Clara’s Vow

by Madeline Martin

  She let him have his space and leaned against one of the thick posts of the bed. Its polished, carved surface dug into her hip. “And what reason is that?”

  He dragged his stare from the floor up to her. “Because I’m scared that I’ll lose ye.”

  An ache lodged itself in Reid’s throat. He’d never spoken to anyone of his family before. Even as a lad when he’d wandered the streets, utterly lost, he had not told anyone what had happened.

  The tale was far too painful.

  Not that it would have had an effect anyway. It was a time of great violence. One couldn’t walk down the street without seeing an orphan or a family who had lost their home in an English raid. He was simply one more person seeking aid in a sea of many.

  “What do ye mean, ye’re afraid ye’ll lose me?” Clara pushed off the bedpost and approached him.

  She was so lovely that gazing at her actually hurt. It tugged at a place inside his chest and made it throb with agony. She was far too good for the likes of him.

  He did not deserve her.

  “I’m afraid to have anything the English can take from me,” he admitted. “The way they did my home. My family.”

  “Reid.” She reached for him.

  He didn’t pull away from her touch and instead allowed her to guide him with her toward the edge of the mattress, where they both sat on its soft, pillowy edge.

  Her fingers entwined with his. “How old were ye when this happened?”

  “I’d seen seven summers at that time,” he replied in a voice that did not sound like his own. It was too wooden, too flat.

  Too devoid of the pain that still plagued him, thinking back on the moment his life had been so terribly altered.

  She gave a pained exhale and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “It was like that day in the forest when we met,” he said. “When they tried to burn the cottage with the woman and her bairn inside.”

  Clara’s hand tightened on his. It was a small gesture, but the comfort it offered was enormous.

  “My da was a farmer,” he continued. “We dinna have much, and he’d never been trained in battle. He was in the field when the English came into our home. They kicked in the door and entered. Mum gathered us up and told them to take what they liked but to leave us be. They ransacked the cottage, turning over furniture, breaking a new chair Da had made for Ewan, my little brother.”

  The memory of that damn chair sank its teeth into Reid’s emotions. Ewan had been so proud to have a seat just like Reid, his big brother, not to have to sit on their mother’s lap like a baby anymore.

  “Once they stole what they wanted, they went outside,” Reid said, hating remembering it all as clearly as he did. “Mum went about setting the house to rights, then the odor of smoke filled the house. That’s when we realized they’d set the thatch on fire. We tried to run outside, but the Englishmen jabbed their swords at us to keep us inside. As they did so…” Reid shook his head in disgust. “They were laughing. As though our lives—our deaths—were merely a game to them.”

  Clara winced in empathy.

  “An English baron sat on his horse outside, looking on as if he were bored by their antics.” That was the first time Reid had noticed Lord Rottry, or so he’d been called by his men. He was tall and lanky with a nose that appeared to try to compensate for the absence of a chin. His tunic was a light blue with a golden yellow sun stitched upon it.

  “I heard my da shouting outside.” Reid swallowed. “He’d come from the field to help. But he wasna a warrior. The closest things he wielded to a weapon were his farming tools or a small knife he used for whittling wee animals with.”

  “Oh, Reid,” Clara breathed, evidently knowing what he would say next.

  “My da tried to stop them.” In Reid’s mind, he could see his father, racing toward the Englishmen with a pitchfork clutched in his fists. Lord Rottry had snorted with mirth then and told his men to kill him. An armored man stepped forward, his sword at the ready. The tip of that sharp blade went clean through and jutted out the other side.

  Da, who had always been so strong and stoic, went soft, his body slumping to the ground. The guard yanked his weapon back and returned his attention to the burning cottage, rejoining the others in their jeers and calls. As if Da were nothing at all. “The first man cut him down without any effort. Without any feeling. And all the while, the cottage was burning around us without a chance of escape.”

  Even all these years later, Reid could still recall the heat of the flames and the choking smoke growing thick in the home.

  “I knew it was left to me to save them.” Reid gritted his teeth as a fresh wave of anger rolled over him at how his father had lain there, dead. Not one of the Englishmen had appeared remorseful for what they’d done.

  “I rushed outside to attack them as my da had done, to do whatever was possible to save my mum and Ewan, but they dinna run me through,” Reid continued. “They hit me instead, their gauntlets so hard, it knocked the sense from me. I staggered about for a moment, then heard the baron order his men to hurry up and kill us, so they could be on their way. The world went dark then, and when I woke up…”

  When he had regained awareness, there was little left of his smoldering home. His father’s body remained in a crumpled pile with a swarm of flies buzzing around him. It had taken several minutes to scrape together the courage to look inside the ruined cottage. That was where Reid had found the charred remains of his mother and Ewan still in her arms.

  “When I woke up, they were all dead,” he said raggedly.

  That hollow ache in his chest sucked at him with the same visceral agony as before. As if his entire self were being drawn into the pain.

  “Reid,” Clara said in a thick voice.

  Something warm and wet landed on their joined hands. A tear. Hers.

  He reached for her face with his free hand and tilted her head up. She met his gaze with watery eyes, the tip of her nose pink.

  Clara shook her head slowly. “No child should ever go through something so terrible.”

  “I lost everything because of them,” Reid said. “Because of a rich baron and his men. It almost destroyed me.”

  She nodded in understanding. “But it did not. Ye grew up strong, into a warrior who has protected others from such a fate as yer family suffered.” She withdrew something from the pocket of her kirtle and put the cold, heavy figure into his hand.

  He looked down to find a carved fox. The one he’d done the night they had slept outside.

  “Was that yer da’s?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Nay but thank ye for bringing it along. He taught me how to carve animals out of bits of wood when I was a lad. My skill has never been near the level of his, but I still enjoy doing it. It makes me feel as if some part of him survived.”

  “I like that,” Clara said. “And I’m sorry. For everything ye lost.”

  “I’ve no’ ever let anyone close since,” he said gently. “Because I…” His words caught in the tension at the back of his throat. “I dinna think I could stand it if I were to lose someone I love again. I…” He swallowed hard. “I dinna think I could stand it if I lost ye.”

  “And that’s why ye don’t want to wed?” she asked.

  He fingered the carved fox, then set it aside. “I saw how easily it could all be taken away. I know the pain that I suffered when everyone I loved was slain.”

  She touched her hand to his jaw. The clean, floral scent followed the caress. “But what of happiness?”

  “What of it?”

  Her eyes searched his. “Are ye happy, Reid?”

  “With ye, I am.”

  She gave a sad smile. “When ye aren’t with me, I mean.”

  He looked toward the hearth as the logs in the fireplace collapsed, issuing a spray of embers.

  He survived. After years of training and fighting, he had camaraderie with his fellow soldiers and warriors.

  But those things were not enjoying his
life. They were merely living.

  Clara rose and stood before him, so her thighs were between Reid’s knees. She kept his face in her hands and guided his attention back to her.

  Was he content when he wasn’t with her?

  “Nay,” he admitted.

  “We can be happy together,” she said. “I will not force ye into something ye genuinely don’t want. But neither can I stand by and watch ye lead a life less than ye deserve.”

  His chest ached at her words. He wanted to release his fear, to open up and allow himself to love her.

  “Ye can’t let them win like that,” she said.

  He straightened at those words, ones that echoed what Sister Agnes had told him. “What did ye say?”

  Clara gave him a sweet smile, her affection for him shining from her beautiful face. “That I want ye to be contented?”

  “The last bit.” He grinned. “Though that bit is verra nice as well.”

  She ran her thumb down his cheek. “That ye can’t permit them to win?”

  He nodded.

  “If ye live in fear of what ye may lose, ye’ll give them power. And for what?” She shrugged.

  Aye, for what indeed?

  “Reid.” She bit her lip, and a pretty blush colored her cheeks in the way he’d always found alluring. “I admit, I may be selfish in saying this to ye.”

  “I dinna think it’s possible for ye to be selfish.” He chuckled. “Ye’re too good. Ye’re kind and genuinely caring, more so than anyone I’ve ever met. Ye throw daggers better than any mercenary I know, but ye’re no’ arrogant about yer skill. Ye heal in a world where others hurt, and ye have the patience of a saint.”

  “Ye see me as better than I am.” Still, the pleasure of his words was evident in how the corners of her mouth lifted. “I’m telling ye because I don’t want to become a nun. Because I would rather wed and be a wife and a mum.”

  His heart twisted. “Any man would be lucky to have ye as a wife.”

  He wasn’t sure what made him say the latter part, but he did not regret it. For it was true.

  He knew at that moment, he couldn’t let her walk out of his life, that she could never be anyone’s wife other than his. She would take the light of his soul with her when she left, the joy they’d shared together. Without her in his world, it would all be snuffed out.

  Her breathing quickened as though she followed his thoughts but didn’t dare put a voice to them. She didn’t have to. That was for him to do.

  “I canna let ye go back to the abbey, Clara,” he said.

  Tears sparkled in her eyes. “What do ye mean by that?”

  “I mean to make ye my wife.” He tenderly brushed an errant tear from her cheek. “I mean to choose happiness.” He kissed her smooth brow. “With ye.”

  “Ye mean…”

  He knelt before her. “Clara Fletcher, will ye marry me?”

  15

  “What did ye say?” Clara asked, certain she had not heard Reid correctly.

  “I asked if ye’d marry me.” He gave a sheepish smile that made her heart go soft. “Unless ye still mean to return to Paisley Abbey—”

  “Aye,” she replied.

  He froze, and she realized he thought she referred to the convent.

  “I mean, aye, I’ll marry ye,” she amended quickly.

  His face broke out in a broad grin, mayhap the biggest she’d ever seen on him. He leapt to his feet and captured her in a hug that lifted her off her feet.

  “Are ye sure?” she asked.

  “I’ve no’ ever been surer of anything in my life.” He set her back on her feet. “Ye’re the one good thing that has ever happened to me, Clara Fletcher. I canna lose ye.”

  “Reid.” She wrapped her arms about him and remained there for a long moment with her head pressed to his chest, his heartbeat throbbing in a strong rhythm against her cheek.

  Everything was completely perfect.

  The realization of what they were about to face slammed into her like a punch.

  Everything would be completely perfect, were it not for the droves of Englishmen marching to Dumbarton and the impending battle. Reid would want to fight, of course. Even injured.

  A frisson of fear squeezed through her. What if he was overpowered on the battlefield? What if—

  Nay, she would not think it.

  Except the idea of it already whispered in the back of her mind, that very real danger. Her arms tightened around him, mindful of his injuries, and yet she suddenly found herself loathe to let him go.

  He had chosen happiness. And so too would she.

  She would also be joining him on the battlefield. Unbeknownst to him, so he could not decline her offer—as he most assuredly would. She would be there to protect him, to heal him, for whatever else he might need. But ultimately, to ensure his safety.

  “Do ye think we can find a priest quickly?” he asked.

  “I believe there’s one in the village. We can ask after…” her voice trailed off.

  “Now,” Reid said.

  She lifted her head from his chest and gazed up at him. “Now?”

  “We are on the eve of war.” He stroked a hand down her face. “Or mayhap the attack will come within the hour. It is all too uncertain, Clara. I dinna know what the outcome will be, but I know that I want ye as my wife, no matter what may come.”

  No matter what may come.

  She couldn’t think about what all the possibilities might be. The threat of tears tingled at her eyes, but she blinked them away. “Then, let us see if we can find a priest now.”

  He clasped her hand and drew her from the chamber, out into the hall where he stopped a passing guard. “Where’s the chapel?”

  The man looked between Reid and Clara before pointing up. “Top of the gate tower.”

  Reid nodded his thanks, and together he and Clara raced down the stairs like children toward the castle gates. On their way through the Great Hall, the faces they encountered were grim.

  The news must have been announced of the upcoming attack from the English.

  Clara slowed her pace, as did Reid at her side, and slid her hand into his.

  “Ye shouldna be here,” Reid said under his breath.

  “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with ye.” She looked up at him and found worry creasing his brow.

  Suddenly, his eyes narrowed as his attention caught on someone. “Finlay,” he called. “Come be our witness. We’re to be wed.”

  Finlay came over with a smirk. “Ye’re going to wed this beast of a man?” he asked. “Now?”

  Clara looked at Reid and nodded, unable to stop the glowing swell in her chest for the man she had lost her heart to.

  Finlay eyed Reid menacingly. “If ye hurt her, I’ll kill ye.”

  “No’ before the English,” someone muttered as they passed.

  “Dinna pay them any mind,” Reid said with a glare over his shoulder.

  Together, the three of them made their way to the gates and up into the stone tower, where a priest stood among several parishioners who knelt before the altar. It was a small chapel, its walls and ceiling comprised of gray stone offset with the golden wood of its pews and altar. Candles were lit on tall candlesticks around the room to provide light, warmth and succor to those seeking comfort on dark days, such as the one they now faced.

  “Father,” Reid said to the older man. “Will ye marry us?”

  A look of deep sadness passed over the priest’s withered face, but he nodded and attempted a smile. “Aye, of course.”

  The men praying by the altar stood back and sat in the pews, partially locked in their thoughts as they watched the ceremony. It was a brief exchange of vows, which suited Clara fine. They promised to remain faithful to one another, to care for one another, and with only a few short words, they were wed.

  Bound forever with a set of vows Clara had never thought to be so fortunate to take. Vows that gave her a husband and promised a home and a family to love.

 
Her dreams coming true.

  Reid cradled her face in his hands and regarded her with such tender affection that her heart nearly burst. They turned to the audience of strangers who offered muted smiles and Finlay, who gave a congratulatory grin. After thanking the priest and Finlay, they clasped hands once more, husband and wife, and were set free into a world ready to be taken down by war.

  There was no wedding feast, as there might have been in other times. But none of that mattered. They had each other, and that was all either of them needed.

  They were silent as they made their way through the crowds of people once more, some solemn, others frantic with a need for action. As they walked, each slid a glance at the other.

  Husband.

  The word resounded in Clara’s mind and echoed in her heart. She was wed. There would be no convent for her after all.

  Reid.

  His name was a wistful sigh in her soul. One she repeated with each footfall, letting it sing out in her mind.

  He had faced his greatest fear—for her. Together, they returned to the keep and up the stairs to what was now their chamber. Reid opened the door and indicated she go first. “After ye, my wife.”

  “Thank ye, my husband,” she said with a little laugh, giddy with joy.

  He followed behind her and closed the door, pausing only to bar the door before taking her into his arms. The smile he gave her was reticent. “Ye recall how I told ye I saw ye that day at the market? When William enlisted yer sister as his archer.”

  Clara nodded.

  “I thought of ye every day after,” he admitted.

  Her pulse quickened with delighted surprise. “Ye did?”

  He gave a sheepish nod. “I dinna want to ask after ye and come across as overeager. But one time, Kinsey told me ye were unwed, and I never forgot that.” His hands clasped hers. “I never forgot ye. Now, after all those nights and days thinking of ye, ye’re my wife.” He gave a disbelieving chuckle.

  “Thank ye for facing yer fears for me,” Clara said earnestly.

  He stroked her face with his fingertips. “Thank ye for being worth it.” He shook his head. “I canna believe my good fortune.”