to find you! She doesn't usually leave the nursery unless she hears someone she likes.” She grinned broadly at her sister, lowered the child so she stood on hesitant feet, and plopped down into the chair opposite with a loud sigh.

  “Oh, it's so lovely to be here, all three together!”

  Alina and Chrissie smiled at her. Chrissie stayed where she was on the settee beside Alina, reluctant to break the bond of strength they seemed to be sharing one to another.

  “I was just saying to Broderick,” Amabel continued, “that he and the boys should go out on a nice long hunt. Days, preferably. Leave us ladies to talk a long while. While away the evenings with chess and song. And then, when they come back, we can have parties!” She grinned at her sister and cousin, green eyes shiny.

  Chrissie smiled. Alina laughed. “A wise notion,” she said wryly.

  They all laughed. “Wise? Probably not. Fun? Yes!” Amabel said vibrantly. Joanna, evidently pleased by her mother's cheerful mood, came toddling over on stocky legs and looked up at her with gray eyes.

  “Mama,” she said cheerfully. “Dance?”

  They all laughed again. Amabel sighed. “Well, then! If someone can oblige and play the spinet, I think we can have a party here and now!”

  Chrissie readily agreed, and while she played the spinet at the table by the window, sore in need of tuning, she watched as Amabel whirled about the room, the child in her arms. Alina watched them, a serene smile on her wooden face.

  After a few minutes, Chrissie finished the song - “The Bonny Lasses of Tyree” – and Amabel collapsed breathlessly into the chair, the child cooing with delight on her knee.

  “Well,” Amabel smiled at them all. “That's that! I can't dance much more than that in one day...she's already been tiring me out.”

  They all smiled. Chrissie left her place and went over to talk to Joanna, who looked deep into her eyes and said: “Loch.”

  They all chatted excitedly, convinced the blue of Chrissie's eyes was what inspired this utterance: she lived in a house with no blue-eyed people.

  “I'm the only person in the family with blue eyes,” Chrissie mused.

  “Well, yes. Except Aunt Aili, of course.” Alina reminded her gently.

  “Oh! Yes!” Chrissie said, hand going over her mouth with sudden surprise. She had forgotten. She suddenly recalled her long-lost aunt, a powerful seer.

  If anyone could help Alina, it is her.

  As they sat chatting and Amabel called for spiced cakes and mulled ale – hoping, Chrissie guessed, to tempt Alina – she thought about her plan. The more she thought, the more it made sense. She would ask Blaine if she could travel to Lochlann to consult her. If there was healing for Alina, their wise aunt would know what it was.

  When the day had lengthened to evening and Broderick appeared, wondering where his wife had gone and summoning them to dinner, she had made up her mind.

  “Ladies!” Broderick said, his ruggedly handsome face appearing round the door, stretched with a smile. “There you are! I was starting to think you'd all been spirited away.” He smoothed his hands down a green tunic, his dark hunting cloak hanging still from his shoulder.

  Amabel laughed. “No such luck, dearest!”

  Broderick tipped his head back in a guffaw. “My dear, I assure you, I was miserable! I was about to send the guard out to find where you were.” He smiled gently at her.

  “You flatterer!” Amabel teased. “You were just waiting to turn the castle into a big hunting party. Don't lie to me...”

  Chrissie grinned, seeing them in a playful mood together. It made her heart warm to see the happy marriages her cousins had. She felt so proud to have entered the same state herself, and confident that any differences could be resolved, no matter what they were.

  She frowned, then, wondering about her plan to help Alina. She hoped she could ask Blaine for help with it. She waited until after dinner, when they were alone in their chamber, the room dark and warm, and a single oil-lamp burning on the table.

  “Dearest
?”

  “Yes?” he said quickly. He seemed distant and Chrissie guessed he had clashed with Duncan on some matter, for he was distracted the moment he arrived in their room.

  “I was...I was talking to Alina today and...”

  “She told you about what happened? What ails her? What is it?”

  “Yes, she did. It is a matter I'm not sure she wanted to discuss...a delicate one,” Chrissie demurred, suddenly realizing that she didn't know whether or not anyone else knew of Alina's private grief. She decided it was better to keep it a secret, at least until she knew.

  “Oh?” Blaine asked. He seemed to guess it was some feminine complaint, for he changed the subject tactfully. “I hope she will be well by the time the banquet Amabel has planned.”

  Chrissie bit her lip. “I think Amabel hopes to try and feed her more,” she confided. “Blaine...”

  “Yes?” he snapped, already lying down, pillow bunched under his neck.

  Chrissie sighed. She was not sure why he sounded impatient. It made her reluctant to tell him about her plan to help Alina, for she might have to explain what was wrong with her and he didn't seem to be in the mood for it.

  “I was wondering if...If I could go on a pilgrimage,” she said, thinking quickly. A little white lie wouldn't hurt anyone just now and she could always tell him the truth tomorrow.

  Blaine raised a brow. “Where to?”

  Chrissie swallowed. It was not like him to be so suspicious, so jumpy! “To...to Saint Tredwell's shrine, near Inveruglas.”

  “Oh,” Blaine said, seeming stumped. The holy saint was renowned for healing, and perhaps he guessed it was for Alina, for his mood softened slightly.

  “Well, then,” he said gently. “I'd be glad for it. I worry, though. I wish I could come with you, but...”

  Chrissie swallowed. She understood that Blaine had only just taken up duties here. Broderick and Duncan would expect him to prove himself, tending to his responsibilities with the men. She was sure he had a lot to take over in such a short time.

  “I can go alone,” she said decisively. That at least made it easy to keep to the story without questions. The holy place she intended to visit – at least in his imagined version – was further. That meant she had a day with Aunt Aili, much better than a few hours she otherwise expected to be granted.

  “As if I could let you go alone,” Blaine said coldly. Chrissie winced.

  “I do not need you to let, as you say, me do anything,” she said stiffly. “Yes, I am your wife. I owe you fealty. But you have never claimed it before.” She felt hurt. He knew how hard it was for her to trust, how hard it was to feel as if she was at someone's mercy.

  Blaine sighed. Chrissie heard it. She felt sorry for him then, but she did not want to forgive that readily. He should know better than to press his position of ownership with her. She made a decision.

  “Goodnight,” she said softly. She turned round, tucking the pillow under her head.

  She lay there, tense, waiting for him to do something, for they never slept without at least a hug. He did nothing. At length, she heard him turning, trying to get comfortable.

  As she fell asleep, she realized she missed his arms holding her, but there was nothing she could do to remedy that: he would have to say sorry first, for she would have no man bully her. Not again. Never again.

  Her sleep was fitful, haunted with images of Alina, dying, and Aunt Aili at her most formidable, making some complicated prophecy Chrissie could not understand. All she remembered of the dreams when she awoke was Aili's warning: Know what it is you want.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  RESOLVING DIFFERENCES

  RESOLVING DIFFERENCES

  The morning was cold, the ground hard with frost, the sky leaden. The fields were bare and Blaine rode as if the horsemen of Apocalypse – death, famine, pestilence and war – were after him. He felt almost as bad as if they had been.

  “What have I done wrong?”

  He sighed. Chrissie's ignoring of him that night had cut him deeply. As had their quarreling. They had never quarreled before.

  It was the worst part of a day that went wrong from shortly after he woke up. First of all, he had quarreled with Duncan – something about the supplies of weapons being more important than the supplies of grain, a view that he still held. Really, though, he suspected Duncan resented his questioning Alina's health. His only answer had been that she was well.

  Blaine snorted as he recalled that answer. He did not need to be a surgeon to know she was far from well.

  Well, Duncan. Now I am in a quandary too. Are you pleased?

  He could not stop blaming Duncan for the fact that he quarreled with his own wife. He snorted, knowing it was ridiculous. He simply could not let the idea rest. He had never quarreled with his wife before, and now they had.

  “Off with you, Duncan MacConnoway.”

  He sighed. Being angry with Duncan was not going to help his case. He had caused this. He should have stayed in bed that morning. He ought to have talked to Chrissie, found out what was wrong. He had been foolish, and had left before they could talk properly, prioritizing his work with the men and his training – riding, as he was doing now – over resolving their difference.

  It was cowardly, he knew. It was an excuse. He didn't need to rush off like this. He could ride this evening, not now in the morning before he had even broken his fast indoors. However, he couldn't face her.

  We've not argued before...not like this. I don't know what to do, how to fix things between us.

  Blaine had no experience of married couples – raised by his grandfather, a hard old man by all accounts – he had not seen people quarrel and what they did to resolve it. For all he knew, it was impossible. For all he knew, it was only him who quarreled with his wife like this. Perhaps he was a bad man.

  “Chrissie?”

  He wished he could reason with her, but didn't even know how to start. Why had he been so stupid last night? He had never been cold with her before, never pushed his rights as a husband in that way as he had done last night.

  “I should know better.”

  He hadn't. He thought about what had gone before, and fixed on her talk of pilgrimages.

  “Why's she going?”

  His first guess was Alina. He knew how Chrissie loved her cousin. He was also not blind. He knew how ill her cousin was.

  His horse was cantering, heading towards a stand of oak trees. He slewed sharply left, hissing with relief as they missed narrowly. He shook his head at himself. What was he thinking? He would surely kill himself if he tried to do this with a mind full of questions. He sighed. His brow was wet with perspiration, despite the chill morning, and his horse was already straining, probably winded.

  “I'm an idiot.”

  He shook his head, feeling sad. He slowed his horse to a walk – not Bert, but a new battle-trained stallion called Grey Cloud whom he had been gifted when he arrived.

  He sighed. He patted his horse's side, feeling bad. Of everyone, the horse had done him no harm. He whispered to it.

  “I am sorry. When we get back, I'll make sure Seamus gives you bran. You like bran mash, don't you?”

  The horse moved his ears, clearly listening to him, and Blaine felt mollified. At least someone liked him!

  He reached the stables two hours before the midday meal. Leaving his horse to a meal of bran, he headed indoors.

  He found Duncan in the upper hallway, coming out of the solar, a piece of carved wood in his hands.

  “Duncan!” he hailed him. “I wanted to talk.”

  “Blaine,” Duncan said quietly. He did not look his cheerful self, but he stood at the railing overlooking the practice ground below, where two dedicated guards still practiced their sword craft together, and patted the spot beside him.

  Blaine came to join him and together they leaned over to watch.

  “Alec should practice back swings more.” Duncan said at length. Blaine nodded.

  “I'll tell
him.”

  He paused, lip between his teeth, thoughtfully. He hadn't come here to discuss swords or training with Duncan. He was fairly sure Duncan knew that. The silence stretched out.

  “Duncan?”

  “Yes?” the tawny eyes were cool. Blaine swallowed.

  “I'm...I'm sorry I offended you,” he said quietly. “Chrissie's my life, and she loves her cousin and...” he trailed off, raising his shoulders in a shrug. “I wasn't being interfering. Well, I was. I apologize.”

  Duncan made a strange noise. When Blaine looked at him, he saw he smiled, and realized it was laughter.

  “What?”

  “Blaine, my brother-in-arms. That was the clumsiest apology. Nevertheless, I love you for it. Thank you.” He grinned, clasping his friend's hand.

  Blaine swallowed hard. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “Well, it wasn't easy, I grant you. Not when you stutter and falter like that. But I appreciate it, really I do.”

  “Thanks,” Blaine said, a grin on his face. “And you can watch who you call clumsy.”

  Duncan roared with laughter. He clapped him on the shoulder. “We'll try that out on the ground down there, eh?” he asked. “See whose reflexes are better.”

  “Challenge accepted.”

  They were quiet for a while. Blaine was still worried, though, so he cleared his throat, trying to think how to ask Duncan what he wished.

  “You're thinking, aren't you?” Duncan said, amused.

  “Why?”

  “Man, I can almost smell wood smoke! You'll wear your brain out, so you will!” he laughed, cuffing his friend on the ear. Blaine winced, and then hit him on the back, making him cough. They wrestled together a moment, then both ended up collapsed on the wall overlooking the courtyard, shoulders shaking with laughter, hanging onto one another in support.

  “You are worried about something,” Duncan observed after a while. “Tell me. I'll do what I can to help.”

  “It's my wife. Chrissie.”

  “Yes?” Duncan asked, brow lowering in a frown.