Resignedly, Donnan turned toward the woods, his face ashen, his steps slow and heavy.
Bernadine and Guinevere were sitting thirty feet into the woods on two large tree stumps. They were whispering as Donnan and Nibley approached, but abruptly stopped when they saw the men advancing toward them. Both women looked shocked to see the two men walking side by side, and Donnan could see Bernadine’s beautiful blue eyes light up with hope.
She thinks we’ve made amends, Donnan realized, and his heart lurched, because it was the very opposite. He did not think Nibley would ever feel anything toward him but pure hatred, and Donnan doubted his feelings would ever be much swayed, either. Not after what had happened that day. Not after he had seen what lengths the man would go to in order to get achieve his ends.
“Bernadine!” Nibley yelled, his voice cheerful as he walked toward his daughter, his arms held out, no doubt expecting an embrace.
Bernadine rose and walked hesitantly toward her father, eyeing the man warily. As she walked into her father’s arms, she looked at Donnan, a question clear in her eyes.
Donnan answered it with a shake of his head, and that small motion was all that his wife needed for her face to fall in realization.
No, she mouthed as she was wrapped in her father’s arms. As her father engulfed her, Bernadine’s eyes stayed fixed on Donnan’s, absent the hope and joy that had filled them only moments ago. In their stead were sorrow and bitter acceptance. It pained Donnan to see the shift change in her face, but it was a far smaller pain to the one piercing his heart at the idea that soon they would have to part. They had, after all, both fought and lost.
“Papa?” Bernadine asked as she pulled away from her father’s embrace. Donnan saw her school her expression, no doubt anxious of angering her father with any display of sadness. “Before we leave, could I have a moment alone with Donnan?”
Her father looked ready to protest, ready, in fact, to scream and yell in anger, but a staying hand on his arm and a pleading look in her eyes appealed to whatever sympathetic nature the man had left in him.
“Five minutes and not a moment more,” he said, pushing her away as he walked toward Guinevere and helped her off the tree stump where she was seated.
Guinevere gave Donnan a look of sincere condolence as she took Nibley’s hand and rose to her feet.
“I am so sorry,” she mouthed, and Donnan accepted the apology with a grave nod. He wanted to tell Guinevere to keep Bernadine safe, to make her feel happy and loved in that prison of a house, but there was no time. And as he looked into the older woman’s eyes, he knew that he did not need to say these words. Guinevere already understood. She would take care of Bernadine as best as she could.
At least the lass will not be wholly without love, Donnan thought as he turned to face Bernadine, doing his utmost to memorize the roundness of her cheeks, the color of her eyes, the bow of her lips. He did not know, after all, when, or if, he would ever see her again. He had to make these last moments count, make them enough to last him the rest of his days.
Chapter 29
Bernadine felt a sick dread settle in her stomach as she watched Donnan draw her near. It felt like the end of their marriage, their reunion, of everything good. She would walk away from these woods a broken woman, and there would be no one able to pick up the pieces and put them back together. The only person able to do that was the man in front of her, the same man that her father was ripping her away from.
Bernadine had felt so elated earlier that day, looking into Donnan’s eyes as she promised to love and cherish him for all of her days. For that one moment, when their eyes were locked on each other’s, their hands clasped, their hearts as one, Bernadine had felt true, incandescent happiness. It was a soul-settling feeling, washing away all the pain and loneliness of her life and replacing it with a deep-seated feeling of love and friendship. It had eclipsed her worries about her father finding them, eclipsed every fear in her heart.
But those worries and fears hadn’t stayed away forever. They had returned only moments after the ceremony, her prayers going unanswered. The misery she felt now was reflected in the hooded look in Donnan’s eyes as he led her away from her papa and Guinevere.
She could feel her father’s glare on the back of her head as they walked away; he was clearly impatient for them to get back to Harrow House so he could no doubt lock her back in her chambers for the rest of her life. But Bernadine would not rush this conversation with Donnan. She needed to be sure she was clear with him; their happiness, their future, depended on it. Otherwise, this truly would be the end.
“Lass,” Donnan said when they were safely tucked away in the trees away from the anxious, prying eyes of her father. The word broke on his lips, Donnan closing his eyes and fighting against the emotions that were clearly trying overruling his sense.
Bernadine had never seen him so despondent, not even that day when she had ridden off with Lord Hammilton back to England. Their love had been in its first bloom then, and though parting was indeed sweet sorrow, they had felt nowhere near the agony they felt now that their connection was so much deeper, solidified in the eyes of God. Parting twice was absolute agony. Why hadn’t Shakespeare written about that in his sonnets, she wondered bitterly.
But it is not goodbye forever, Bernadine reminded herself as she stepped toward Donnan, placing her hands on his chest, her right hand just over his heart. With any luck, we will be together again soon.
“Lass, I dinnae want ye to go. It nearly broke me before,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I won’t be able to stand it, now.”
“I know, my love, but we will not be apart for long,” she said, imbuing her words with all the hope she could muster. “You will come for me. In three months. By that time, my father’s anger, his bitterness, his suspicion will have dulled. I will make him think I have succumbed to my fate, accepted it. He won’t expect me to escape again, but that is exactly what I will do, and with your help. Come for me then, and we can be together as man and wife. For good. For always. Never to part again.”
“Lass, are ye sure? I cannae risk losin’ ye again. I’d hate to think what his temper would be like if ye were to go a third time. He’s barmy enough now. Ye willnae be safe if we anger him again,” Donnan said, his eyes full of worry.
“I am certain. Come for me in three months and I will be ready. Everything will be in place for my escape,” she said, convincing herself as much as him. It was a dangerous plan, but it had to work.
Donnan was silent a moment, digesting these words, but he eventually agreed, nodding his ascent as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on her lips. “Aye, lass. All righ’. I’ll do as ye bid me,” he said against her lips. “And in the meantime, ye’ll be in me thoughts every day. Every minute, every hour. I’ll not cease thinkin’ of ye, I swear to it,” he said, kissing her quickly, a barely-there peck that still managed to ignite every part of her body.
“And I you,” Bernadine whispered, kissing him this time, depending on the caress of their lips together. She needed this one moment of love, of passion, to fuel her for the coming months when his absence could be felt so keenly.
Donnan moaned into her mouth, sliding his hands down her back and bringing her flush against him, the heat of him stoking the fire at her core. But all too soon they broke apart, knowing that if they stayed together a moment longer, they would not be able to separate.
When they parted, their breath was heavy. Bernadine’s eyes were wet with tears, and though Donnan’s eyes were dry, he looked just as emotional as she felt. Bernadine loved that he was so open and vulnerable with her, unafraid of showing his feelings.
It is one of many things I will miss, she thought as she drew him down for one final, short kiss. In that kiss, she tried to tell him with her lips and gentle caresses down his back and sides all that ways she loved him. Donnan answered with his own lips, their softness moulded perfectly against hers, making her feel treasured and cherished and a thousand other delici
ous things she would hold tight for the lonely nights ahead.
Their hands stayed clasped together as they made their way back to the clearing where her father and Guinevere were waiting. Bernadine could still feel her father’s glare on her, more heated now that he had no doubt guessed what she and Donnan had been doing under the cover of the trees, but she ignored his eyes. She did not care about his judgement, did not, at that moment, care for him very much, either. Not after what he’d done to her, what he’d put her through.
It was heart-breaking, looking at the man who had given her so much love and affection in her life with a harsh lens, but she knew it was well-deserved on his part. Though Donnan called her father mad, Bernadine knew it was nothing of the sort. He was perfectly right in his own mind, he was just so selfish that he no longer cared how his actions affected anyone, as long as they met the ends he desired.
Bernadine had known her father to be a controlling man, a harsh man, at times, but that control and harshness had never before been turned on her. Experiencing it firsthand made her realize just how awful he could be, and as tragic a realization as it was, it did at least absolve her of any guilt she might feel in conspiring against him. It was, after all, no more than he deserved.
“We are leaving, Bernadine. Say farewell to your brute,” her father barked, tugging Guinevere toward the clearing in the forest that led to the servants and the horses that would carry them home. She wrenched her arm out of his grip but assented, giving Donnan’s hand a final, heartfelt squeeze before dropping it from hers, the loss of his body heat immediate.
Steeling herself, Bernadine walked backwards out of the woods, facing away from her father and his makeshift troops, choosing instead to keep her eyes locked on her lover for as long as she could. As she retreated out of the forest, she held her hand on her heart, mouthing “I love you” over and over to Donnan, until the words were all around her, in the swaying of the tree branches, the crunch of leaves under her feet as she walked. Donnan mouthed it back, his voice carrying on the wind and wrapping her in his warmth even as they parted.
* * *
Donnan had not slept in approximately twelve days. At the beginning, he had avoided sleep. After all, when he was riding down to England to rescue Bernadine, sleep had been of little importance. Back then, every hour he stayed awake had meant that he was that much closer to his lass, to holding her in his arms, feeling her safe and warm against him. It had seemed a small price to pay, to lose sleep for his lass.
But when he needed sleep, it had eluded him. After leaving England without Bernadine, Donnan had longed for sleep. It was a kind oblivion where he could, for a few hours, pretend that he did not have to live without his lass. Bernadine had visited him in his dreams every night after her initial parting from Scotland, and he had assumed that this time would be no different. But it was, because that oblivion never came. His body would not let him rest.
Now, instead of sleeping, Donnan spent his night-time hours wandering the castle. Passageways he had long forgotten, whole rooms he had not visited since childhood, had been rediscovered.
One night he had happened upon a room filled entirely with his parents’ things – clothes, jewellery, shoes and other trinkets neatly ordered in a room slightly larger than his own dressing room. Donnan had spent hours going through everything, reliving memories of his mother in this dress, his father using that quill.
It was not precisely an enjoyable evening, but it was an interesting one, far more interesting than those nights when he simply wandered aimlessly about the corridors, watching his shadow make strange shapes in the candlelight reflected from lanterns mounted on the walls.
Tonight was shaping up to be an uninteresting one, unfortunately. Donnan had been looking for the room he knew housed his sister and his old toys and books from childhood, but despite traversing all six floors of the castle and seemingly all of its unoccupied rooms, he had yet to come upon the place he was looking for.
As he walked down a flight of stairs, contemplating a journey to the kitchen for some fresh bread and strawberry jam, Donnan heard the sound of footsteps echoing on the stone floor just up ahead of him. Who else but me is up at this time of night? he wondered as he paused, listening to the sound.
The footsteps sounded like they were getting further away, so Donnan quickened his pace, intent now on finding out just who else was sneaking about the castle. The staff was not allowed out of their quarters at night, and the few of Donnan’s men who lived in the lower floors of the castle were doubtless fast asleep after the rousing session with whiskey he’d seem them all partake in earlier that night. He had abstained – he knew the sweet amber liquid of his homeland would only make him more morose and leave him with an aching headache the next day.
Two more flights of stairs and down three corridors Donnan went, keeping his ears alert for the sound of the footsteps just ahead. He followed where they led him, and eventually, they took him outside, through the back entrance to the castle and around the corner. Dew had already settled on the grass, and Donnan could feel the moisture under his feet as he made his way in the dark.
The footsteps stopped when he came to a corner of the castle. The lower walls at the corner were covered in shrubs and bushes that had only recently lost their springtime buds, and Donnan saw what he suspected must be the owner of the footsteps crouching over then.
As he crept closer, Donnan realized it was Camdyn. He could see the flash of the lad’s bright red hair through the bushes, and recognized the boy’s tall, reed-thin frame. Camdyn looked like he was struggling to move something, his labored breaths clearly audible in the silent night.
Do I confront him? Donnan wondered. He did not want to scare the lad, and no doubt creeping up on him while he was busying himself in the bushes would do nothing but that. No, I’ll wait, he decided. He would wait for the lad to stand up and see him, and then he would ask the lad just what he was doing out of bed in the middle of the night and traipsing around the castle grounds.
Donnan watched Camdyn straighten up, wipe his hand over his brow, and then he turned. Donnan stepped out, raising a hand in greeting, but when Camdyn’s eyes skimmed right past him as he moved away from the bushes, Donnan realized the castle eaves must be obscuring him.
He watched Camdyn make his way back toward the castle’s back entrance, his footsteps slowly fading away until the only sound like in the silent night was Donnan’s inhales and exhales. His eyes moved to the bushes, wondering just what Camdyn had been fussing with. Was the lad hiding something?
The bushes were a good spot for concealing things. They were in a secluded spot, not one frequented by even the castle gardeners, who had long ago given up trying to trim back the prickly, bramble-like plants. Donnan could well imagine that something could be tucked away there for a good while.
Praying what he found was not illegal or dangerous, Donnan made his way toward the bushes and crouched down into them like he’d seen Camdyn do. Moving his hands blindly about the ground, he his hands brushed over the rough fabric of a woollen sack.
What’s this?
The sack was large, and heavy when Donnan tried to lift it. Untying the knot at the top, he opened the fabric and his nostrils were immediately assaulted with the sweet, nutty smell of malted grains.
The smell was warm and comforting, like the finest ale or freshly-baked bread, and Donnan took a deep inhale of the grains as he crouched in the bushes, forgetting for a moment what their presence on the castle grounds meant for Camdyn and for himself, as well.
Malted grains like the one in the bushes were a rare find as of late. The malt tax imposed by the government of Great Britain, though charged at only half the rate in Scotland, had caused turmoil all over the country, and resulted in a scarcity of the stuff, for buyers could no longer afford it with the increased taxes. The price of beer skyrocketed, brewers went on strike, riots were rampant. It was chaos, and things had only recently settled down.
Donnan had known from the mom
ent the news first hit the castle that such taxes would mean that malt would join the ranks of many other goods traded illegally to avoid taxation. After all, the Scots loved their beer, and they would do whatever they could to make sure it stayed accessible to the common man. Donnan had just never imagined such trading would go on under his own nose, on his own property.
Then again, he had been far too busy with Bernadine this past month to notice much of anything, let alone illegal activity. The vigilance he had cultivated over the years of being a laird and warrior had abandoned him the moment a lass stole his heart, apparently, for he would never have overlooked something like this before Bernadine came into his life.
But what’s Camdyn doin’ tradin’ such a thing? Donnan wondered as he palmed the grains in one hand, letting them run through the gaps in his fingers. He paid the boy well, fed him and gave him lodging. He’d promoted him from a mere kitchen servant to his secretary. He made sure that Camdyn wanted for nothing.
What need did the boy have of the income that illegal trading would bring? More importantly, how had the boy even gotten involved in such an endeavour in the first place? Donnan knew there were no crooks about the castle. He vetted every single worker who stepped onto his property for this very reason.
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