A Highlander's Redemption

by Aileen Adams

If Alasdair had the strength, he would’ve laughed at Beitris’s arrogance when speaking to an English magistrate. He smiled again, affection momentarily replacing his pain and worry.

  A horse blew, stomped impatiently, and then cantered off, following Boyd’s.

  The house grew silent until he heard Beitris and Elspeth speaking softly to one another, their voices too low for him to make out what they said.

  Exhausted from fighting the lethargy sweeping through him, he finally succumbed to the darkness.

  When Alasdair next woke, he frowned in confusion. He knew immediately he was not in his bed at the stone house. His heart thudded, and alarm raced through him, prompting him to stiffen. A wave of pain rolled through his body in response. Where was he? What happened? Had the English magistrate returned? Had Sheriff Colin Ramsey broken his promise and turned him in? He gazed around, blinking, trying to clear his vision. Shadows danced against rock walls… rock walls? He turned his head, saw a low fire burning nearby. He finally began to make sense of the scene. He lay on the pallet on the floor of what appeared to be a cave. How had he gotten here? Where was here?

  Gathering his strength and his wits about him, he did his best to explore his environment. He moved his fingers and hand to feel beneath him. Beneath a linen bedsheet, he felt what appeared to be pine needles. Then it all made sense. The women, somehow, had taken him from the stone house and hidden him in a cave somewhere. He recalled finding a cave deep in the woods behind the fallow field behind his property. They had created a comfortable pallet of pine needles for a mattress and made a bed on top of it for him. Several blankets covering him kept his body warm, the light from the fire burning nearby creating dancing shadows inside the cave. The cave itself looked to be rather large. He’d never explored it but realized it was the size of a small room. Beside the fire, nestled in the soft, silty dirt of the cave floor, rested a steaming cooking pot. The aroma of a heavy broth or perhaps even stew prompted his stomach to rumble with hunger.

  How long had he been here? Had something happened after the sheriff and the English magistrate left? If Beitris was behind this, she and Elspeth were taking a big risk to hide him. He felt humbled once again, realized that he was growing ever fonder of Beitris, while at the same time increasingly worried for her safety. He heard the rustle of movement from beyond the fire and turned toward it. From around a curve in the rock wall, he saw a figure approaching. It wasn’t the slight figure of his wife.

  “Elspeth?”

  “Glad to see ye’ve woken, Alasdair,” she said. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”

  Before he could say anything, she turned and retreated from the cave, reappearing several moments later with Beitris in tow. She guided Beitris toward the bed where Alasdair lay, and she knelt down beside him, feeling for his hand. Her hand brushed softly along his chest until she found his arm, then down until she clasped his hand in hers.

  “I hope we have not caused ye greater pain, Alasdair,” she said, gazing down at him.

  She seemed to instinctively know exactly where his head would be. If he didn’t know she was blind, he would never have guessed.

  “After the sheriff and the magistrate left, Elspeth and I thought it would be best if we hid ye, just in case they came back.”

  Alasdair smiled and gently squeezed Beitris’s small, delicate hand in his own. He also looked up at Elspeth. “I am humbled by yer bravery, ladies, but I dinna want ye putting yerself in any further danger. As soon as I am healed, I will go—”

  “Nay, ye will not,” Beitris said, her jaw firm, shaking her head. “Things will work themselves out. They will. I know it.”

  Alasdair grinned at her quiet fierceness. “Ye will stand up against the English monarchy?”

  “If I have to,” she said, nodding. “I vow that I’ll keep ye safe, Alasdair, as best I can. Elspeth will help me. Only when ye are well will we speak of this again.”

  To his surprise, she shifted her position, and then very carefully and ever so gently lay down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He stiffened at the familiarity, but then immediately relaxed to welcome it.

  “I realize that I’m behaving very inappropriately, Alasdair, but there are things that ye should know.” She didn’t seem to mind that Elspeth, watching them, heard every word. “During the past couple of weeks, I… well, I’ve grown quite fond of ye.”

  Alasdair said nothing although his heart skipped a beat. This was unexpected. Not unpleasant, but unexpected.

  “I sensed something was wrong that morning, the morning Elspeth found ye in the field. I sensed it. And then, when I knelt beside ye and felt the blood on yer clothes, I… I felt an unfamiliar sense of fear, of disappointment, thinking ye might already be dead. It was at that moment that I realized that I had developed feelings for ye, and I have to admit, they were a surprise to me.”

  Alasdair almost smiled. Almost. She was baring her soul, brutally honest about her feelings. For several seconds, that bothered him, but then, as with her lying down beside him, he appreciated it. So many women were not truthful about their feelings, perhaps afraid of becoming even more vulnerable than they already were. He appreciated Beitris’s honesty and knew that henceforth, he would always know where she stood in their relationship, and that pleased him.

  “And now?” he asked softly.

  Beitris placed a hand on his chest. “I feel yer heart beating beneath my palm. It would pain me greatly if it were to stop.”

  Alasdair absorbed her words and smiled softly at the sentiment in them. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to offer her some comfort, but at the moment, he lacked the strength. But he could reciprocate. “Ye have surprised me time and again, Beitris,” he said. “And since ye have been so forthright with me, I will be honest with ye. When my father first told me of this agreement of his, between our fathers, I was angry. I dinna like having others make my choices for me. I can make my own decisions.” He paused for several moments, gaining his strength and his thoughts. He felt it hard to concentrate, what with Beitris’s hand resting on his chest, smelling the scent of her hair, her breath against his neck. “At the same time, I remembered ye from when we were young. Even then, ye surprised me with yer daring and yer determination not to let yer lack of eyesight limit ye.”

  Beitris sighed. “It is very tiresome at times, not being able to see,” she admitted. “But I realized very early on that I either had to accept it or wallow in self-pity. Eventually, I decided to accept it and to try to live as normal a life as I could.”

  She lifted her head, tilting her chin closer to his face. How did she see or imagine him in her vague world of shadows? At that moment, he yearned more than anything to give her the gift of sight, but he also knew that was impossible.

  “I will do everything I can to be a good wife to ye, Alasdair. To not be a burden to ye. To not have ye ashamed of me.”

  “Ye are no burden, Beitris, and I wouldna be ashamed of ye. I have not, and I will not. How can I? Ye have already saved my life and are now hiding me from the English. Putting yerself in danger for my sake. How could I ever be ashamed of ye?”

  Alasdair couldn’t count how many times he’d been hurt or injured in his life. Now, holding Beitris’s hand, he felt overwhelmed at the risk she had taken for him. The risk that Elspeth had taken on as well due to her loyalty to Beitris. He was Beitris’s husband, and it was he who was responsible for her safety. Yet he realized that he was not invincible. He vowed that as soon as he was recovered, that he would protect this woman who, though blind, was so strong.

  And if he had to, he would die doing just that.

  16

  Beitris sat beside Alasdair for the longest time, just listening to him breathe. Every time he hitched a breath or moaned softly in his sleep, she froze, wanting to reach down and shake him back to consciousness. Her heart had been warmed by the brief conversation they’d had earlier. It was the first time since they’d been married that they had expressed personal feelings about their m
arriage, their reaction to it, and their present situation. She had meant what she said.

  She knew Alasdair was a good man. He had done what he felt was right and just when he joined the Jacobite rebellion. She couldn’t understand why the English were so determined to punish those who had been involved. Hadn’t thousands died on the battlefields? Hadn’t the English already shown their superiority in numbers? Would Alasdair be hunted for the rest of his life? Would they have to leave, move somewhere else?

  Unfortunately, Alasdair’s facial scars would prevent him from hiding anywhere in Scotland, especially if the English printed wanted papers or sent information about his likeness to rural surrounding counties. But why focus on Alasdair? Or was this happening throughout Scotland, throughout the Highlands, and in the lowlands? She reminded herself to ask Elspeth to find out if she could, unobtrusively of course, from the sheriff. She gathered that the sheriff would do what he could to protect Alasdair, whether out of friendship, the same beliefs, or because he loathed the current English monarchy. She supposed it didn’t matter.

  She knew that for at least the near future, her life would be unsettled. She also knew that there was a chance that Alasdair might have to go away for a while. The thought brought her some sadness. As she sat next to him, listening to him breathe, she realized once again how comforted she felt by his mere presence. She wanted to talk to him again, to enjoy the kinship they had shared, at least in regard to the agreement their fathers had made. She had told him the truth about her feelings, and she sensed that he too had felt much the same, even though she knew he had held back. That his first reaction probably was annoyance over the burden he would carry with a blind wife. Still, she sensed the truthfulness of his words, that he didn’t find her a burden whatsoever. She smiled, comforted with the thought.

  And so, though she longed to speak with him again, she knew he needed rest, and would have to content herself to sit quietly next to him, her will determined and strong while her mind tried to think of a way that she could make everything turn out all right. How long would the English soldiers, mercenaries, or even Scots bribed with coin search for Alasdair before they forgot about him? And what about the townspeople? Elspeth was right. For want of a few coins, friends would turn against friends, townspeople against their neighbors.

  She pushed worrisome thoughts from her mind, the warmth of the fire soothing her tired muscles, warming her, the closed environs of the cave offering a sense of security. She was glad Elspeth had found this cave. When had her friend had time to explore? Then again, it wasn’t as if Elspeth followed her around all day long.

  It was at times like this that Beitris truly regretted her lack of eyesight. If not for Elspeth, how could she possibly have found a hiding place for Alasdair? It grieved her to no end. Thankfully, they were both strong, and Elspeth had made a pallet of two poles, some leather strapping, and several blankets she had taken from their beds. They had tied the leather straps of the pallet to the horse’s saddle, and each holding onto the bridle, Elspeth had guided the horse past the field and into the deep woods, along a rough path that wound its way among trees and shrubs. Her senses had been filled with the scent of budding sweet briar and pine, wych elm, and elder and yew. She caught the scent of hazel, imagining the squirrels ravaging the last of the sweet nuts to fill their bellies, and occasionally caught a whiff of wild rose.

  She stumbled several times and had tripped over a tree root snaking its way across the path and fallen to her knees with a startled cry. The horse paused as Beitris quickly regained her feet, assuring Elspeth as she was all right, her hand now wrapped around a chunk of the horse’s mane for better support. The horse didn’t seem to mind. Her other hand swung out carefully, slapping branches from her face, some before they thwacked her. Once they’d arrived near the cave entrance, they had untied the pallet from the horse and between the two of them, struggled to pull Alasdair into the cave, Elspeth guiding her, telling her to duck, to turn, to watch for a slight dip in the soft dirt off the cave floor as they finally pulled him as far back into the cave as they could. The actual opening of the cave was slightly taller than herself, and just as wide. Ten steps in, the walls took a sharp turn to the right, then opened up into an area that Elspeth described as slightly bigger than her sleeping chamber in the stone house. They could stand comfortably. From here, Elspeth assured her, a fire couldna be seen from outside the cave.

  Elspeth reassured her that no one would find the hiding place and she had left a wee while ago to make her presence known around the stone house and the farm, giving the appearance that both she and Elspeth were on the property. If someone came by and asked for Beitris, Elspeth would tell them that her friend was indisposed and was not to be disturbed. She doubted anyone would come by though; no one had before the sheriff, Beitris’s father, and that English magistrate had wandered onto their property. Since they had lived at the house, no one had come to bring good tidings, wedding congratulations, or to see Alasdair. Certainly, no one had come to visit with Beitris, which she didn’t mind at all. She’d never made any true friend in the village, besides Elspeth.

  Waiting for Elspeth to return, she again felt a surge of gratitude for her friendship. Elspeth had been the only child similar in age in their village to attempt to befriend her. In her friend’s eyes, and as she had told Beitris many times, she was not any different from anyone else other than her lack of eyesight. She had always treated Beitris as normal, and other than guiding her around town, had often remarked on her intelligence, her ability to sense everything going on around her, and, much to Beitris’s amusement, her jealousy of Beitris’s extraordinary hearing.

  “I truly believe that when a sense is gone, others become stronger,” Beitris had told Elspeth many, many years ago. Nevertheless, Elspeth always seemed surprised that Beitris heard sounds and voices that she couldn’t. It was true. In church, Beitris was easily able to follow whispered conversations, even those that took place on opposite sides of the building. Walking by a shop or a home, she was often able to pick up on conversations occurring indoors even though she was outside. She also had an uncanny ability to sense changes in weather, often announcing to Elspeth that it was going to snow, or rain, or be a hot and humid day well before anyone else knew.

  Living with her father, sheltered and sequestered in so many ways, she knew that most of the villagers gave her a wide berth because they felt uncomfortable around her, perhaps even feared her. Her blindness confounded them, particularly because she acted like she wasn’t blind. When she entered a shop to purchase supplies, seeds, or grains, she often felt their eyes on her as she used her fingers and her sense of touch and smell to choose this over that, to identify one type of grain from another. Her sense of touch was highly attuned, as was her sense of smell, almost as extraordinary as her hearing.

  And so it was that she was able to sense every breath, every facial twinge of pain that her new husband expressed even though only darkness surrounded her, broken only by a glimmer of dull reddish-orange light when she looked directly into the fire nearby. Not for the first time in her life, she wanted to see. She wanted it so much she felt the pain of her loss deep inside. She had explored her husband’s face with her fingers, pictured him in her mind, but she wanted to see him. Without touching, without having to be attuned to every breath, every sound that came from his mouth, without trying to anticipate his movements by the brush of his clothing. For the first time in her life, she truly felt sorry for herself.

  She gathered that Alasdair did not have any true friends either, though he was well-known in the village. Even so, after he had left to join the Jacobites, very few people had spoken of him. Upon his return, they commented on his altered appearance. Elspeth had told her that many looked at him with fear and horror.

  Beitris knew what it was like to be ostracized. Not obviously, but particularly cruelly, nevertheless living as an outsider. Och, people were polite to her, but other than Elspeth, no one had made many attempts to befriend her
. It was another thing that she and Alasdair had in common, and now, with his scars, she felt it would always be that way. People would avoid the oddly matched couple living so far outside of the village, in the stone house by the lake. The blind woman and the scarred man. Och, the gossip she knew traveled through the village and its outskirts. They were perfect for one another, both cursed, both not whole, either in appearance or in spirit.

  Over the past few weeks, she had become more accustomed to Alasdair and sensed that perhaps, deep inside, he continued to harbor doubts about her, not only as a wife, but as a woman capable of taking care of herself. He still had to adapt his thinking, that he didn’t have to be with her every second, watch over her every moment. She knew that gradually, and with time, he would grow more confident in her abilities and learn that she could be everything he wanted in a wife. The fact that he hadn’t wanted a wife in the first place was beside the point. Any more than she had wanted a husband. Much to her surprise, she realized that she wanted to be a wife in more than name. If she could only—

  “Beitris, why such worry on yer face?”

  She startled and sat up straighter, looking toward his face. It was the one thing for which she yearned to see more than anything, to see his expressions and not try to gauge those expressions by tone. Oddly enough, she felt at the moment that he was smiling by that slight lilt in his voice. She heard no pain in it, no anger.

  What to tell him? Which worry? That he might be found by the English magistrate? Chained or decapitated? Or that she worried about his injuries and that there was still a good chance they might become infected, and that he would wither and die.

  “Yer safe here,” she told him, ignoring his own question. While she desperately wanted her own worries assuaged, she also knew that she had to assuage his. He might not express them, and being a man, probably never would, but if she put herself in his place, discovery, being hunted, and more than likely killed would certainly be crossing her mind.