Then Penelope, despite her grand gown, laid down next to her daughter.
“Tell me what troubles you,” she said to her. Theodora turned and looked at her mother with teary eyes.
“I went to the church yesterday with Colt. There we met a friend of his, and—and—I had a dream last night. It is just awful, Mother. I am a bad person,” Theodora cried.
“Shush, you are not a bad person. You are the sweetest person I have ever met and I will always be proud of you,” her mother assured her but those words did nothing to soothe Theodora.
“I dreamt of this strange man. He was unclad in my bed next to me and I—” She muffled her next words into the pillow, “—I liked it.”
“I saw him yesterday and for a moment, I forgot myself. I did not even remember that Colt was there next to me. I heard it, Mother, the anvil within my breasts. I touched his hand and it was like something I had never felt before. I am scared, Mother. I am engaged to Colt and I fancy his friend. I mean, I do not fancy him. I just do not like the way he makes me feel.”
“Then keep your distance from him, it is that simple,” Mrs. Kent advised her daughter.
He is inside my head, Theodora wanted to argue but she kept the thoughts to herself.
“You have done nothing wrong, my child. You love, do you not?” Mrs. Kent asked her daughter the question that mattered. She watched her eyes as she awaited the answer.
“Yes, I do, more than anything in the world,” Theodora answered sharply about Colt. Mrs. Kent nodded and hid her mistrust. She had come into her daughter’s room to help her find clarity but she had found herself in a puddle even murkier. Theodora wasn’t sure—Penelope could see it quite as clear as day, even though she saw her daughter could not.
Mrs. Kent took a deep breath before she started talking. “Marriage is a commitment for life, till you draw your last breath. You need to be certain that you love a man and the man loves you accordingly before you say the words of your vows before God and man. You must be certain.”
Theodora nodded her understanding but her mother feared she didn’t. She didn’t know how to choose her words without making her daughter spiral in her guilt even more. Theodora was caught in an unusual battle between her heart and her morality. Mrs. Kent muttered a word of prayer under her breath before she left the room.
“All will be better, I promise,” she lied to her daughter like she was a little girl again.
Emily wasn’t so subtle and gave no thought to the moral consequence of Theodora’s dream.
“Is he handsome? Why have I not him seen around? Is he of a noble family? What does he look like? Is he more good looking than even Colt himself? Theodora, talk to me. Do not let me die of a curious mind,” Emily berated her.
Theodora tried to hide the smile that crossed her lips when she thought on the answers.
“Ah! I caught you. Your face is like a mirror. Can you not hide anything?” Emily slapped her across the face playfully with one of the pillows. Theodora was so slow to react that she crumbled onto the bed on her back. She stared at the bland ceiling of her room which was her canvas of escape.
“What do I do, Emily? What is right?” she asked her best friend. Emily came to lie next to her and stare at the ceiling alongside her.
“You love Colt and he loves you, too,” Theodora shrugged to that but let Emily continue. “Besides, the two of you look so good together. Everyone in the town is envious of the both of you but not me. Me, I am your friend and would be your maid of honor at the wedding, and the godmother of your children. I have become quite famous since the both of you got together.”
Theodora laughed at Emily’s words. Talking with Emily always brightened up her day. Emily was carefree, unlike most ladies, and was not tied down to the bars of society.
“But nothing could go wrong. He is Colt’s best friend. I hear men have a code where they never betray each other with women. So do not worry yourself, even if you are weak, he would not be. Besides, he is a deacon. On a second thought, though, I need to see him. I have never met a handsome deacon before.”
Theodora nudged her friend with her elbow a little harder than she had intended.
“You are not helping,” she told Emily with a soft tone. Listening to both her mother and her best friend, she knew she had no problem and was probably not as guilty as she had made herself out to be.
As long as she didn’t see his tall, toned body, his black short and combed hair, and his gray eyes, she was safe and rid of her worldly desires. But—could she really keep away? Every ounce of her body wanted to take her to Embleton to see the deacon, look him in the eyes and see that he was not plagued as she was. She wanted him to tell her that he felt nothing for her, not when he saw her for the first time, felt absolutely nothing when their hands had touched one another, and that there had been no emptiness in his chest when he had watched them walk away.
If he could tell her that, then she would believe. It was the only time she had needed validation from another man besides her father and Colt.
Two days later
She was outside her home saying her goodbyes to Colt as he set out on his journey. He held her hands and looked into her eyes.
“Wait for me. I will not be too long. Two months is a long time but you will have company. Soon we shall be wed as man and wife,” Colt said before he burst into laughter. Theodora did not understand why he did. She was already flustered by his words, words that were rare out of Colt. Colt was a smooth talker but he wasn’t a romantic.
“Excuse me, Theodora. That was not me. I just thought of what Naomhan would say at a time like this. He is quite the…”
Why did you have to mention his name? Theodora thought in horror as she fought the tingle in her skin “…he is quite the poet. I wonder why he will not just pick a woman and get wedded? He could have his pick of any woman in Embleton and beyond but he said he would choose when he saw the one, whatever he meant by that.”
“Well, be good while I am away,” he said with a smirk before getting into the coach. Hold me, let me know that nothing feels different, she begged him, but he could not hear her thoughts. She needed to know if any of her resolve to wed him was gone. Perhaps only her mind tricked her. Colt left her without any clarity.
“I need my horse,” she said to the maid next to her. One was prepared for her.
The ride was long but she never stopped, not once, as she rode for the little town. The sun came down on her but she didn’t care. She had to know for certain. So she kicked her horse faster and forced the beast to beat the wind faster.
“Hey, Theodora,” Father Damian called to her when he saw her ride past the market square but her ears were lost to the wind and her eyes focused ahead. She was headed for the church, he knew, and would have hurried after her but trusted the both of them, Theodora and Naomhan, to make the right decision. They were both good souls and were simply being tested, he believed. He turned back to his business carefree. Nothing could go wrong, he told himself.
Theodora rode fast to the church, past the gate, not knowing where to look. She kept riding until she saw him come out from the church dressed in nothing but pants. He was muscled like a man of the field or like a medieval warrior. His body was much more defined than she had imagined in her dream. She found herself staring atop her steed.
Naomhan stood there, staring at her atop her horse, as she also stared back at him. Usually, he would have gotten his shirt to cover his torso but he did not because he enjoyed the way she regarded him. Her small lips were parted slightly as she tried to find her breath.
“May I help you? Father Damian is out in the town, you might have to wait a bit,” he said to her. She shook her head as though she was stunned by his words.
“I am not here to see the Father,” she said, as she got off her steed. He would have offered to help her off but he wanted to keep a distance between the two of them. Theodora walked towards him even though his eyes warned her off. She didn’t care what he feared. She w
as scared also, but she needed to know, so everything else would become clear.
“I need to ask you a question,” she said, as she lifted her gown so she could climb over the wooden fence. She could see his hand tighten around the hilt of the machete but there was certainty in her that he wasn’t going to hurt her. There were only a few things she was certain of at that moment and chief of them was that she was safe with him.
She approached him.
“I have a thing that troubles me greatly and I feel the need to purge myself. Can you swear to never tell a soul what I am about to tell you?” Her eyes begged him.
“Yes, I can assure you that your words would be known only to the both of us and to God, who hears all,” he promised her.
“Even your best friend, Colt?” She had to be sure. Naomhan nodded, dreading what it was that she wanted to ask him.
“I fear that I might be in love with another man.”
10
Meanwhile in Scotland
Logan was thrust into becoming a man too soon—only his mother understood. To her, he was her young adolescent son still.
He should have been riding out in the fields, talking to the town ladies, hunting, or getting into some mischief but he became Laird. Isla could not shake the feeling that something was afoot. Someone was out to get her family.
First, it had been Naomhan’s exile, which had broken the Laird. He had tried to be strong, to keep a strong demeanor for the family and for his people. To be the man that they had needed him to be, he could not be a father, not to Naomhan. He grew quiet in the days that followed, solemnly coming out of his chambers only when duty called.
Young Logan was neglected and Isla, his mother, was the glue to the broken family. She made her husband smile a few times so he would not age so fast and made sure Logan felt loved every single day. While she sought to find the people who had framed her elder son for being a Jacobite, her husband had wallowed in self-pity. Naomhan was safe and that was all that had mattered.
The Laird had been so self-absorbed in his own sadness that he had not noticed his people drifting away from him. He did not hold the same amount of respect that he had once gotten from them. In his self-indulged misery, he never thought to prepare Logan to succeed him. He had planned those things for Naomhan alone and he was quite a rigid man.
When his illness had hit him, it had come as no surprise to anyone within the household. Isla cared for him herself, sending for the best doctors that the Highlands could provide. Yet, his illness took no better turn. On one of the few days when he could stand, he called for a meeting with the council.
“Nay, I told them that me Laird cannae be brought down by a wee sickness. We fought the redcoats together and we survived that. He is the strongest man I ken,” one of the men said and the Laird had managed a smile.
“I appreciate the support I have gotten from ye all. No man is luckier. However, it is a Laird’s duty to think of the future, to ken the past and plan what is best for his people.” His words calmed the room.
“We need to discuss who would succeed me,” he said the words the men in the room appeared to be in distress about. They words they had all expected, given the rumors about the Laird’s frail health.
“I have only one son now. Logan shall be Laird after me—” He sat back as the room grew louder. Many murmured amongst themselves, except Stephen, his nephew.
“Speak yer mind, nephew,” Torquil called to him. The Laird had a great respect for his nephew, who he knew to be quite an intelligent man. He perhaps might have made a better Laird than he had but Stephen was Huisdean’s son and not his.
Most men in the council also held the same respect for the younger man, who spoke less and listened more. The Laird knew he would have been scared if that man had not been loyal to his family. He would have made an overwhelming adversary. The years had passed when men battled with swords. Battles were settled at tables in the recent ages.
Stephen bowed slightly in respect to the ailing Laird before he spoke. “I will go on and say what is on most of our minds, especially me mind. We daenae want ye to leave yet. The country is in a frail state and it affects us, yer people. This is not the time to bow down to a sickness. I might be young but I ken ye to be a man of strength. Ye will conquer this—” there were murmurs of agreement “—but those are the wiles of a child. Truth is all men die and one day, it will be our sons seated here in this room.”
The Laird smiled as Stephen spoke.
“Me Lord, I fear Logan mightnae be ready. It is for this reason that I beg that ye fight the sickness. He is but a wee lad. He is nae a man yet.”
“I ken this but he will have all of ye to advise him after I am gone,” the Laird said to him. Stephen bowed in acceptance of his verdict and sat back in his wooden chair.
Another man stood up to speak, Jamie, who was the oldest in the room, older even than the Laird.
“It would be tragic if somethin’ were to happen to ye, me Laird but as the young has spoken, we must ready ourselves. My candid advice would be that the council stand in until Logan comes of age,” Jaime offered.
“Who would lead the council in my stead?” The Laird asked, feeling an anger build up in him. For the first time, his council was questioning him.
“I am too old for such a thing. I think everyone would agree to Stephen leadin’ the council until Logan—” The Laird cut in. He turned all eyes in the room towards Stephen.
“It would be an honor but I daenae desire it,” Stephen said the words which his uncle needed to hear from him.
The Laird had told Stephen to wait behind after he had dispersed the councilmen.
“What dae ye think of me council?” he asked Stephen, who helped him up off his seat.
“I wouldnae have told them of yer illness. Those men are old and see only strength as power. They see ye weak and seek only to overthrow ye. They daenae understand,” Stephen started, but his uncle put a strong hand on his shoulder.
“Ye are smarter than most men yer age. The time ye should be spendin’ with yer friends, ye spend in the midst of old men. Dae ye even have a wee lass ye follow around?”
Stephen smiled and turned his face away, embarrassed at having such a talk with his usually distant uncle. Their relationship did not go much beyond their mutual respect for one another’s wit and courage. Many times, he reminded the Laird of his son, Naomhan. Both young men held similar fires in their eyes.
“Nae, I daenae. It is nae the time. I was thinkin’ about it but it is nae a step I thought I would be takin’ alone. Naomhan had promised that he would show me how to speak to a lass,” Stephen’s voice trailed off in a sad echo. Both men spoke little as they walked along the corridor of the castle.
Torquil Grant of Grant had stopped at the balcony overlooking the courtyard and people below. Stephen stopped next to him and looked down as he did.
“Daenae be like them, Stephen. They are nae Grants. They are nae me family—” He put a firm hand on the younger man’s shoulder “Ye are me family and this castle is yers also. It is yer responsibility as a Grant to protect our position also. Ye have to be Logan’s elder brother since Naomhan cannae be,” he charged Stephen.
“I just hope Naomhan is safe wherever he is and for his sake, I hope he never returns,” Stephen thought aloud but the Laird said nothing. It had been a family oath to never speak about Naomhan to outsiders, which included Stephen, even for all his good intentions.
Torquil had known of the exchanged letters with Naomhan but he had begged Isla not to tell him anything of it. The best way to move on was to forget, as the rest of them should have. Naomhan was never going to return and that was the sacrifice they all had to make.
But Torquil had trusted no other man as much as he had trusted his nephew, who had stood by his side all through the past two years.
“Naomhan is safe,” he said in a hushed tone.
“He cannae be in the Highlands still. If I were—” Stephen’s words were cut off.
&
nbsp; “My son is gone and we daenae talk about him because he wouldnae return, so let us worry about other things.”
Isla came to join the men by the balcony “We need to move on as a family, dae we nae?” she asked her husband, as she wrapped her arm around his in a possessive nature.
She smiled at Stephen but the spite between the two was obvious. Her mistrust for Stephen had started long before he was born. It had started with her mistrust for his late father, and his obvious jealousy of his twin brother, Torquil, who had become Laird. Stephen had done nothing to warrant her spite as far as Torquil was concerned, but Isla could never shake off her instinct about a person. To her, Stephen could not be trusted.
Her lingered stay there indicated to Stephen that he was not needed anymore. He bowed to her, as to his uncle, before he headed out.
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