The Bard

by Greyson, Maeve

  “Nine bairns.” Somehow, with her beloved holding her, the pain seemed to lessen. She smiled at the memory of her dream. Nine babes with hair as golden and shining as Mama’s. Stairstep blessings that couldn’t be more than a year or two apart. “As soon as I rest a bit and mend these ribs, ye ken? Then we can see about making our first babe. A little girl, I think, aye?”

  “Nay, m’love,” her dear one chuckled as his warm lips pressed against her temple. “Five sons first to keep their four sisters safe. Because if my daughters are half as beautiful as their mother, they’ll have to be guarded against every male in Scotland.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The soft light of the rising sun shooed away the sweet drowsiness tempting Sorcha to keep her eyes closed. It was so comfortably soft and warm in the bed. Da had ordered the plump feather ticking removed from atop his mattress and placed on hers until another could be made. Heckie had ripped her ticking to pieces when he had used it to drag her through the tunnels. Poor geese. They were in for a great deal of plucking.

  Fully awake now, she fluttered her fingers through the rays of sunlight, smiling as the dust motes danced in the golden beam. Dust fairies, Mama had always called them. They rode the sun’s rays to sneak into houses and weave their wee balls of dust in the corners and under furniture. Mama had always told the best stories. Sorcha smiled. Someday, she would retell those tales to her and Sutherland’s wee ones.

  Thank goodness the maidservants had done as she asked and left her draperies tied open. As far as she was concerned, they would never be closed again. She had experienced enough suffocating darkness to last a lifetime.

  The empty chair at her bedside made her frown. Sutherland had slept there last night. He had refused to sleep in the bed at the risk of bumping her poor battered body, as he had so delicately put it. She pushed herself upright, flinching with the effort as she shoved more pillows behind her.

  “Put yer arm back in that sling,” Aderyn scolded as she entered the room with a tray between her hands. “Do ye wish yer shoulder deformed by a poor mending?”

  “It feels better out of the sling.” Sorcha lifted her arm and worked it back and forth. “See? My ribs are all that bother me now, and I truly think they’re merely bruised rather than broken. My shoulder’s nearly healed. It’s only the tiniest bit sore.” She tugged at the bandages wrapped around her chest. “I think my ribs would be so much better if we removed these. I dinna need them anymore at all.”

  “The wraps stay,” Aderyn said. “And yer shoulder isna fully healed.” The healer placed the tray on the bedside table and began mixing some sort of concoction. “I agree yer ribs may verra well just be battered instead of broken, but I willna take any chances. And all ye’ve survived these past few days is why ye dinna notice the remaining pain in yer shoulder.” She held out a small wooden bowl. “Drink.”

  Sorcha knew better than to argue, but it took all the control she possessed to keep from gagging. Fingers pressed across her lips to keep from spitting it back out, she handed the empty bowl back to the healer.

  “Now, this.” Aderyn switched the bowl with a glass containing a milky liquid that had a buttery sheen floating across it. “This will wash away that fearsome taste, and the honey’s good for ye.”

  Not entirely sure she could trust Aderyn, Sorcha sniffed the contents. Whatever it was had a richly pleasant smell with the hint of apples and cloves. She hazarded a sip, then licked her lips. It was delicious.

  The healer winked and gave her a toothless smile. “I knew ye would like that one.” She leaned in close. “It will help ready ye for plenty a bairns, too.”

  “I dreamt of nine,” Sorcha shared before taking another sip.

  Aderyn frowned as she tapped a crooked finger to her chin. “The bones said thirteen, but I could be mistaken. I checked them when I was overly weary. I shall read them again and let ye know for certain. Be it nine or thirteen, that’s a great many blessings for ye to chase after.”

  “Thirteen?” Sutherland repeated from the doorway.

  The wily healer cackled and clapped her hands. “Aye, laddie. Ye best rest up while yer lady wife is mending.” She pointed at the bedside table, then shook a finger at Sorcha. “I shall return with more of both remedies at sunset. Rest now and heal, aye?” She winked again. “Ye best enjoy this peace and quiet whilst ye have it with that many bairns in yer future.” Then she toddled out of the room, her pleased chortling echoing in her wake.

  “I promise I only dreamt of nine,” she reassured her husband as she scooted the empty glass to the table, then settled back in her pillows.

  Sutherland kissed her forehead, then tenderly combed her hair back with his fingers. “I dinna care how many bairns we have as long as ye stay by my side.” He held her hand as he slowly sat on the edge of the bed. “It willna hurt ye if I sit here, will it? I dinna wish to shake ye o’er much.”

  “I begged ye to come to bed last night, remember? Ye know I like having ye close.” She cradled his hand between both of hers. “I was disappointed when I awoke and found ye gone from that silly chair.”

  His gaze dropped to their hands, and his smile faded. “Yer father sent a maidservant early to fetch me. I didna want to wake ye.”

  “What’s happened now?” When he remained silent for entirely too long, she feared the worst. “Please tell me Da hasna fallen ill with all the goings-on and wickedness in the keep. Nor that Jenny’s gotten worse. Please say they’re both safe.”

  “They are both well, my love, I promise.” He calmed her with a caring look, then lifted her hand for a kiss. “But I am sorry to tell ye that War Chief MacIlroy is no more. One of the guards found him. The man hanged himself. Left his apologies for his family’s ways tacked to the tree with his dirk. He chose the oak closest to his wife’s grave.”

  Sorcha felt nothing but sorrow for the troubled war chief. The madness of both his wife and son wasn’t his fault and, heaven only knew, he had suffered more than his share because of it. “I wish he hadna blamed himself.” She crossed herself. “God rest ye, Hector MacIlroy. May ye finally be at peace.” She couldn’t imagine the keep without him. “Da will be at such a loss. He entrusted the security of the clan and the handling of the guards to MacIlroy completely.”

  “And now yer father wishes me to accept that responsibility.” His attention focused on their clasped hands. Sutherland smoothed open her fingers across his broad palm and gently stroked them one by one. “He has offered me the position of war chief to Clan Greyloch.”

  “And what did ye tell him?” She knew what she hoped he had said. If Sutherland became war chief, their residence would be here rather than Tor Ruadh. She knew it might be selfish, but it would please her greatly to remain in her childhood home and not leave her father all alone.

  “I told him I needed to speak with ye first. A man doesna make such decisions without consulting his wife—at least, I willna do so.”

  His unreadable expression frustrated her to no end. While she wished to remain at Greyloch keep, she didn’t want him resenting her for tearing him away from his duties and his clan at Tor Ruadh. She reached up and touched the stubble shadowing his jawline. “I want ye happy. Whatever ye decide will please me as long as I am with ye.” That was all that really mattered. Even if they lived at Tor Ruadh, it wasn’t like she was half a world away from Da. It was just a two-day trip. Sutherland’s happiness was just as important as her own. She knew that fully now.

  He leaned forward and gave her a kiss that stole her breath and made her wish her ribs were already healed. “I shall accept the honor he has offered me. In fact, I more or less already accepted it with the provision that if ye didna wish it, he would have to find someone else. Of course, he laughed when I told him that. I’m sure Alexander will understand and fully support my decision to remain here and work at yer father’s side.”

  “Are ye certain?” she whispered, searching his face to ensure he was truly at peace with his decision.

  “Aye, m�
�love.” He cradled her cheek in his hand and smiled. “And as soon as ye’re healed, we’ll set to the task of filling this keep with little ones that’ll make yer father wish for the days of peace and quiet.”

  Someone knocked on the door, interrupting the tender moment.

  “Aye?” Sutherland called out without rising from his seat beside her.

  The door eased open, and a maidservant stuck her head inside. “’Tis the locksmith for the moon turret. Shall I tell him to wait until later?”

  “The locksmith?” Sorcha repeated.

  “I want that turret locked, and no one shall have the key except for ye and myself.” Jaw set, he gave the door in question a narrow-eyed glare. “That will ensure no one has access to ye through those hellacious tunnels ever again.” He turned back to the maid. “Tell him I appreciate his coming with the urgency I called for, but I would rather he wait until later in the morning. I’m sure my wife will wish to get a little sun in the garden. He can install the lock then, aye?”

  The maid bobbed her head. “Aye, Master MacCoinnich. I’ll tell him.” She stood at the door a little longer, beaming, as though she had just received a pot of gold.

  “What is it, Lena?” Sorcha asked, sensing the young woman wished to say something else.

  “It’s just…” the lass paused, then clasped her hands together. “It’s just we are all so fearsome happy that ye’re on the mend, m’lady. And that yerself and Master MacCoinnich will be staying here. We couldna imagine the keep without ye.”

  “Thank ye, Lena. I’m fearsome happy myself.”

  Lena dipped a quick curtsy, then gently closed the door.

  “It didna take long for that word to spread,” Sutherland observed with an arched brow.

  “It never does.” Sorcha risked pulling in a deeper breath, bracing herself for the dull pain of her sore ribs but was happily surprised. Whatever that nastiness was Aderyn had given her seemed to be making her discomfort quite a bit easier to bear. Sutherland’s idea of sunning in the garden sounded like the perfect place to enjoy breaking her fast. “If ye’ll help me with a simple dressing gown, I feel sure Mrs. Breckenridge would be happy to order us a table set in the garden.”

  He stood and held out both hands. “Shall we see how steady ye are first? Then we’ll decide for certain about yesitting down there long enough to enjoy a meal.”

  “I dinna take to coddling,” she informed him. Taking hold of his hands, she lowered her feet over the side of the bed but made the mistake of standing too fast and set her head to spinning.

  Sutherland steadied her with an affectionately arrogant look. “Ye see? It’s nay coddling. It’s keeping yer lovely arse from hitting the floor, ye ken?”

  She wouldn’t grace that with an answer. Instead, she pointed at the dressing gown on the hook of her wardrobe door. “There’s the gown I’ll wear to the garden. Grant me a moment behind the privy screen, aye? I’m steadier now. I swear.”

  He held onto her a moment longer, looking as though he thought her a liar. “Ye’re certain ye dinna need my help…” Rather than finish the sentence, he nodded toward the trifold room divider hiding the chamber pot cabinet and the washbasin and pitcher from the rest of the room.

  “I assure ye, I do not.” Husband or not, that was not the sort of intimacy she would ever agree to unless forced by the inability to handle such things herself. One carefully placed step at a time, she tended to her needs, washed with some of Aderyn’s soap scented with invigorating herbs, then emerged victorious. “I feel stronger by the moment,” she announced and meant it.

  “It gladdens my heart to hear it.” Sutherland helped her slip the gown on over her shift, then had her sit in front of the hearth where he knelt in front of her with stockings and her softest pair of leather shoes. His wicked smile heated her a hundred times more than the banked coals smoldering in the hearth. “M’lady? Allow me to help ye with yer stockings?”

  “I’m truly feeling much better. Nearly healed, in fact,” she said as he had her stretch out one leg at a time and slowly slid her stockings up to her thighs.

  He planted a kiss above each of her knees before securing the hosiery with a ribbon. “When ye have fully healed, it will be like our wedding night all over again.” He slid her foot into one of her shoes, then paused and looked her in the eyes. “I assure ye, lass, I ache for ye just as ye ache for me.”

  She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse. All she knew for certain was that she needed her husband, badly. “If we were verra cautious—maybe here in the chair, and we moved verra little?”

  “As much as I want ye, I willna risk it, m’eudail. I fear we would intend the best, but then lose ourselves and cause ye harm.” But he gently spread her knees farther apart and slid his hand up between them as he leaned in for a long, slow kiss. “But it would be ungentlemanly of me to refuse my wife completely,” he whispered against her mouth. “Allow me to ease some of yer tension, aye? Close yer eyes and relax.”

  For once, Sorcha did as she was told, giving herself over to the expertise of her wonderful husband’s mouth and hands. The more he stroked and kissed, the more she realized he was right. If he had given in and allowed her to ride him, she would not have moved verra little. A groaning shudder escaped her as he added a tantalizing massaging with his thumb to a most delicate place that he knew always drove her mad. Her breath came in rapid gasps. And not surprisingly, she didn’t notice her ribs a bit. “Sutherland…please.” She would surely die if she didn’t get relief soon.

  “Just for ye, m’lady,” he whispered, then washed her the rest of the way into the blissful abyss that only he controlled.

  “Yes!” she cried out, holding tight to the arms of the chair as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed through her.

  He held her close, gently nipping, kissing, and tasting, as the lovely storm subsided and left her floating in his arms.

  “Ye are wondrous,” she breathed, completely spent and unable to move.

  “Yer ribs, yer shoulder, I didna pain ye?” He looked at her with such unselfish concern, it made her heart swell.

  “Nay, m’love.” She smiled. “Ye didna pain me.” Framing his face between her hands, she shook her head. “But what about ye? Ye didna…” She shrugged. “Didna get…relief.”

  “I will get mine soon enough,” he promised as he scooped her into his arms and carried her out the door.

  “What are ye doing?” She patted his chest.

  “Ye said ye wished to break yer fast in the garden,” he said. “I am taking ye there. I dinna trust yer balance on all those steps.” He came to a halt and gave her a stern look. “I just now got ye back. I am not willing to lose ye.”

  “It’s just as well,” she whispered in his ear as he started down the steps. “After the pleasures ye just gave me, I dinna think I could walk anyway.”

  Sutherland responded with a proud rumbling chuckle that reminded her of a purring stable cat. “Mrs. Breckinridge!” he called out as he stepped off the last step. “My lady wife would like her breakfast in the garden. Would that be possible?”

  Mrs. Breckenridge’s smile outshone a newly pitched torch. “Absolutely, Master MacCoinnich. It will be our pleasure.” She clapped her hands and sent the servants scurrying. “Ye heard our new war chief! Step to it! Our mistress wishes a bit of sunshine with her meal.”

  “And set a place for her father, too!” Chieftain Greyloch bellowed as he emerged from the prayer alcove at the front of the hall.

  “It will be done, my chieftain!” Mrs. Breckenridge curtsied, then took off with more speed than a woman of her years usually possessed.

  The chieftain led the way to his private garden, all the while glancing back and grinning at Sorcha and Sutherland.

  “Take care, Da,” she warned as she hugged her arms around Sutherland’s neck. “Watch where ye step, or ye’ll be on yer arse.”

  He shook a finger at her as they exited the solar and made their way to the table and chairs the servants
had already pulled together. “Such language, daughter!” But his scolding held little fire as he delivered it with a delighted smile and a chuckle.

  Sutherland eased her down into the chair layered with pillows and cushions. “Good enough, mo chridhe?”

  “Aye, my love.” She relaxed back into the pillows and basked in the warmth of being well cared for and loved. “It is better than good enough. I am blessed entirely more than I deserve.”

  “As am I,” he said with a kiss to her cheek before taking his own chair. He looked across the way and nodded. “And here comes another blessing that I’m sure will make ye smile.”

  Sorcha turned, and her heart sang.

  A bit pale and walking slowly as she held tight to the arm of Lachlan MacKelhenny, Jenny smiled and waved. “Might we join ye?” she asked softly, then flinched as though the sound of her own voice hurt her. “At least for a little while.”

  “Will ye be all right, sister?” Sorcha asked, taking hold of Jenny’s hand after Lachlan helped her into a chair. “Ye’re so weak. It hurts my heart.”

  “I am much better than I was,” Jenny said with a mournful look. “Poor Heckie. His madness nearly killed us both. I pray his tortured soul has finally found the rest he never wouldha gotten in this world.”

  “As do I, my precious sister.” Sorcha patted Jenny’s hand, sending up another silent prayer that dear Jenny would be granted the healing that she herself had received.

  “But out of all that evil, a precious gift was given to me.” Jenny inclined her head toward Lachlan. “I finally realized that fine silks from Edinburgh and games of chance in the guard tower were not what I needed to make life complete.”

  The quiet warrior sat taller, squared his shoulders, and smiled proudly. Then he turned a serious look on Chieftain Greyloch. “I ask yer permission and yer blessing, my chieftain. I would like to take Jenny as my wife, if ye would allow it.”