The Draig's Wife

by Lisa Dawn Wadler

  ~ ~ ~

  Declan stood at the entrance to the hall, as was his way. He liked to watch his men when they did not see his eyes upon them. That his hall was filled with light conversation and soft laughter pleased him greatly. My hall should always be filled with simple pleasures and contented clansmen.

  His gaze fell to his wee Mary who was having her hair bound for the day. Cortland smiled at his newly found daughter like a man seeing the sun for the first time in years. Glancing at his own child, Declan understood the pride all too well. The main difference was that Emma smiled at Cortland with the same joy, but his Mary rarely even glanced at him.

  With nods for those who noticed his entrance, Declan strode to Cortland’s side. Those gathered knew what would happen and waited to see the duty performed.

  “Cortland, who is with you in my hall?” Declan asked loud enough for his voice to carry throughout the stone hall.

  “My daughter has come home. The child once called Esmeralda, has returned to us as Emma.” Cortland extended his hand to the woman in question and bid her to rise to stand by his side. “My life once again carries great meaning.”

  Cheers rang out through the hall from the men and women gathered. Declan waited for the crowd to hush and took the opportunity to sweep his gaze over Emma. Her blue eyes were even paler than Cortland’s and reminded him of the stunning beauty of ice on the loch bathed in sunlight in mid-winter. Emma was tall and lean with dark hair pulled off her face in the same braid Mary now wore; any would have seen the resemblance between father and daughter.

  Her eyes were the highlight of her face, and they captivated Declan with their color and intensity. Emma’s gaze was a potent thing to be caught in, so he discovered. A small nose blended nicely with her smooth skin. Declan questioned if her eyes were the highlight, when his gaze landed on her mouth. Full, decadent lips parted to gasp when he took another step closer. The pulse on her neck quickened, and Declan felt a soft smile cover his face. He loved the way women reacted to him and felt far too pleased that Emma enjoyed him.

  Her fingers twined with Cortland’s as Declan stepped even closer. He wondered if the woman, who had known him from her birth, was afraid of him. Holding her gaze, there was no fear in her eyes. If he had to name the expression, he would call it apprehension, which made sense. The last time he remembered seeing Esmeralda was when she was a young lass, and he had threatened her. It was odd that he could still remember that day.

  Declan had gone to the stables to take his horse for a run. At seventeen years of age, his responsibilities were few, and his days were his to savor. His older brother had the burden of learning how to be laird; Declan later would have traded much for the opportunity to learn.

  Esmeralda had been in the stable teasing the barn cats. She had been treating the animals poorly, and he had threatened to tell her parents and see her punished. Fake tears had covered her cheeks while she begged him not to tell. Falling for her rouse, he let her leave with a warning. It was when she laughed as she left the stables he questioned his lack of discipline. He could still see her standing in the stable, her eyes full of manipulative tears.

  A chuckle left his lips at the wayward memory of a naughty child. His voice again rose in the hall. “Emma, daughter of Cortland, welcome back to Draig lands. What was once your home, is again your home.” Knowing his duty, Declan placed his hands on the woman’s shoulders and pulled her to him. Her petal soft cheek brushed his jaw. He wasn’t prepared for the jolt that shook him as she stilled in his arms. Had there been no audience, he knew he would have buried his nose in her hair and whispered to her the erotic images that filled his mind. He could feel his blood burn with desire for her from only the simple contact. How heated could this become if our bare flesh met? He stifled a groan from the singular thought. When she would have pulled back quickly, Declan seized the moment to keep her close, wanting to savor the intensity of his reaction to her. That she felt so fine surprised him immensely. Emma had none of the flesh he preferred. Though she has those amazing eyes . . .

  Cortland’s voice filled the hall, and Declan missed the words. Those present in the hall cheered, and men began to file out to begin the tasks of the day.

  Declan released his grip on Emma as if he had been burned. That day so long ago meshed with the present. And the pale wonder of her eyes.

  “Emma will take Mary to the village for a visit to allow us time to catch up on matters of import,” Cortland said with his loving gaze on his daughter.

  Declan nodded and looked down at his own daughter who, in turn, stared at the stone floor. “Good morrow, Mary.”

  “Father,” Mary whispered.

  Declan knew if he tried, she would eventually look up at him. Sometimes they had a fine conversation, but it took effort. He had no time for great effort. It was taking every ounce of control to remain calm and not scream his accusations for all to hear. He owed Cortland one chance to explain.

  “I will look for you on the training fields when we come back,” Emma said to Cortland and then added, “Da.” The old man shined with delight and kissed her on the forehead. Declan wondered if it was meant only for his eyes or for all gathered to witness.

  Emma took Mary’s hand in hers and asked her to lead the way. That his daughter skipped with delight grated his nerves. Declan motioned for one of the warriors to follow the lasses to the village.

  “There is nay a need for a man to follow,” Cortland offered as the warrior walked behind the pair.

  “In my study,” Declan barked in short, clipped tones. Cortland raised an eyebrow in question at the tone and said nothing. The old man was used to dealing with the laird. Yet, never before had he faced his wrath.

  Declan walked the corridor that led to his private study, the chamber where the financial records, clan contracts, and other important materials were kept. As soon as Cortland entered the chamber, Declan closed the door and bolted it. Without moving, he growled, “You have one chance to tell me who left with Mary. Your Esmeralda had brown eyes. ‘Tis only for your years of service to my father and myself that I held my tongue in the hall.”

  Cortland exhaled heavily and walked to stand before the window that viewed gardens beginning to bloom. For the first time Declan could recall, Cortland spoke without facing him. “I found my Esmeralda in an alehouse. All the men spoke of was true. While they ken my daughter was a whore, none are aware that she hated me on sight and even more in the moment of her death. It was her body you saw yesterday on the trail.”

  Declan’s anger softened while Cortland spoke of his two days with his daughter, two absolutely horrid days. The tale of her death was simple; however, the arrival of Emma was not. His lungs barely drew in breath while Cortland described all he saw through the doorway, how she could not return, and the details Cortland knew of her life. She is from away . . .

  With his mind whirling at the story and its potential implications, it took some time before he realized Cortland was done speaking. No man should find his daughter in an alehouse earning coin on her back. Yet, no man should have to bury that same daughter. “My heart grieves for you and your loss, old man.” His affectionate name for Cortland once again felt proper on his tongue.

  While Declan waited for Cortland to gather his composure, he took the seat behind his desk. “Why dinna tell me the whole of it last eve?” He would never say it aloud, but it hurt that Cortland kept any truth from him. Does he keep more secrets from me?

  “If you had seen the fear in Emma’s eyes, you would ken the reason. While the lass acted bravely in our brief battle and seemed to handle the loss of all she kenned with valor, her hurt was palpable. I sought to protect her. You ken, as do I, ‘tis the duty of the clan to provide a name and a home to any who travel here from her place and time. I have provided all with no regret,” Cortland said. He walked to the chair before the desk and sat.

&nbs
p; “Were you planning on telling me?” Declan asked, holding the other man’s gaze.

  “Nay.” Cortland answered simply.

  “Why?”

  Cortland sighed and paused before answering. “In days of old, these travelers have come when needed most. To say my need is great may seem weak, but I need her, and I believe she needs me as well. We are well-suited together.”

  “The clan lore also states when the traveler has been a lass, she has been destined for the laird. You ken of my need for a wife to save the clan,” Declan stated calmly, wondering if his physical reaction to Emma could be explained by the notion that she was on his lands for him.

  “Then you should have been the one to find her. She left her lands to be with me. I have claimed her as daughter, and she has accepted me as her father. In all ways, I shall be a fine da. Do you ken what I am saying?” Cortland asked, with the challenge clear in his tone.

  Declan leaned back in the chair. The statement held clear warning: as the first among his men, Cortland’s daughter was never to be touched. “You have only met the lass.” How can Cortland be so attached to Emma in the space of a single day? It also bothered him that he had become overly intrigued by the woman who seemingly did not meet his standard.

  “Emma is my child. None will hear any other word from my lips,” Cortland answered.

  It was the vehemence in his tone that brought the next thought to Declan’s mind. “She has your dark hair, pale eyes, and stature. Is she your child by another woman? If so, I would welcome her for your sake. Tales of travelers need nay be used.”

  Cortland let lose a soft chuckle. “‘Tis odd how she favors me. If she were mine, I would happily proclaim it. You have your truth as always from me. Forgive me for thinking my silence was warranted.”

  Declan ran his hand over his chin. Cortland’s story had too much detail to be a lie. It still bothered him that his first had withheld the truth from the start, but Declan could see some wisdom in it. He needed to observe Emma to see if she was worthy of Cortland’s inflated opinion. He was concerned she might have other motives. Cortland had a fair amount of land and coin to his name.

  “Emma left the keep with Mary. Do you think that wise?” Declan asked.

  “Meggie and I both have hopes she and Mary may form a bond. Mary needs a constant companion, as does Emma. Have nay concerns. You ken my love for Mary, and I would never put her at risk. Emma will see to the child,” Cortland reassured him.

  “Many in the village remember your Esmeralda as a lass,” Declan reminded him.

  “If our tale fails to be believed, I may use the one where she is mine by another,” Cortland said.

  Declan silently agreed to the option. “When I return, I would speak with Emma. If she is to remain here, I need to make certain she is content with the life you have woven for her.” Declan knew his duty based on clan lore. That it would also give him an excuse to spend time with the woman was simply a bonus. Clan lore spoke of wisdom, strength, and character in the women who traveled to Draig lands. They also spoke of passionate affairs and marriages; mixing the two seemed impossible until he met Emma.

  “You may speak all you like, but do so without the look I see in your eye. I am sworn as her father,” Cortland reprimanded.

  “You are sworn to me and the clan. Which vow holds if challenged?” Declan asked, voicing his displeasure at being told to stay away.

  “Do me a favor and dinna test me,” Cortland replied with no humor. “I once lost my family due to the needs of the Draig clan, my time spent away from them. Such mistakes will naught be repeated.”

  Declan waved the conversation away. Cortland may snarl, but he is devoted to the clan. Besides, I have too much to do to worry over one lass who was not delivered to me by the fates. Mayhap Cortland was correct, and he needs to be a father. If he is wrong, I will find out.

  “When I return, I will speak with Emma,” Declan said to lighten the mood in the chamber.

  “Return from where?” Cortland questioned.

  “You were attacked by what may have been simple thieves on the border of Campbell lands. The Campbell laird needs to be aware of the risk. I will visit with my former father-by-marriage to see what he has heard. While I hold no strong affection for him, he is wise in his own way.” Declan rose from his seat to signal the end of their conversation.

  Also standing, Cortland said, “Too bad he has no more unmarried daughters.”

  Declan laughed even though he found no humor in his predicament. “Mayhap he kens of where else I should send invitations for a visit.” Though he hoped not.

  “How long will you be gone?” Cortland asked, striding to the door.

  “A few days at most.” With a glance back to the desk, he added, “Nothing here needs immediate attention. See to training the men.”

  Declan unbolted the door and opened it for Cortland. Cortland asked, “Is there peace between us?”

  “Is there more I need to ken?” Declan challenged.

  “You have the whole of it,” Cortland said as he clasped Declan’s shoulder.

  With a smile, he said, “Then we have peace as always.” With a slight nod, Cortland strode down the corridor. Declan believed he had the whole truth, as hard as it was to comprehend. Emma was from the land spoken of in clan lore for generations beyond telling. Cortland had warned him away from the lass. Time would tell if Emma was there for him instead. He had only six weeks to find out.

  ~ ~ ~

  Emma felt the small hand leave hers as their destination became obvious. Mary ran toward the woman who had dropped to her knees with a small cry and waited with open arms in front of a stone cottage. Tears pricked her eyes at the embrace and the way the woman kissed and hugged the girl. It made perfect sense to Emma as they were at the home where Mary had been raised with love.

  Another small scream of delight brought a young girl out of the cottage, and Mary was immediately wrapped into the familial hug. When Mary turned to beam at her, she knew going to the village had been the right thing to do.

  The two girls ran off to play, and the woman rose to her feet as she studied Emma. “You must be Esmeralda, now called Emma,” the blond woman said as she approached. She appeared to be a few years older. She was a bit shorter, and her harsh gaze made the statement lack any sort of a welcome.

  Caught off guard by the greeting, Emma replied, “I am, but how did you know that?”

  “‘Tis a small village when there is something to tell. The news of your return had been spread before your feet touched these lands. You may remember me. I am Aalish, now wife of Thomas, and you have my thanks for bringing Mary to us. Too many days have passed since we have seen her. My Brina will thank you later.”

  Emma caught sight of the girls running around the cottages that lined up in neat rows. Brina was taller than Mary, but Emma thought Mary petite for her age. One had dark hair and the other blond, and their laughter filled the air.

  A small child’s cries came from the cottage’s open door. “‘Tis no surprise all the shouting woke him up,” Aalish said before she disappeared through the doorway.

  Am I supposed to stay and wait for Mary? Should I leave and come back later? Not quite comfortable with leaving the girls unsupervised, she walked a few feet to keep them in view while they played on the open grassland.

  “And here is wee Thomas,” the voice said from behind her. The small boy on Aalish’s hip was nearly a year and a half old, and his sleepy eyes opened wide when he saw Mary in the distance. “Even this one misses Mary.”

  Reaching out to touch the soft blond curls on the child, Emma said, “He is beautiful.” Turning her gaze back to Aalish, she asked, “Do I stay or leave her with you?”

  “‘Tis your choice, though Mary is safe and welcome with me always. However, there is much to do, and an extra pa
ir of hands would be a blessing.” Aalish’s eyes spoke volumes. Emma knew that Aalish was asking her to stay without saying the words.

  Emma sensed a challenge with the pseudo invitation, but accepted the offer. “My hands are all yours.”

  Emma realized it had been several years since she had spent time with someone her own age. The last two years had been spent keeping her grandmother company after her grandfather’s death and then acting as caretaker for the same woman. The social contact at work was minimal at best because their class schedule was always full.

  Grabbing a bucket and then handing another to Emma, Aalish said, “There is laundry to be done. Let us fetch water.”

  With a glance back at the girls’ playing, Emma followed. The foreign sights of the village lessened the sting of a lack of small talk. Neat rows of cottages lined the path to the center well. The scent of burning wood and the aroma of freshly baked bread wisped out of the cottages and mixed with the sea salt-tinged air. The path was void of debris and appeared to be as well maintained as each of the stone cottages. The History Channel must be wrong on a great many things. The village was clean with no signs of raw sewage.

  Emma smiled bravely while women of all ages stared at her. Only a few muttered what could have been a greeting of sorts, though when she turned to smile at them, no one made eye contact. Most only stared and then whispered to someone else. The confidence she normally wore fell from her shoulders with the cold stares following the short trek back to Aalish’s cottage. Cortland appears to be wrong about a few things. No one seems overly pleased to have Esmeralda back. Friendly is not a word I would use to describe these people.

  Emma placed the bucket next to the large cauldron that hung over a fire next to the cottage after Aalish placed hers next to it. “Did you see any you remembered from your days here?”