Читать книгу Taming the Highlander - Terri Brisbin - Страница 12

Chapter Five

Connor stared out the small window in his chamber and tried to gather his thoughts. He did not often drink the amount of wine he’d consumed after returning to his room last even. After the second jug of wine, he’d ordered the MacCallum boy released. After the third, he’d locked himself in his room and tried to block out what he’d done that sent him running from his new wife. The fourth jug seemed to finally work and he’d passed out in his chair.

The haze of the wine now helped him to block out Duncan’s droning on about some small matter about stolen cattle that needed to be found. He’d been ignoring him for several minutes when the door to his room opened with a crash and a small, old madwoman accosted him.

Although she could barely reach that high, Ailsa swatted him hard on the side of his head and then again a second time when he did not get out of her way fast enough.

“Ailsa! What has gotten into you?”

When she came at him again, looking not a bit regretful of her actions, he grabbed her hands and held her fast. Although Duncan gave a generous smirk, he offered no other help.

“How could ye? I nursed ye at my own breasts and know that no one ever mistreated ye.” She tugged one of her hands loose and swung at his head again.

“Tell me what has brought on this fit of madness. In spite of your past care of me, I will not permit this to continue.”

The woman backed away and took several deep breaths. Her furor kept her focus on him, so she had still not noticed Duncan standing in the shadows of the room.

“I ken yer feelings on marrying again. We all ken. But she is yer wife now and she was a maiden at that.”

He could feel his anger building from deep inside. He had no desire or intention of talking about the situation or occurrences between him and his wife with anyone, not even his old nurse. Before he could put her in her place, she whispered harshly.

“I just left yer ladywife’s chambers where I found her huddled on the floor in front of a cold hearth. She’d passed the night there heaving and wrapped in whatever she could pull from the bed.”

“What?” he roared. “That canna be true. She was in that bed when I left her.”

Now she stepped closer and poked him sharply in his chest with her finger. “She drank whatever was left of yer fine wine and slept on the floor, I tell ye. And this,” she shoved a bundle into his hands and shook her head at him with something in her gaze that resembled disgust, “This is what ye left her in.”

The sodden fabric fell open and he found himself holding a woman’s shift that had been torn and was red with what looked to be dried blood. His thoughts might be muddled by too much wine, but it took only a moment to realize what Ailsa had handed him.

Connor clenched his jaws together. Could it be hers? She had not seemed overly distressed when he left. Indeed, she’d been more upset by what he’d been doing than when he’d finished and moved off the bed. And her refusal when he’d offered to send Ailsa to her showed someone who was well.

“She was well when I left her.”

“Weel, she isna now.”

They stood toe-to-toe until Duncan made some noise that broke into their private conversation. Ailsa noticed Connor’s second-in-command standing near the door and stepped back from the confrontation.

Still unwilling to discuss what he did and did not do, unwilling to even think about it, he crossed his arms over his chest, signaling an end to any more talk.

“Ailsa, see to your duties and I will see to mine.”

“Aye, laird. As ye wish,” Ailsa said, her voice filled with anger.

“I did not harm her, Ailsa.”

The old woman muttered something which Duncan heard for his face bore the look of someone trying not to laugh. The only words he had heard involved not caring for her either.

“I think that someone of your years may not be the right maid for my new wife. Seek out and train one of the girls from the village to serve in your stead.”

If she feared the threat, there was no sign of it. If anything changed, her expression hardened and the anger in her eyes flared anew. Ailsa crossed her arms over her own formidable chest and met his glare with a more insolent one. He’d used the threat on many, many occa sions but had never rid himself of the woman yet.

Mayhap ’twas time?

“Connor?” Duncan’s voice interrupted the two-sided argument.

“Keep your thoughts to yourself, cousin. You have no place in this discussion.”

“Then I bid you good day,” Duncan replied. With a hard smile and narrowed eyes, a nod to both of them and a few steps, he was gone from the chamber as was any hope that Connor had of keeping the full wrath of Ailsa at bay. He would not let this escalate into something that had him examining his motives or his intentions about this new wife. Not even for Ailsa. He raised his hand in front of her and shook his head.

“Ailsa, go and see to the lady’s needs. I will speak to her later.”

“And when she asks of her brother?”

Damn! How did the woman discover so much so quickly?

“Say nothing. I will speak to her of it later.”

It could have been something he’d said or the tone of his voice, but Ailsa paused, sticking out her chin and meeting his gaze for a moment. Mayhap she’d sensed he had truly reached the limits of what he would accept from her in personal commentary or intrusion? Whatever had worked, he was glad of it. The servant nodded and backed away. When she’d reached the door and was pulling it closed as she left, the words escaped him.

“I did not harm her, Ailsa.”

“As ye say, laird,” she replied without slowing or looking back.

Pushing aside all thoughts of the woman at the center of discussion, Connor decided he’d been inside enough this day. He needed to get back to his duties as much as Ailsa did, so he strode down his tower chamber, through the hall of the keep until he left the tall, stone building. Following the path to the stables, he ordered a small troop of men readied to accompany him to the site of the most recent complaints of incursions onto his lands. A few hours later and miles away, only his clan and his lands and their defenses claimed his attentions.

Jocelyn’s respect for the old woman grew quickly as each of her offered remedies worked its magic on her—first on her head and stomach, both of which threatened upheaval at any moment, and then on the rest of her body. The hot concoction that Ailsa brought her soothed the swirlings in her belly and eased the pain in her head. A long, very hot bath eased the aches and coldness that seemed to have seeped into her bones during the night. Then, dressed in warm stockings, a clean chemise, a new gown and length of woolen plaid, Jocelyn felt as though everything that came before had been just a nightmare.

Never one to suffer from self-pity or bad humors, Jocelyn faced the rest of the day knowing that the worst was behind her. She’d lived through the arduous journey to this place. She’d lived through meeting and wedding and being bedded by the infamous Beast. It had not been a pleasant experience on the whole of it, though parts of it were. His touch made her feel things that she’d only heard hinted at by other women, things only sampled lightly with Ewan.

If he kept his word, and she had no doubts that he would, her brother would be free to return to their clan along with the aid and protection promised by the clan MacLerie. Jocelyn intended to ask about the arrangements as soon as she could find the laird. Athdar’s treatment at the hands of the MacLeries was uneven at best and she only hoped that his temper did not get him into more trouble than he already was. He would learn to control it, she was certain, as he grew closer toward manhood.

Soon though, according to the provisions of the marriage contract, Athdar would arrive home with the resources and men to rebuild their keep and village and feed the entire clan through this next winter. No more a target for the hungrier clans around them, her marriage insured her family’s survival. For now, at least as long as her heart ached over Ewan’s loss, she could content herself with the knowledge that no one in her family would die due to a lack of food or shelter this year.

The sun had fought its way through the thick clouds that lingered after the storms of the night, and now it beckoned to her. Jocelyn found her cloak and made her way down to the hall. Determined first to see to her brother and confirm the arrangements for his release. Then, mayhap with his company for she was certain he would welcome the chance to be out of the dungeon cell, she would explore the keep and castle. She made her way to the stairs that would take her deep underneath the keep.

Pushing on the strong wooden door, Jocelyn hit its surface when it did not give under her pressure. Stepping back, she turned the knob and still it did not open. Stretching up to peer in the small opening, she tried to remember the name of the man guarding it last night.

Two nights ago, she corrected herself.

So much had happened in the last few days, she| looked around to make sure she was trying to open the correct door.

It had not been locked when the laird had brought her to see her brother, but it was now. Finally remembering, she called inside to the guard.

“Duff? Duff, are you there?”

No one answered. Jocelyn lifted the latch again and pushed. It was locked and by the sound, or lack, of it, no one stood guard below.

“Duff?” she called out louder. “Is anyone there?”

“Does Ailsa know you are creeping around outside your chambers?”

She let out a scream as someone whispered in her ear—from just behind her. Turning quickly, she discovered the laird’s cousin Duncan apparently up to more of his mischief. Her bottom twinged as she remembered how his last scare had caused them both to arrive mud-covered from their journey.

The pace on their journey here had turned into a test of wills with her slowing to avoid and him hastening to arrive at the designated time. When Duncan slapped her horse to spur it and her on, she purposely slid from it, grabbing him to cushion her landing, never dreaming the wretch would drag her down, too.

“Duncan,” she said, not moving from her place in front of the door.

“Lady,” he replied, bowing and smiling that irritating smile he had. The one that said he had all the answers but chose not to share them with her. Why had the laird chosen him to come to her home and escort her here? “So, does Ailsa ken of your escape from your chambers?”

“Am I a prisoner then? As my brother is,” she looked at the door now and then back at him. The expression he wore in that instant spoke of spoiled eels…or too much wine.

“You are a wife, lady. No prisoner. Ailsa mentioned your state of…that is, that you were not feeling well this morn.” He would not meet her gaze now and she was glad of it. She did not need to know that others knew of her personal matters. Especially not this one who would use it to cause her discomfort.

“I am well now. And am seeking out my brother,” she said turning back to the door and knocking on it. “But Duff does not seem to be at his post.” She paused, hesitating to ask anything of him that would put her in his debt. “Can you take me to him?”

His face took on a more miserable pallor and she thought him the ill one, until he shook his head. “You must speak to the laird about your brother.” He stepped back and gestured her away from the door. “Come, I will see you back to your chambers.”

“I have no wish to return to my chambers. I want to see my brother and arrange for his freedom. You know the agreement—you negotiated on behalf of the MacLerie.” Jocelyn pulled the woolen shawl up higher around her shoulders. “If you say I must speak to the laird before I can see Athdar, then fetch the laird here.”

“Fetch the laird?” Duncan sputtered and choked on the words. “You speak of him like some animal to do your bidding. You must have had a coddled upbringing if such behavior was permitted of you. ’Tis no wonder that your clan lies in ruins if your father allowed his clan to speak to him or even think of him in that manner.”

His sharp words brought her to a stop. Although she thought he was putting too much meaning into her words, Jocelyn knew that this man had the laird’s ear and confidence. If he wished, he could make the difficult situation even worse between her and her new husband. She’d sensed honor within him, but he was, after all, the laird’s man.

“You mistake my words, Duncan. I will happily seek out the laird to ask him about Athdar, if you would but reveal his whereabouts to me. I mean no disrespect to him.”

He seemed to think on her words and then he nodded at her. “’Twould appear that you have not yet recovered from the journey here or the…events of the last few days. Your concern over your brother is understandable, even admirable, not unnecessary. Connor has said he is safe, and so he is.”

Only the Blessed Mother knew how she stayed her hand in that moment. Everything within her wanted nothing so much as to make a fist as Ewan had taught her and to swing it at the side of this fool’s head. But then she realized something—he’d never answered her question. He’d evaded and deflected, but never answered.

He knew something he was not supposed to reveal to her.

“Duncan, where is my brother?” Jocelyn stared at his face and watched the momentary search for words as he tried to piece together some explanation or excuse.

“Ah, look, lady. Here comes Ailsa now.” Duncan spun on his heels and called out across the hall. “Ailsa, your lady is here. You have arrived not a moment too soon for she needs to rest.”

Now that he had made certain that everyone in the hall or passing through it heard his words, she knew she could not allow this to become a confrontation. Fear struck her deep and hard as she worried that something ill had indeed befallen her brother. She would play his game and allow him to win this encounter, but she must know of her brother’s fate. As she nodded her acquiescence to him, she leaned in close so that no one else would hear.

“At least tell me he is alive,” she whispered. “At least that.” She clasped her hands together so she would not grab the plaid he wore over his shoulder. His mouth tightened into a grimace and she could see his jaws clenching and releasing. The bottom of her stomach dropped and bile rose hot in her throat.

“He is alive and well, lady,” he answered. “You must speak to the laird about the rest.”

Ailsa arrived at her side and glanced from one to the other. Someone as astute as this woman could not miss the tension between them. Instead of agreeing that she should rest, Ailsa took her by the arm and guided her toward the doors of the keep.

“Come, lady. I think a short walk would aid you more than keeping to your chambers.” The maid began walking, but Jocelyn paused. This was not done yet.

“Duncan, when can I speak to the laird? Where will I find him?”

“He’s ridden to one of the outlying villages. He will return late this night or in the morn.”

So, she must wait hours and possibly a day to find out Athdar’s fate. There was nothing she could do now, nothing but insult or provoke Duncan, which would give her much enjoyment but no favorable results. She did not doubt his words about the MacLerie’s return or that her brother was well.

“I will speak to him on his return then,” she agreed and followed Ailsa’s guiding steps away.

She looked back at Duncan once as she walked away, trying to read his thoughts. His face was filled with as much frustration as she thought hers must be, but for exactly the opposite reasons. However, she knew that Connor MacLerie was at the center of both of their situations.

Speak to the laird?

Oh, aye. She would speak to him.

Jocelyn discovered that Ailsa was in truth a tyrant disguised as a small, old woman. The rest of the day and even after dark fell, the woman nearly forcibly escorted Jocelyn from place to place within the keep and without, until Jocelyn was ready to drop. When the laird had not returned in time for the evening meal, she was tempted to curl into a ball and fall asleep in some secluded corner where Ailsa could not find her.

Her plan was not a success. Ailsa did relent and allow her to retreat to her room and eat her meal there. The lack of appropriate women and men for that matter would make it awkward for her to take her place alone at that table. So, she found herself in her room, with a well-blazing fire in the hearth, a tray of foods giving off the most wonderful of aromas, and, even more wondrous than the appetizing food, a book she’d discovered during her tour of the keep.

Although she tried to slow her pace, Jocelyn gulped down her food and finished one full goblet of ale before stopping. Not aware of how hungry she’d become, she shook her head in surprise over it. Now stretching and leaning back against the tall, cushioned chair that had appeared in her chambers just today, she spied the bed.

She would fall asleep the moment she laid her head down—she could feel the physical exhaustion dragging her down now. But, she wanted to be awake and ready when Connor arrived for she had many questions for him.

Questions that had begun simply about her brother and now included many about herself and her place here in Lairig Dubh and the clan MacLerie. Questions that had increased both in quantity and intensity as the day passed and her lack of position in the eyes of these people was made clear over and over again.

They didn’t need her guidance on matters of food nor the preparations for winter. The steward, in his position for decades, was quite competent, even creative, in handling those duties. They did not need her assistance in the duties of overseeing the keep or the woman who lived there, for other than the laundry maids, some of whom now assisted Ailsa, there were no women living in the keep.

So, she found herself in a nearly empty keep, with no sign of her brother or her husband, and exhausted from the miles walked this day. The bed, which she’d purposefully ignored, now beckoned to her. It looked so inviting—piled high with pillows and many layers of linen and blankets—Jocelyn soon found herself standing next to it.

“I just put some hot stones under the blankets, lady. Let me help you in.” Ailsa lifted the robe from her shoulders and helped her climb up. Then she adjusted the location of the flannel-wrapped stones until they were close enough to warm Jocelyn’s feet.

Sinking into the comfort and warmth undermined her plans to be awake to speak to the laird on his return. Her body allowed the cushiony softness of the thick mattress to pull it toward sleep.

“Ailsa,” she whispered, struggling to say the words before she drifted into the oblivion of sleep. “Tell the laird I wish to speak to him when he returns—whenever that is.”

“Aye, lady. I will tell the laird.”

She wanted to ask about the tone in the woman’s voice, but her body was settling into sleep. Although she could still hear the woman moving around the room, Jocelyn had not the strength to form and speak more words. And once more, her dreams were filled with images of Ewan.

And sometime in the dark of the night when the fires had burned down, he came to her in her dreams and warmed her body and soul.