by Dianna Love
Rachael brushed the hair from Beth’s face and whispered, “Tell me about the blade, mon ami.”
“The blade?” Beth sniffed as she studied the concern etched on Rachael's finely boned face. What blade? “Oh, your pretty knife. I’m sorry. He took it. I don’t know where it is now.” Beth wiped the tears from her face, heaved a heavy sigh, and hiccupped again. “I didn’t even get a chance to finish shaving my damn armpits.”
Rachael stood abruptly. Her voice rose as she waved in agitation. “Are ye saying all this—all yer crying and himself storming about like the wrath of God—is because ye wanted to shave yer ARM PEETS?”
Why was she upset? “Rachael, all I know is that one minute I’m as happy as a lark and the next I’m facing a madman.”
Rachael shook her head and collapsed on the edge of the bed. “My petit chou, the MacDougall isna wode—-mad—-as ye think, but terrified. He thought ye about se suicider—-to kill thy self.”
“WHAT?” Beth bolted to her feet, mouth agape. “Why would he think such a thing?”
“Oh, mon ami. ‘Tis a wonder he isna wode with thinking it happening again.” Sensing Beth’s confusion, she said, “Ah, I see ye ken not.” She heaved a huge sigh and patted the bed. “Sit. ‘Tis a sad tale of deceit and deception I am about to tell ye. When we have this sorted, ye can then tell me of the tupping.”
~#~
Still upset, in part because of his brutal handling of Beth—in the past he’d been the one pounding sense into men for beating their wives—-and in part due to his great disappointment, Duncan returned to the fourth floor.
Outside the solar, he scowled at the guard. Why were peals of laughter coming through the door? What in God’s holy name could Beth possibly find humorous about their current state of affairs?
Women!
He kenned them not and would go to his grave in the same ignorance. Growling, he turned away.
Mayhap, God had placed women on earth to drive men into their cups and then into early graves. He had certainly consumed enough whisky in the last three hours to support the conclusion. He stomped down the stairs. He had to get to the carpenter before the man started crafting the chapel pews. There was nay hope for it; the precious wood would now have to be used to make a verra sturdy door for Beth’s cell.
In the kirk, after speaking with the carpenter, Duncan ran a gentle hand over the chiseled words on his first wife’s simple two-foot square stone marker. Tears formed then threatened to spill.
“I’m so sorry, lass. I did not appreciate ye full well while ye lived.” This woman, who had never sought him out, who had never returned a kiss, had been the best of the lot.
His throat tightened as he whispered, “Someday, Mary, ye will have the fine bronze effigy I promised. Yer likeness will hold a lily in yer right hand.” She’d ken the reason he would choose the symbol of the Blessed Virgin. “My shield will be on yer chest, and our babe in yer left arm. Aye, and yer father’s shield will shine above ye. All who look upon it from then until forever will ken ye were the only jewel in my thorny crown of wives.”
He ran a slow hand over the letters again then backed away. He blinked, removing the wetness blurring his vision and took a deep breath. He had to find his blacksmith.
The new door hinges the smitty labored over would have to be turned into brackets so a beam as wide as his palm could be dropped across the door the carpenter now grumbled over.
“My lord!”
Halfway across the bailey, Duncan turned to find Isaac running toward him, Rachael being dragged behind him like a dingy in a ship’s wake, flopping and stumbling, her short legs no match for Isaac’s length of limb or speed.
“Slow, Isaac! Dinna be abusing your ladywife in such a disgraceful manner.”
When they came abreast of him, Rachael could barely catch her breath.
“My lord, Rachael has something of great import to tell ye. Ye must pay heed.” Isaac looked about, his gaze settling on the hay barn. “We can talk in private over there.”
Twenty minutes later, Duncan shook his head in disbelief. “Ye mean to say she does this scraping of her body with a blade daily?”
“Aye, my lord,” Rachael mumbled. “‘Tis the way of her people.”
“‘Tis foolishness in the extreme,” Duncan growled as he searched through the night’s memories seeking the truth of Rachael’s words. He had thought it odd his ladywife’s legs felt like porcelain, and had been most aroused finding her underarms naked and had licked. “Humph!”
He turned to Isaac. “Tell the carpenter he can stop grumbling and use his precious oak for the pews, and then release Young Kevin from guard duty.” As Rachael turn to follow her husband, Duncan stayed her with a hand. “Nay, lady, I want another word with ye, if ye dinna mind.” He could see that she did, but she stayed as he commanded.
With Isaac gone, Duncan stepped close enough to Rachael to bury his boot tips beneath her skirts. He then puffed out his chest and stretched to his full height. Rachael immediately blanched.
Good. He had her attention.
“Now, dear lady, will ye be kind enough to tell why I—being completely overwrought with grief and horror—heard ye and my lady laughing to kill yerselves just moments ago?”
“Uhmm...” Rachael’s face turned the color of whey. “We...umm...we were discussing ye finding her with a green face, my lord.”
Narrowing his eyes, he crossed his arms and waited. She couldna lie any better than his ladywife.
Rachael chewed on her lower lip. Apparently understanding he wasn’t about to let her go until he had the whole of it, she finally blurted, “’Twas about yer manner of tupping, my lord.”
“And this is a matter for laughter?” Outrage infused his face with heat.
“Nay, my lord! ‘Twas just the manner of Beth’s telling...” She looked to the floor. “...about her flowers and ye snuffling and sniffing her skirts, my lord.”
He cocked his head to better examine Rachael’s face, and as he suspected, found her flushed and struggling not to laugh.
Exasperated, he cautioned, “One word of this—”
She held up her hands. “Oh nay, my lord! I would never think to do such a thing.”
He had little doubt she’d already told Isaac, but he waved her away. Hopefully, ‘twas the end of it.
Until he faced Beth again.
And how on earth would he do that? Ack! He’d been brutish to the extreme in his treatment of her—though given his state of mind at the time, surely ‘twas understandable. But she’d not understood his terror at the time and that was the most important point. Rachael had done well in telling Beth his whole sordid history with regard to his past wives, but what if Lady Beth still harbored resentment? And there was still the matter of her believing her bizarre tales of ghosts and living in the twenty-first century. Augh!
Pondering his approach to Beth, he studied the activity of the bailey. He watched the bairns at play, a few deliberately tripping their harried, unusually quiet parents to get attention as they carried casks of dried fish. More casts were off-loaded by more quiet men and carried past him and into the keep for storage. He looked above the battlements to see distant fields looking like coats of arms, white stripes against green, as newly made, urine-soaked cloth bleached in the sun. Aye, all was as well as could be expected outside, but not so within. He heaved a heavy sigh. He’d put off facing Beth long enough.
Climbing the steps to the solar he harbored little doubt his lady wanted to cleave his head from his shoulders.
He garnered his courage with a deep breath and cautiously pushed open the solar door. Marked disappointment filled him finding the room empty. Thinking he might find her in the library, he retraced his steps and turned at the second floor corridor. As he rounded a corner, he collided with Flora. He reached out to steady her, and she fell into his arms.
Chapter 14
Hunger drove Beth to the great hall. She’d spent a futile two hours in the solar hoping Duncan would come and
apologize. Her monumental relief in learning she hadn’t made love with a raving lunatic had bolstered her spirits and her hope for their relationship. She just wished someone had had the foresight to enlighten her about Duncan’s second and third wives earlier. Had she known, she definitely would have responded to his fury differently.
Deep in thought she stepped into the unusually quiet hall, and found all eyes turned toward her. All but the children then developed a sudden interest in the trenchers or ale before them.
They know. Everybody had apparently heard the argument.
Appearing before them for the first time with a naked face couldn’t compare to the embarrassment she now felt. Duncan owed her for this. Big time. And where is he?
Back straight, she crossed the hall to the tightly wound staircase that would take her down to the bailey.
Outside, people again stopped what they were doing to stare. When she stared back, they quickly averted their gaze as if she were naked. Feeling an outcast just by being among them, her discomfort grew as she made her way toward the chapel, the place Duncan had spoken of with fondness during the night, in the hopes of finding him there. She wanted—-no, the operative word here was needed—him to apologize and then he had to rectify the good people of Blackstone’s opinion of her. Once that had been accomplished, he could kiss her if he liked. But only once. She was still mad at him.
Not twenty feet from the chapel’s arched doorway a blond child of three or so darted out from between two casts chasing after a huge gray cat and nearly tripped her. Apparently unaware of the danger, the child followed the cat out the open portcullis. Expecting to find a frantic mother chasing behind, Beth scanned the women and realized no one had noticed the child’s exit.
She ran after him, hoping one of the guards had already captured the dirty-faced urchin and given him a good dressing down while at it.
But outside the gate she saw to her horror that no one stood between the sea and the child as he raced after the cat. Not knowing his name she yelled, “No baby! Get back. Baby get back!”
She ran. Only feet from grabbing him, the cat jumped onto a tethered boat and the child, reaching for the boat, lost his balance and toppled over the quay’s edge and out of sight.
Beth heard a woman’s scream just as she plunged feet first into the frigid water after the boy.
Slipping below the churning waves, Beth felt the icy cold hit her with the force of a solid fist. She almost gasped from shock and hoped the child had enough sense not to. Tossed between the quay and the boat, she felt rather than saw the frantic child. She latched on to the wavering fabric of his shirt and kicked for the light. A breaking wave knocked her against a hull as she broke the surface with the child, his shirt still locked in her fist.
Someone lifted the child up and out of the water and then strong hands reached for her. Beth heard the child’s wet cough and then a mother’s cooing and admonishing as she made it to her feet. Teeth chattering, Beth pushed dripping hair out of her eyes to find the child—now wrapped in tartan—a bit blue around the lips, but otherwise okay. Relief flooded her.
She tipped her face to the sun. Thank you, God.
Deciding the child was none the worse for the experience and in good hands, Beth hunched against the wind and pushed through the crowd now gathered on the quay. One man silently offered her his cloak as she passed. She gave him a wane smile, shook her head, and hurried toward the keep. She desperately needed to get out of her clothing before she turned to a block of ice.
Before she made it to the keep’s door someone tapped her shoulder.
“My lady?”
Beth stopped and managed a grin for the panting, apple-cheeked woman holding the drenched boy.
“Thank ye for saving me lad.”
“You’re most welcome.” She studied the chattering child clutched to the woman’s chest. “What’s his name?”
Double dimples bracketed the woman’s semi-toothless grin like quotation marks. “Miles.”
“Hello, Miles.” To the woman Beth said, “He’s a lovely—bonnie lad. How many years is he?”
The woman’s chambray eyes assessed Beth for a long moment. “Soon four, my lady.”
“An inquisitive age.” Several more women edged closer to them, obviously curious. Beth held out her hand. “My name is Beth, Mrs....?”
The woman hesitated for a brief moment before taking Beth’s hand. As she did, one woman gasped and another giggled nervously.
“MacDougall, my lady, Kari MacDougall.”
“Kari, it’s a pleasure meeting you. I just wish-—luste—it had been under more pleasant circumstances.” Beth’s teeth began to chatter in earnest. “I’d love to chat, but I need to change.” She gave the child’s arm a pat. “Bye, and no more chasing kitties onto the quay, you hear?”
The child smiled, displaying dimples identical to his mother’s. Beth waved and ran up the stairs, her goal the solar. Climbing on stiff legs, she pondered the possibility—should she remained locked in this world—of she and Duncan someday having a child so easily identifiable as theirs. Would her son have Duncan’s steel blue eyes and black hair? She prayed if she had a daughter the child would have her height and build but her father’s features and coloring.
As she rounded the second floor landing, Beth came to an abrupt halt. Her hands flew to her mouth.
Not fifteen feet before her in the darkened hallway stood her husband and Miss I’m Too Sexy for My Clothes Flora Campbell locked in an embrace. Something sharp contracted around Beth’s chest seeing Flora leaning into Duncan, the woman’s palms splayed on his chest as he casually leaned against the wall.
When they turned as one to look at her, Beth’s body infused with blistering heat. She didn’t wait for an explanation. Matters were clear enough for a blind man to see. Her husband loved another.
Without a word, she spun and tore up the stairs wanting only to get behind a closed door before she shamed herself by allowing him to see that he’d made her cry.
“Beth! Wait! This isna—”
Duncan grabbed Flora’s upper arms and shoved her back. “God’s teeth, Flora, back off with ye!” Damn all and the little fishes. Beth’s expression had turned from startled to painful recognition in only a heartbeat as she had stared at them. Damn!
“Oops,” Flora murmured tightening her grip on his sleeve. “Ignore her, my lord. As I was saying—”
“Flora, away with ye. Now!”
Beth already thought him a beast after he’d tossed her about the solar in a rage. He had nay doubt that her thinking she’d caught him in an adulterous clutch would do naught for his plea of understanding about his earlier behavior.
He raced down the corridor after her and then flew up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. Why was fate so determined to blast his life down the garderobe slew? All he needed now was a raid by the Bruce and his life would be a total ruin.
At the top of the stairs he found the solar door closed. He lifted the latch and shoved. It didn’t budge. He pounded a fist on the thick wood.
“Beth, open the door.” He could hear her muffled sobbing.
“Go to hell!”
He raked his hands through his hair and growled in frustration. He’d not been able to lock her in for lack of a lock, but she’d locked him out by simply propping something under the latch. He pressed his forehead to the door. “Lass, please. ‘Tis not as ye think. Flora waylaid me, ‘twas all. I wouldna do that to ye.”
He waited for a response and heard more muffled sobs.
Damnation! And why did she cry so? ‘Twas naught as if she loved him. Women! They’d be the death of him.
A great murmuring rose from the hall and Duncan’s attention began to vacillate between his sobbing wife and discovering what now had the clan in an uproar. He should stay and plead his case, but what was wrong below? The conversation escalated in volume and he stared down the hall toward the stairs.
Surely, if given time to ponder his words, Beth would
see he spoke the truth. No? He had, after all, pledged his fealty to her before God and his clan just a week past, and all knew him to be a man of his word. Aye, ‘tis best she found the right of it in her own good time.
He cast a final glance at the barred solar door before starting down the steps. Mayhap, he could coerce Rachael into helping Beth to see reason. He was, after all, a peaceful man and did not want his life at sixes and sevens any longer than need be.
In the hall Duncan couldn’t make heads or tails of what his clansmen were saying about Beth whilst everyone talked at once. To all he shouted, “I just left my ladywife. She’s in the solar so how can this be?”
“‘Tis true, my lord,” Clive MacDougall, an able solider chimed in. “I was up on the battlement, above the portcullis and saw the bairn racing after the cat with ye lady fast on his heels. I shouted as she did, but to no avail. The lad toppled in. By the time I got down to the quay Lady Beth had jumped in after the lad. Ye can understand my distress; the wee lad canna swim and me not knowing if yer lady could?”
“‘Tis as he says, my lord,” Kari interrupted.
Duncan waved the bairn’s mother forward.
“Just moments ago...” Kari wrung her hands, “...I looked about for Miles and then saw yer lady running through the gate yelling, ‘No, baby, no!’ With my sweet babe gone, I gave chase. I near died seeing him fall into the sea.” Tears sprang into her eyes. “Drown he would have if not for yer Lady Beth. I canna swim and Clive couldna have reached him before...” She gulped as tears coursed down her ruddy cheeks. “Yer lady just disappeared into the sea after my Miles and then rose with him in her hands.”
All who claimed to have seen the astonishing event nodded as one. Someone muttered, “Like in the tale of the Lady of the Lake, my lord. Only ‘twas not a sword but the bairn she rose up with clutched to her breast.”
Duncan mentally pictured Beth standing in the hall—beyond the shock and dismay he’d originally noticed on her visage, he now realized she had looked like a ewe caught in a hard rain. Why hadn’t he noticed before this?
