Secrets of the Heart

by Suzan Tisdale

  ’Twas the entire history of their clan laid out before him. He seemed quite proud of it, so she offered him a warm smile, not quite understanding why he was showing it to her.

  With his index finger, he pointed to one entry in particular. “See?”

  Aye, she could see it, but it didn’t mean she understood what the markings were. All at once, she felt embarrassed as a crimson blush rose from her neck to the top of her head. “I cannae read it,” she whispered.

  He looked up with a furrowed brow. “Ye cannae read?”

  She thought he sounded as surprised as he did disgusted, causing her embarrassment to deepen.

  “Did yer parents nae teach ye?”

  She gave a slight shake of her head. “Me mum showed me what me name looked like once, but that was a long time ago.”

  ’Twas his turn to look embarrassed. “I be sorry, Onnleigh. I forgot yer mum died.”

  “I was five,” she told him, as if that explained fully her lack of education.

  He turned his attention back to the markings on the page. “This be ye,” he said as he ran his finger under the markings. “Onnleigh, born to Claire and Grueber, May 14, year of our Lord, fourteen hundred aught six.”

  Her brow furrowed as she leaned in for a better look, as if that would somehow bring some clarity to the beautiful lines on the page. “That be when I was born?” she asked.

  He turned to look at her, his face just inches from her own. Onnleigh noticed then just how deep a green his eyes were. Dark, like summer grass. A tickling sensation formed in her stomach, one she’d felt only once before. That sensation had led her to where she now stood. It took a great deal of effort to look away, but she knew that she must. Standing upright, she made a silent promise not to stare at him again.

  “Did ye nae celebrate the anniversary of yer birth?” he asked her. His voice sounded scratchy, as if he was quite thirsty.

  Casting him a curious look, she said, “Nae, do ye?”

  “Aye, we do. We celebrate many things here,” he told her. She could feel his eyes were still upon her.

  “Such as?”

  “Weddings and births throughout the year. And at the moment, we be readying for Yuletide.” His voice trailed away.

  “I remember a Yule right before me mum passed,” she said while she tried to recall as much as she could about that time. “There was a big log ablaze in the fire. And I think I remember gettin’ a sweet cake.” ’Twas one of the very few happy memories she had from her childhood, even if it was fragmented and faded.

  A long stretch of silence fell between them before Connor spoke again. “I want to add the babe’s name to the book.” He flipped through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. “But I dunnae ken what to call her.”

  Onnleigh felt her chest tighten with fear. Did he know the truth?

  A moment later, he turned to the babe in her arms and smiled fondly. “She be a beautiful lass, aye?”

  Onnleigh nodded in agreement.

  “I like the name Maureen, but I fear she does nae look like a Maureen. Elsbeth mayhap? Or Eliza?” he shook his head. “Nae, none of those seem to suit her. What do ye think?”

  She swallowed the knot of trepidation back. Was he asking her opinion or laying a trap? At the moment, she couldn’t judge. Feigning ignorance, she looked down at her sleeping babe and smiled. “I think she looks like a Nola, to me.”

  “Nola,” he spoke the name twice more. “I think ye be right, lass. Nola be a fine name and Nola, it shall be.”

  He turned back to the book, dabbed a quill into the jar of ink and began to write. “N, o, l, a,” he said, spelling the name aloud as he wrote. “I fear we dunnae ken the true date she was born. She looks to be only a few weeks old.”

  Three months and five days to be exact.

  “I dunnae ken who her mum or da be. I shall put me own name as her da’s.”

  Onnleigh’s heart soared with gratitude while a question burned, begging to be asked. “Be that fer ferever?”

  Connor turned and smiled. “Aye, lass, that be forever. From this day forward, I shall be her da. ’Twill never change.”

  Tears welled, but she held them back as she turned away. ’Twas all Onnleigh wanted for her babe: a man who would gladly claim Nola as his own, even if he didn’t want her mother. Her child would have a much brighter future, better than anything she could have given her, no matter how much she loved her. With her back to him, she asked, “Why do ye do that? Take a babe, nae kennin’ who she be or who her parents be?”

  Before Connor could answer, she heard a woman’s voice come from behind her.

  “So it be true.”

  Onnleigh spun to see Helen standing just inside the doorway. And she did not look the least bit happy.

  Ignoring Onnleigh, she went to Connor. “Nae only do ye refuse to listen to me about keepin’ that child, now ye’ve gone and hired the thief’s daughter to care for it!”

  “Need I remind ye that I be chief of this clan? I do nae need yer permission to do anything,” Connor told her, his words clipped, his tone firm.

  Helen scoffed. “Ye might nae need my permission, but ye should heed me good advice.”

  “If I heeded yer advice, I’d have married Margaret the day after I buried me wife and son!” He had reached the ends of his patience. For four years, he’d bitten his tongue, tried being thoughtful and kind with this woman, but he’d had enough.

  “Bah! I’d have given ye a full year to mourn. And what be wrong with Margaret? She’d make ye a good wife. Ye ken it. I do nae understand why ye keep fightin’ it. And I cannae understand why ye’d take in a bastard child, and bring the daughter of a thief into me home.”

  Connor jumped to his feet, his face purple with rage. “This is Clan MacCallen’s home, its keep, and its lands. Onnleigh is a MacCallen and she has just as much right to be here as any of us. Whatever her father may have done is nae a reflection upon her. It will serve ye well to remember that. I am keeping Nola as me daughter and Onnleigh as her nurse.”

  “Ye’ve named it?” Helen exclaimed.

  “Aye, I’ve named her and I’ve claimed her.”

  He said it with such pride, with such conviction that even Onnleigh began to believe he could love the child just as much as if she were his own.

  Helen glared at him, her hands on her hips, her disgust quite apparent. “Ye’ll regret this, Connor. Mark me words.”

  “Ye need to apologize to Onnleigh fer bein’ so rude.”

  From the expression on Helen’s face, one would have thought he’d just slapped her. “I have nothin’ to apologize fer. Contrary to what ye might think, I do have only yer best interests in me heart."

  Connor had known this woman all his life. He knew the only interests she ever had in her heart were her own. "If ye wish to remain in me good graces, ye will apologize to Onnleigh now. She has done nothing to deserve yer unkind mistreatment." On this, he would give no quarter.

  "Verra well, then," she said before turning to face Onnleigh. "I apologize if I said anythin’ to upset ye."

  There was no sincerity in her tone, but at least she had uttered the words. With a graceful inclination of her head toward Connor, she quit the room. Her anger hung in the air long after she left.

  ’Twas the first time Onnleigh could ever recall someone standing up for her. Was it out of pity, or some deeply felt sense of honor and kindness? Either way, she was grateful for his insistence that Helen apologize.

  "I be sorry for the way Helen behaved," Connor told her. "I fear she has the misguided notion that her opinion and only hers is important."

  All Onnleigh could think to do was thank him. "I thank ye kindly," she said.

  It was becoming increasingly difficult to look into those warm, green eyes of his, without her stomach feeling as if it were full of birds wanting to take flight. "Nola needs changin'," she told him after several long moments passed between them.

  Without waiting for permission, she quit the room
in a rush.

  Chapter 5

  Having been isolated from the world for as long as she had, Onnleigh was fearful of leaving her tiny room. While Connor might be kind enough to overlook who sired her, she was confident the rest of the clan would not. She spent the remainder of the day and night above stairs, tending to Nola and being thankful for a roof over her head, food in her belly, and all the lovely things Connor had made certain they were given.

  While she sat next to her brazier, the sound of all the joyful people supping together below stairs floated into her room. Feelings she believed had been buried long ago began to rise deep inside her. Longing, envy, and loneliness. Memories of her childhood, of always being left alone to watch as the other children played together, began to surge into her mind. She had desperately wanted to play with the others, but didn’t know how to ask. Whether out of shyness or fear, she couldn’t say.

  That was not the kind of childhood she wanted for her daughter. Nay, Nola deserved to be surrounded by people who loved her. She deserved to grow up happy, with many friends, to have hundreds of happy childhood memories to carry her into her auld age. Onnleigh wanted everything for her babe that she had never had.

  Sitting next to the brazier, she looked into the cradle at her sleeping dear one, her heart heavy and filled with regrets. No matter how strong her desire to shout to the world that she, Onnleigh ingen Grueber of Clan MacCallen, had created such a sweet, beautiful babe, she knew she could not. ’Twould mean the end of any chance of the decent life her daughter had miraculously been blessed with.

  The sound of Connor’s deep voice broke through her silent reverie. “Onnleigh?” he all but whispered her name as he stepped out of the shadows. “Why did ye nae come below stairs to sup?”

  She looked up at him with a curious expression. He truly did not understand her reluctance. “’Tis awfully loud down there.” ’Twasn’t necessarily a complete lie, for she was used to silence. Being around loud, boisterous, happy people was foreign to her.

  A warm smile lit his face as he stared down at Nola. “She is a beautiful babe, is she nae?”

  A knot of regret formed in her throat. She wondered if her father had once looked upon her with the same kind of adoration. ’Twas doubtful.

  “Ye needn’t stay up here all the time,” Connor said, turning his attention away from Nola.

  Och, ye daft, sweet man, but I must!

  “Many of the women folk come to sew in the gatherin’ room this time of year. Mayhap ye should join them.” His tone was quite sincere, his eyes alight with hope.

  Though his suggestion was born of kindness, she believed it awfully naive. “I do nae think ye understand the way of it, m’laird,” she told him. “Yer people do nae like me.”

  “They’re yer people too,” he said, his voice low and warm.

  She did not want to insult his intelligence—or lack thereof—on the matter, but there was no other way around it. “They’re nae me people. They’ve ne’er been me people.”

  Thankfully, he did not argue, did not call her daft or silly for having such feelings. “They’ll never be yer people unless ye give them a chance to know ye. Nae all of them are like Helen and Margaret.”

  She could only agree with him, inasmuch as he and Bridgett had been quite kind. Mayhap, just mayhap there were more MacCallen’s like them and far fewer like Helen.

  “Give them a chance, Onnleigh. Give yerself a chance to show them ye be the kind and sweet lass I ken ye to be.”

  Reluctantly, Onnleigh decided to at least make an attempt at reintroducing herself to her clanspeople as Connor had suggested the night before. The morning had dawned gloomily, with dark gray skies and rain that pounded against the walls of the keep. An omen, mayhap, of things to come.

  She scrubbed her face, washed her teeth, and ran her wooden comb through her hair. Her best dress was the blue wool, for it had the least number of patches and stains. Since she had used the only chemise to her name to make gowns for Nola, she was forced to use her tunic as a replacement. The brown didn’t necessarily go with the blue, but at least it covered her arms.

  With Nola wrapped in the sling and her shawl draped around her shoulders, she took several deep breaths before descending the stairs into the already crowded gathering room. She scanned the large space, looking for Connor, who had left his bedchamber before dawn. He was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Bridgett.

  Pushing aside a sense of dread, she held her head high, her babe close, and went to the long table against the wall. Eggs, ham, breads, cheeses, jams, fruits and food she couldn’t remember seeing before were spread out, free for the taking. Her mouth watered as her stomach growled. A sudden hush fell over the room as she picked up a trencher.

  ’Tis nae stealin’ if ’tis fer all, she told herself. Her fingers trembled as she placed a slice of ham on the trencher. She could feel all eyes in the room boring through her skull. Not wanting to appear gluttonous or greedy, she took small portions of eggs, one slice of bread, a tiny hunk of cheese and a few sliced apples. Knots formed in the pit of her stomach when she turned away from the table and saw a room full of people staring at her.

  Mayhap ’tis nae fer all, that small, doubtful voice warned. She was about to set the trencher down on the nearest table and flee to her room when Bridgett appeared beside her. “Good morn, to ye,” she said happily as she took her by the elbow. “Come, let us go above stairs to eat. The room has a chill and we would nae want the babe to catch a cough.”

  Naive as she may be, she knew exactly what Bridgett was doing: saving her from the glowers and harsh whispers of people who did not want her here.

  Trembling, she allowed Bridgett to guide her up to her room.

  “The rain has cast a chill everywhere,” Bridgett said as they sat at the small table. “I be certain ’twill nae last long, ye ken.”

  Onnleigh felt numb, her appetite gone, the knots in her stomach tightening. “Why do they hate me so?” she asked, her voice so low ’twas barely discernible to Bridgett.

  “Och, they dunnae hate ye,” Bridgett replied, as if nothing were further from the truth.

  “They do,” Onnleigh said as she stared at the cold brazier. Tears built, but she refused to shed them.

  Bridgett sighed in defeat. “Onnleigh, I dunnae believe they hate ye, they just dunnae ken ye. Give it time, show them that ye be nothin’ like yer da. And do nae hold yer head in shame. Stand proud and show them who ye are. We have a good clan, filled with good people. Ye’ll see, with time, they’ll get to ken ye and ye them and all will be good.”

  Mayhap those below stairs hadn’t been looking at her with hatred, but with curiosity. It had been an age since any had seen her. In truth, she was more a stranger than anything. Was it at all possible she had misread all those faces? ’Twas true that she was not accustomed to being around anyone save her father, and then that cheat and liar Darwud.

  Mayhap not everyone behaved as they had.

  Mayhap if she did what Bridgett and Connor were suggesting, she might just find a place here.

  Onnleigh had given much thought to what Bridgett and Connor had been telling her; the clan could not change their minds about her if she stayed to her room. The only way to get them to see she was nothing at all like her father, was to show them.

  The next morn dawned just as gloomy as the day before, with leaden skies and much rain. Refusing to allow the weather to darken her spirits, she tended to Nola first, before slipping back into her blue gown and brown tunic. She had washed both out the night before and thankfully, they were both dry. She made herself as presentable as possible before slipping Nola into her sling and going downstairs.

  This morn, she held her head high, but not so high anyone might think her haughty. She offered a warm smile to anyone who had the courage to look her in the eye. The sideboard was laden with the same kind of foods it had been yesterday. Onnleigh prepared a trencher and turned to find a table at which she could sit.

  She was met with the same
icy glowers and harsh whispers as the day before. Knots grew in her stomach and her fingers began to tremble. Calm yerself, she told her rapidly beating heart. Show them ye be nae like yer da.

  Taking a deep breath, she went to the nearest table where men and women of various ages sat. A few took one look at her and began to spread out, taking up any free space. Their actions said more than words ever could: ye cannae sit here.

  She was met with the same cold shoulders, grunts, and snorts of derision at the next two tables. And everyone spread out to make certain she could not sit. The knots grew larger, destroying any appetite she previously had.

  She scanned the room for any sign of a welcoming face. There was not one. Some pretended she wasn’t standing just steps away. Others continued with their hate-filled glowers.

  Bridgett was not here to rescue her this morn, to take her by the arm and whisk her above stairs to the safety of her little room. It had been a very long while since she felt this alone amongst so many. As much as she wanted to cry, she refused. Show them, she heard Connor’s voice in the back of her mind. Show them.

  Taking in a deep, steadying breath, she scanned the room once more. There was one small empty table in the corner of the room. Lifting her chin ever so slightly, refusing to allow them to see her pain, she sat alone there, with her back to the rest of the people.

  Quietly, she ate her meal, wishing for all the world that Connor or Bridgett would suddenly appear. She felt a sense of safety whenever she was with them. More so with Connor.

  Occasionally, she heard her name whispered. She could only make out every other word. Just enough to cause her heart to crack a little more. The thief’s daughter … guard yer purse … what be Connor thinkin’, havin’ her here?

  With her appetite gone, she ate only because she knew she had to. She forced down a few bites of bread and one egg, and could take no more. Leaving her half eaten trencher behind, she slowly made her way to her room. Would they ever trust and accept her? Had she hidden herself away far too long?