Forever Her Champion

by Suzan Tisdale

  ’Twas a small room with a small window that faced south and one arrow window that faced east. There were multiple tables heaped with all manner of fabrics. Once Elsbeth had learned what a talented seamstress Rose was, she immediately selected this room for her and began filling it with fabrics. Rose was all too happy to create beautiful gowns and dresses for Elsbeth, her daughters, and Aggie.

  Now she sat next to the arrow window with Ada cooing and gurgling happily in her arms. Rose loved the way the tiny babe smelled of lavender soap and clean linens. While it was a wonderful feeling to hold the tiny babe in her arms, her heart ached with wanting one of her own. “Ada, I be about to share a secret with ye and I’ll thank ye kindly no’ to tell another soul,” she whispered playfully.

  Ada looked up at her and cooed, as if she understood completely what her Aunt Rose was telling her.

  “I was almost a mum meself,” she told her. “Three times.” A sense of longing slowly crept in at the memories. “Three times I got with child with me husband, Almer Gray. I lost each one before I could reach me fourth month.”

  Though the miscarriages had happened many years ago, the pain was as fresh and intense as if it had happened only that morn. Those had been the most difficult and tragic of times, as a young bride wanting nothing more than to give her husband a child. The disappointment at losing the first was something she believed she would never get over. The agony after the third was unbearable. Almer had done his best to assure her he loved her all the same. ‘Twasn’t until he lay on his deathbed that she realized he had meant it.

  ’Twas then she experienced an epiphany of sorts. Was this the reason Ian had broken the troth? On more than one occasion, they had discussed her inability to carry a child to term. He had been adamant that he cared not if she could never give him a child of his own. ’Tis ye I love, lass. I care no’ about bairns, only that I am able to spend the rest of me life with ye.

  There had not been any doubt in her mind at the time that he meant what he said. Never had she met men so honorable as the Mackintosh men. Their word was everything to them.

  Just when she thought she had shed her last tear for Ian Mackintosh, new droplets began to fall. The more she thought on it, the more she believed it was her inability to carry a child that had changed Ian’s opinion of her. Mayhap, after seeing Frederick holding his first babe, it triggered something in Ian’s heart, leading him to realize that he did in fact want children of his own.

  Suddenly she found she no longer hated him with the ferocity she’d held only moments ago. How could she hold his desire for children against him? If anyone understood the ache of wanting something you could never have, ’twas she.

  Looking down at Ada, whose eyelids were growing heavy, her sorrow increased tenfold. For years now, she had convinced herself she would be happy helping other women look after their babes. Now, as Ada sighed sleepily, she realized that was not true. Nay, she wanted a babe of her own. In truth, it mattered not if she birthed the babe or adopted, she wanted a child, not only for precious moments such as these. She wanted a child she could help grow into a fine person and see his or her dreams someday come true.

  Ian had told her he was not opposed to adoption, if the chance ever arose. Something had to have happened to make him change his mind. But what? She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer to that question.

  Aggie stood tall and proud, waiting for the moment Douglas Carruthers would enter John Mackintosh’s private study. Two chairs sat facing one another in front of the fireplace. Over the mantle hung the Mackintosh crest with the words Touch not a cat without a glove carved around the image of a cat-o-mountain. On the opposite side of the room, in front of two tall, narrow walls, was the long table John used as his desk. ‘Twas all neat and well organized, much like the man himself.

  Behaving as if they were her personal guards, Elsbeth stood to her left, Rebeca to her right. Elsbeth kept a steady and warm hand on Aggie’s back.

  The air in the room suddenly felt cold, even though a fire roared in the hearth. The rain had returned, along with a strong wind that howled in through the fur-covered windows. It felt dark, ominous, as if the weather were foretelling what was about to happen.

  Smoothing out the skirts of her lavender dress with sweaty palms, Aggie took deep, steadying breaths. For years, she had worn her dark hair so it covered the nasty scar on the left side of her face. ’Twas a constant reminder of Eduard Bowie, the man who had raped her more than a decade ago. But earlier that morn, she had enlisted Elsbeth’s help in plaiting her dark lochs, unafraid now of letting anyone see her marred face. If the Carruthers was offended by her appearance, then ’twas something he would have to deal with. If those who loved her were unbothered by it, then it should not matter to him.

  “Ye look beautiful,” Elsbeth told her.

  “Thank ye,” she replied softly. Doing her best to untie the knots that had been forming in her stomach, she adopted the best air of nonchalance she could manage.

  Quietly, Rebeca slipped a hand into hers and gave a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “He will love ye, just as the rest of us do,” Rebecca whispered.

  Elsbeth agreed. “Of course he will. And if he does no’? It matters no’, aye?”

  Aggie lifted her chin ever so slightly. “Aye, it matters no’.” Her heart, however, wished for all the world that this meeting would go well. ‘Tis a meeting and nothing more. Yer life will no’ be changed significantly, regardless of his opinion of ye.

  A moment later, Frederick walked into the room. He bore a kind and happy smile, which brightened the moment he looked at his wife. Aggie knew she’d never tire of seeing his face or his smile.

  A heartbeat or two afterward, Douglas Carruthers stepped through the door.

  For the longest moment, they could do nothing but stare at one another.

  He looked older than she had anticipated. Hair that had once been as black as kohl, according to her mother’s journal, was now a soft shade of silver. Although he was a few inches shorter than her husband, he still seemed a formidable man. Aggie took note of the surprised expression in his gold and brown eyes. Was he happy to see her? Disappointed in the offspring he’d fathered?

  The longer he stared, the more uncomfortable she became.

  “God’s bones,” he finally spoke, his voice sounded scratchy, almost raw. The color was beginning to drain from his face. “Ye are every bit as beautiful as yer mum.”

  She hadn’t been prepared for such a compliment, for any compliment for that matter. One of her biggest worries — that he’d take one look at her and be so appalled, he would turn around and leave — was immediately laid to rest when he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.

  “I’ve waited fer this day fer more than twenty years,” he whispered softly against the top of her head. “’Tis both a prayer and dream come true.”

  For days she had planned out every word she would say to him, thought through every question carefully. But now, with his massive arms wrapped around her as if she were the most precious treasure he’d ever held, she could not think of a single thing to say. He held on tightly, as if he were afraid to let go.

  A large knot formed in her throat. Words she wanted to say, tears she wanted desperately to shed, all bound together into a lump the size of a walnut. How many times had she wished for such affection from Mermadak, the man she had always thought her true father? She took in a deep, fortifying breath, her heart awash in a combination of regret and what she could only describe as relief.

  He does no’ hate me, nor is he ashamed.

  Much time passed before Douglas Carruthers let go of his firstborn child. A child he’d dreamed of seeing from the moment her mother, Lila, had told him she was carrying. With his heart heavy with guilt and regret, he held her away so he could study every inch of her face: a face that reminded him of the woman he had loved but could never marry.

  Aggie had his coloring — hair as black as pitch with gold-brown eyes, but that w
as where the resemblance ended. Everything else about her was Lila McLaren through and through. He did not know if he should laugh with joyful glee or cry and beg for his daughter’s forgiveness. For the life of him, he could not take his eyes away from her.

  Soon he felt her grow uncomfortable under his close scrutinization. “Fergive me lass,” he whispered. “I fear the moment I laid eyes on ye all me good manners and sense left me.”

  Aggie returned his smile, her heart awash in relief.

  “I be makin’ a fool of meself, aye?”

  Aggie shook her head. “N-nay,” she murmured.

  But he didn’t believe her. Looking about the room, he realized all eyes were upon them. “Would ye like to sit, lass?” he asked with a wave of his hand toward the two chairs in front of the hearth.

  Aggie nodded in affirmation and gracefully took one of the chairs in front of the fire. Once he saw she was settled, he took the seat opposite her. Resting his palms on his knees, he continued to stare.

  “There were many things I wanted to say to ye, lass, and now I cannot find a word to utter other than to declare once again how beautiful ye are. Yer resemblance to yer mum is remarkable.”

  “I fear I suffer from the same affliction,” she told him. In truth, she’d been fully prepared for a less than warm response.

  He took in a deep breath. “I worried, lass, that ye would hate me and want nothin’ at all to do with me. ‘Tis grateful I am that ye be no’ stickin’ a dirk into me heart.”

  Aye, that thought had entered her mind on more than one occasion. ‘Twas true that she felt a great deal of anger toward this man, but she wanted to hear from his own lips why he had never come for her.

  Frederick stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Aggie, would ye like us to leave so that ye might speak to yer father alone?”

  “Aye,” she replied. “But I’d like ye to stay.”

  Elsbeth and Rebecca said nothing as they left the room. Aggie soon realized the wind had died down, the rain was nothing more than a soft patter against the stone walls. Even the roaring fire had settled down to a subdued crackle. A sense of calm filled the room.

  Frederick remained behind his wife with one hand on her shoulder. Though she was no longer the meek and timid woman she had once been, she felt stronger whenever her husband was near.

  Douglas began to grow uncomfortable; he found the silence maddening. “We have much to talk about, ye and I.”

  “Aye, we do,” Aggie replied.

  “Where should we begin?” he asked. Aggie took note of the trepidation in his tone.

  She decided to ask the one burning question. The question that had kept her awake at night. “Why did ye never come fer me?”

  Douglas paled ever so slightly. “I did. Once.”

  Aggie raised a doubtful brow.

  He let loose a heavy breath and rubbed a hand across his jaw. “When yer mum told me she was with child, with me child, I begged her to leave Mermadak. She refused. She said ’twas yer legacy, yer destiny to someday take over the McLaren lands. No matter how I begged and pleaded, she refused to take that legacy away from ye.”

  Aggie’s brow drew into a fine line of puzzlement. She remained quiet and still.

  “I came once, after ye were born. She was visiting her family when her time came. She refused to allow me to see ye, not even a glimpse. She also refused to go away with me. ‘Nay,’ she told me. ‘I’ll no’ take away me child’s birthright. I’ll no’ give up McLaren lands. ‘Twould be a disrespect to me mother and father and those who came before me. I’ll no’ have me child raised as illegitimate, scorned and looked down upon because her parents are no’ married.’” His voice trailed off at the memory of that fateful night, when he had begged and pleaded to no avail.

  Aggie looked to Frederick. “Was that in her journals?” she asked.

  He gave a slow shake of his head. “Nay,” he answered. “But that does no’ mean it did no’ happen as he says. She did write frequently about yer birthright, and how she looked forward to seeing ye take over someday.”

  Turning her attention back to Douglas, she asked, “Ye tried once, then forgot about us,” she accused him. “All those years of livin’ in a hell on earth, and never once did ye inquire about me.” Suddenly, she felt angry. Only once did ye try to take me away. Once. Why no’ more?

  Douglas fell to his knees before her, wounded by her accusations. “Nay, lass, nay! ’Twas no’ like that, I swear it.” Taking her hands in his, he pleaded with her. “I wrote to yer grandminny, at least once a month. She was the only connection to ye that I had. Andoreen, she told me ye were doin’ well, that Mermadak had no idea ye were no’ his. She said he treated ye like a princess and that I should no’ worry over ye.”

  Aggie withdrew her hands from his and shot to her feet. “A princess?” she asked, eyes wide and mouth agape. Years of anger sprang loose, uncontainable, as were her tears. She began tugging at the laces of her dress. “Would ye like to see how he treated me?” she spat. “Would ye like to see the scars on me back, left by his hands?”

  Frederick stopped her, taking her hands away from her laces. He pulled her to his chest. To Douglas, he said, “I fear ye were lied to, Douglas. As I told ye before, Mermadak was far from kind to me wife. God has yet to allow man to create a word that aptly describes his horrid mistreatment of Aggie.”

  Slowly, Douglas stood, his shoulders slumped, his heart breaking with each tear his daughter shed. “I still have Andoreen’s letters.”

  In less than half an hour, Frederick was reading Andoreen McLaren’s letters aloud to his wife. They were filled with nothing but kind words for Mermadak. She bespoke often of how well Aggie was growing, how much she adored Mermadak, and what a fine woman she would grow into.

  By the fourth letter, Aggie declared she had heard enough. She sat in stunned silence for a long while, playing over and over in her mind the words of her long dead grandminny.

  “Mermadak was never very fond of me,” she said in a low, breathless tone. “I do no’ remember me grandminny very well, she died when I was nine. I do no’ ken why she would lie to ye, why she would say things that were so far from the truth as to be insane.”

  ’Twas Frederick who answered her question. “To protect the two of ye.”

  Aggie looked up at him with the most befuddled expression. “Protect us?” She gave a shake of her head as if she had not heard him correctly.

  “Yer mother loved Douglas verra much, Aggie. I believe she sensed that if he knew the truth, knew how things really were fer ye, he would have stopped at nothing to take ye away.”

  Douglas nodded in agreement. “’Tis the truth. I would have. Had I known, I would have killed the man with me bare hands, Aggie. But I did no’ know. By the time Andoreen died, I had moved on. I had married Eleanor, was building a life with her. But never were ye far from me thoughts or me heart. And had I known, I would have come fer ye long ago, I swear it.”

  Aggie studied him closely for a long while. She could detect no deception, no dishonesty. Only sincere regret and shame. She took in a deep, cleansing breath, wiped away her tears and returned to her chair.

  Lies. Nothing but lies for all these many years. In her heart, she had to believe her mother did what she thought was the right thing. She could not for a moment believe that anything her mother had done had been done out of spite or malice. Desperation perhaps, but not malice.

  For a moment she wondered what her life would have been like had she known the truth. Had she the opportunity, she would have run away to Douglas long ago. But then, she would not have had Ailrig — even if he were conceived by rape. She loved her son regardless of how he was conceived. Mayhap it was time to tell her sweet boy the truth. If she waited, he might feel just as betrayed as she did now.

  And had she run away successfully to live with Douglas Carruthers, she would never have met Frederick nor had Ada. God had put her on this path for a reason, even if she didn’t quite understand w
hy.

  “I can no longer blame ye, Douglas. Each of us were lied to, even if those lies were made with good intentions.” She took another deep breath. “I do no’ wish to carry these feelin’s of shame or betrayal with me any more.”

  Chapter 3 Ian’s Rose

  More than a year ago Frederick Mackintosh had made a promise to Rose McLaren. “If me brother ever hurts ye or plays ye false, I’ll kill him with me bare hands.” Hence, an easy solution to mend Rose’s heart was at hand.

  ’Twas unfortunate that his daft and addlepated brother Ian was forcing him to keep that promise. He had reached the ends of his patience in the matter. The way his brother had treated the sweet young woman since their return to Mackintosh lands was nothing less than an abomination. ’Twas beyond time someone took the matter into hand.

  The hour was quite late, long past the evening meal. Most were back in their rooms or cottages, and only a few remained in the gathering room. He soon found the object of his consternation. There, sitting alone in a dark corner, sat Ian Mackintosh. From the number of empty cups — as well as the way the fool swayed as he sat — Frederick quickly surmised his brother was so into his cups he couldn’t find his arse with both hands.

  Ian Mackintosh.

  Known throughout the land by women as a man as beautiful as he was a consummate lover. He’d left a trail of broken hearts across Scotland, England, France, and God only knew where else. While women adored him, their fathers, husbands, and brothers hated him with equal passion.

  Frederick stood before the drunken sot, his feet braced apart, arms crossed over his massive chest, and waited for his brother to recognize his presence. Long moments passed before that happened.

  Ian clutched a cup of ale with his large hands, as if he were a man lost at sea and the cup was his last vestige of hope for survival. Listing side to side, he mumbled incoherent words that only he could understand in his current state of extreme inebriation.