by Fiona Faris
He let out a yelp of pain as she hit his knee cap. From the heat emanating from the area, as well as the slight swelling she knew this was the source of his injury. Placing the willow bark and valerian root into a pestle she ground them to a paste before spreading it all over his knee and wrapping it tightly with a silk cloth.
“There. Is that better?”
“Yes, thank you.” Alexander’s voice was strained and Rebecca knew he was lying. She allowed him to get to his feet as long as he leaned on her.
“We’ll get ye a nice walking stick.”
He snorted. “Not necessary. I should be good as new by tomorrow.”
“Yes well…try to stay off yer knee today.”
“Of course. Just get me to the hall so I can supervise the men. If we can get the east rooms cleared out, the foundation’s pretty stable; we’d be able to move in there.”
“Why don’t ye sit in the kitchen and I’ll take yer messages back and forth for ye?” Rebecca was already leading him gently in that direction without waiting for his agreement. Alexander wanted to protest but knew she was right. He needed to get the weight off his knee.
They walked into the kitchen to find Emily earnestly measuring the poppy water. She turned at the sound of the slightly dragging footsteps, face twisted with anxiety. “What shall we do if they come back?”
“I dinna think they’ll return today. Their leader is much more injured than Alexander. I expect they’ll heal him up first before trying for another fight.”
Alexander growled. “And I’ll be ready for them.”
Emily was not nearly as blasé about the fight as she tried to project. Despite her father being a soldier, she was not used to seeing violent altercations played out in front of her, and was realizing just how sheltered her life had been before she met Alexander MacTavish.
Sweeping the hall, she listened to the excited talk of the crofters, who appeared impressed with her husband’s fighting skills, his size and his strength. When she had first seen him, these attributes had made him a brute, but to these men, he was a worthy protector of their land. It was quite the shift in perspective for her.
Alexander meanwhile was holding court in the kitchen, receiving deputations from various parts of the house when the men required further instruction. Even Frances was enamored of her new master, making sure to ply him with soup and bread, keeping him well supplied with whisky and generally making sure he did not have to move. It was strangely annoying, feeling usurped by her own maid.
Rebecca was Alexander’s eyes and ears, supervising the removal of stones, and such. She had even persuaded the steward, Amos, to convince the crofters to get their wives to start cleaning after every section had been cleared.
Emily felt quite useless.
Suddenly there was a shout from the south wing and the men came running out, blubbering with fear. Emily dropped her broom, afraid that the bandits had returned
“What is going on?” she asked but they ignored her, milling about in the hall, and complaining about danger. Rebecca rushed from the east wing, wondering what the trouble was.
“What seems to be the trouble?” Rebecca demanded.
One of the men stepped forward.
“Snakes ma’am, in the south wing. Wilson Dale’s been bit.”
“What?” Both Rebecca and Emily exclaimed at once. Emily wanted to scream.
This is just too much! First bandits and now snakes-whatever next?
The poor girl wanted to go home, and whirling around ran off for the safety of the croft where they had spent the night. Rebecca called out, but the girl ignored her, opting to keep going until she could throw herself on her sleeping palette and burst into homesick tears.
Emily didn’t know how long she had laid there, feeling increasingly miserable as time went by, before she heard an uneven step coming closer and closer. Her head whipped around in fear, heart pounding as she thought that the bandits had returned and she was all alone and vulnerable. She cursed herself for being a fool until she recognized the tall form of her husband, limping toward her on a walking stick.
He bent his head to enter the croft, blocking out the light completely before he straightened up to stand over her like an avenging angel.
“What seems to be the problem?” he sounded weary and his face was in shadow so she could not see his expression.
“N-nothing. I am simply tired.”
He huffed, turning away to limp to her trunk, lowering himself gingerly upon it. It was a sturdy trunk, made for long travel and Emily was quite sure it would hold his weight. Alexander did not seem as sure.
“You’re tired and so ye take off running from the manor house? Somehow that doesna seem logical.”
Emily raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you know what the word means.” The words blurted out before she knew what she was saying. Immediately her hand flew to cover her mouth, eyes wide with mortification. She desperately wanted to apologize but knew he would not believe she was sincere. He turned his head away, snorting with derision. “Ye dinna ken me at all.”
Emily sighed deeply, swallowing the regret of her own words. “You’re right, I do not. I apologize for that, it was uncalled for.”
Alexander merely moved his shoulder in what could be taken for an uncaring shrug. “So why don’t ye tell me the truth as to why ye took off like tha.”
Emily sat up, folding her legs beneath her. “I…” she hesitated, trying to think of the right words.
“Ye dinna ever need to fear me, Emily.” His voice was soft and reassuring and Emily wondered if it was the first time he’d said her name voluntarily.
“I don’t fear you. I just…I was perturbed…at the fighting. It…frightened me and then you were hurt and then you hurt that man even more and…I just…”
“Ye’ve never seen a fight before.” He sounded surprised.
Emily shook her head. “No I haven’t , and then there were snakes and…it was just too much.”
She was quite taken aback when Alexander threw back his head and laughed long and hard. Her mouth fell open in surprise as she watched him roar with laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks, his body shaking.
“What is so funny,” she was curiously hurt by his seemingly callous reaction to her fear.
He shook his head, still heaving with amusement. “S-sorry, I did not mean to laugh at ye. It’s just…” he burst into more gales of laughter, bent over at the waist with the force of his merriment. She found that she was smiling tentatively as she watched, his hilarity affecting her dampened spirits.
“What?” she asked again, smiling in spite of herself.
He waved a hand at her, still unable to speak. Eventually his chuckles died away to sighs of contentment and he sat quietly, staring out the door.
“Ye’re tired of working, ye’ve never seen a fight, and ye’re afraid of snakes. This life just keeps getting worse and worse for ye, does it not princess?” his voice was still laced with tired amusement but Emily could tell that he was serious. She opened her mouth to speak but could not think of anything to say. He was right to call her a princess, a delicate flower who ran at the first sign of trouble. No wonder he leaned on his sister for everything and even valued Frances more than her. What use was a shrinking violet to these people?
No use at all.
She straightened her shoulders, regarding him defiantly. “I simply needed a moment to gather myself. I am alright now.”
“Are ye then?” he sounded cynically amused.
“Yes, I am. You should not have walked all the way here on that leg. It cannot be good for you.” Rising to her feet she moved toward him. “I’m afraid I must ask you to stand up because I need to retrieve something from my trunk.”
Alexander said nothing, merely took up his cane, and got slowly to his feet. He limped a few steps away and leaned on the wall, watching her.
She decided to substitute her woolen gown for a linen one with a sleeveless tunic on top; one more suitable for cleaning o
ut the manor – after Alexander had dealt with the snakes of course.
“Would you help me loosen my kirtle please?”
Alexander hesitated as Emily stood waiting, back turned to him. When she did not immediately feel his hands on her back, she turned to peer at him over her shoulder, honey brown eyes blinking curiously at him. He seemed frozen staring at her back like it was a dragon he needed to conquer.
“Well?” she raised her eyebrows at him.
“Oh, yes…” he hurried over, his hands shaking slightly as he clumsily began to unlace her ribbons, “Uh…why are ye…taking yer clothes off?”
“I need to change into something a little more…conducive to cleaning out dusty manors.”
Alexander gave a small laugh, his voice deep and low. It made Emily shiver.
“What is it?”
“N-nothing. Just…your laugh is very…”
Alexander raised an eyebrow at her. “Very…?”
Emily shrugged, embarrassed at her unfathomable reactions. She did not understand herself when she was with this man. As soon as she felt her kirtle loosen, she stepped away from him. “Thank you. Now if you will excuse me, I would like to change.”
Alexander cleared his throat. “You’re welcome. S-shall I ask Frances to avail you of some of her clothes?”
She turned to face him, her sleeves slipping off her shoulders, petticoat peeking out. His eyes were glued to the hollow of her collarbone, skin shining like frost on the first snow of winter. He licked his lips, eyes caressing her flesh they trailed downward toward her bosom. Emily pulled her sleeves back up, hand on her chest, breathing hard. She did not know if it was fear or arousal.
Alexander nodded jerkily, pulling himself together. “I will wait for you outside.”
He limped slowly out and Emily contemplated closing and locking the door behind him, but there was no other source of light in the room. So she retreated to the shadows, selecting her oldest and most threadbare gown to wear. She looked at her trunk full of beautiful gowns in despair. Her bridal trousseau; it would go to such waste.
Suddenly, she wanted to let out another frustrated scream.
Why is this my life?
She fisted her hand, banging it repeatedly against the earthen floor, a fully-fledged tantrum building within her. Throwing her head back, she let the scream out, unable to hold it in for a moment longer. There was a scramble of unsteady footsteps before Alexander’s silhouette blocked out the light in the doorway once again.
“What…?” his voice was urgent, sword in his hand, the other leaning against the cane.
Emily sat on the floor, tears streaming down her face, hiccupping occasionally. Alexander took a hesitant step into the room. “Emily? What has happened?”
Emily spread her hands out, her breath coming in huffs, “This! All of this! How am I to live like this?” her voice got steadily louder with each word until she was wailing. She banged her fists on the floor again, soaking the earth with tears. Alexander watched her, dumbfounded.
“I’ll er…I’ll just go and find Rebecca,” he said and turned slowly, limping away.
Emily felt bad for him. He should not be walking on that leg; he should be resting in case those bandits returned. She cried harder at the thought, feeling that everything she did was wrong.
Why did she continually make the wrong decisions?
Collapsing onto the floor, she was breathing hard, occasionally hiccupping with despair, the tears simply pouring from her eyes. She paid no attention to the hurrying footsteps approaching the croft but merely covered her eyes again.
“Emily?” Rebecca’s voice was softer than Emily had ever heard it and then she felt a gentle hand upon her shoulder. “What ails ye?”
“Nothing. Nothing ails me. I am simply in despair.”
She felt Rebecca bump against her as she settled into a crouch besides her. “Why?”
Emily shrugged. “I just…it’s just all too much I suppose. I need some time to gather my wits about me.”
Rebecca rubbed her shoulders soothingly. “I suppose there are quite a few things that have happened in a short time. For one so sheltered as you, I suppose it can be a bit overwhelming.”
Emily felt a wave of sadness crash over her by the sound of care in Rebecca’s voice. “Yes, one so sheltered as me. I suppose you’re used to all of this…the fighting, the snakes, sleeping on the floor…” she sniffed.
Rebecca laughed indulgently. “Let me tell you a story, Emily.”
Chapter Thirteen
Emily turned slowly around to face Rebecca.
“A story?”
Rebecca laughed. “Oh, ye like those don’t ye?”
Emily nodded slowly.
“Well, okay then. I’ll tell ye a good one.” Rebecca settled herself against the wall, shifting around until she was comfortable. Emily sat up, turning around to face her sister-in-law, face avid with interest.
Rebecca took a deep breath and then she began her story.
The woman kept her head down moving cautiously down the street. It was dusk; a bad time for a young woman of wealth to be roaming about alone...especially in Edinburgh. Rebecca had been watching her, trying to make up a story as to why she was alone.
They found out later that her name was Lavinia Hortense Fredrick, a woman of class who was navigating the filthy streets of Edinburgh, heading for her waiting coach to transport her to her home.
She was so focused on her mission, that she did not notice them lying on the side of the cobbled, winding streets. Not until she tripped over Rebecca.
"Shite lady watch where you're going!"
Her voice was rough, and scratchy, with fatigue, hunger, and thirst. Lavinia straightened up slowly eyes squinting to see what she had tripped over.
"I beg your pardon, I did not see you."
"Aye, weel," Rebecca muttered. "Nobody does."
The woman was in her thirties. Her long blonde hair was beautifully coiffed and she was very well dressed. Her most outstanding feature was her eyes. They were a clear azure blue; burning with a crystal bright light that seemed to penetrate right into Rebecca’s soul.
"What's your name?" Lavinia asked.
"Rebecca. This is my brother Alexander." He was curled up on the ground next to Rebecca, shuddering with the fever. Rebecca did not know what to do.
"Alexander." Lavinia sighed. "That's my father’s name."
Rebecca stayed silent.
It was then that Lavinia noticed that Alexander was rather pale, even scrawnier than the girl because he had given her most of the food that he managed to scavenge.
Mindful of the puddles of rainwater and sewage, the lady crouched beside them as best she could in her full, hooped skirt.
“Is he all right?”
"No," Rebecca replied quietly.
"What's wrong?"
"I think he’s very unwell." Helpless tears filled Rebecca’s eyes. "And not only is he sick, but he's also lying on the cold street, without having had any food in the past two days."
"You haven't eaten in two days?" Lavinia frowned
"He hasna eaten in two days, and I havna eaten in three."
"Rebecca... if you don't eat... you're going to starve."
"I ken that. But we have no food. And no way of getting any."
"No one has helped you?"
Rebecca smiled weakly. "No one cares enough to help."
Lavinia stared down at the ground looking distressed.
"It’s all right miss..."
"Fredrick. Lavinia Fredrick. And what do you mean it is all right? Clearly, it isn’t."
Rebecca shrugged. "We’re going to die eventually anyway. I just... canna care if it’s sooner or later."
"You... you want to die?"
Rebecca gazed up at the woman. "I didna say that. I said I dinna mind when it happens. Long as we are together. And we’ll see our parents again."
"I’m sure they would not want that!"
"He's not going to survive anyway. Just
look at him." Rebecca almost choked. "I'm such a shite sister, he’s been taking care of me, and now I can't even care for my own brother."
"That's not true. You're not a bad sister! You just need some help."
"He's dying!" Rebecca raised her voice. "I cannot look after him or help him in any way. He’s always the one who feeds us, who looks for shelter. Now that he needs me tae do it, I canna even find somewhere dry for us to rest." She started to cry. "Ye dinna ken me, ye dinna ken anything about us, yet you're saying I'm a good sister? Tell me how."
