Frederick's Queen: The Clan Graham Series

by Suzan Tisdale

  His brow twitched upward and his smile widened. Now we be gettin’ to the truth of it.

  “But not for the reasons ye be thinkin’,” she told him as she began to sort through the fabrics.

  “And what, pray tell, do ye think I be thinkin’?” he asked playfully.

  “Ye be thinkin’ that because I was married to an old, fat, hairy man, that I find the thought of joinin’ with any man, repulsive. But if I had a big, braw man such as yerself, to show me how ’tis done proper, I’d be changin’ me mind.”

  How in the bloody hell was she doin’ that? Was she a witch? Nay, he didn’t believe in witches, or at least he hadn’t believed in them until now.

  “I be no’ afraid fer meself, Ian, but fer the innocent lasses whose hearts ye are bound to break. I be no’ some naive and innocent young thing. My head canna be turned by a handsome face or a nice arse or by sweet, allurin’ words.” She paused to let her words sink in. “Now, please leave me be. I’ve much work to do.”

  He was far too confused by the comely lass to stay and argue it further. The room suddenly felt quite small and Rose looked far too tempting and beautiful. Ian knew the longer he stayed in this small room the more tempted he would be to kiss her. Instinct warned him that she’d scratch his eyes out before she would allow that to happen.

  Fifteen

  THE NEXT SENNIGHT passed far too slowly for Aggie’s liking. Frederick had tended to her back, even in the middle of the night. Though she found she rather enjoyed those moments alone with him, it was still a bit unsettling. She was finding it difficult to get beyond the fact that not only was he still here and refused to leave but he also tended to her as if she were made of fine, breakable glass.

  Insisting that she needed to rest, he refused to allow her to leave their small room. In her heart she knew that he meant well and wanted only for her to take the time to heal. What he did not understand was that too much time alone meant she’d have little else to do but think.

  And Aggie didn’t like thinking, or more specifically, remembering. Idle days, with too much time on her hands, left her mind to wander to points she’d spent the last several years trying to purge from her memory. She also didn’t like thinking about her new husband.

  Aye, Frederick seemed a decent enough fellow, but there were too many lingering questions and doubts yet for her to be willing to give him her complete trust. One thing that bothered her the most was the fact that he ordered her to stay in her room and rest. Though he had insisted it was for her own good and that he’d not risk her getting an infection or overdoing it, she wasn’t so sure there weren’t other reasons. Was he keeping her hidden away because he was ashamed to call her wife?

  When they were alone, he was always kind and patient and fussing over her. Are ye warm, lass? Hungry? Thirsty? Do ye need somethin’ fer the pain? While part of her did enjoy the way he fussed over her, there was a larger part that questioned the why of it. She wasn’t a bairn nor was she a fine, delicate lady who did not know the meaning of a hard day’s work.

  Back and forth she went, glad for his kindness, yet questioning everything he did.

  Everyone here knew her and many since the day she was born. Was Frederick keeping her in seclusion because of his men? Hadn’t most of them seen her on their wedding day? Probably. And now, out of embarrassment, he kept her secluded because he didn’t want her face paraded before his men to act as a reminder as to what a horrible mistake he had made in a wife.

  Although he hadn’t come out and said as much, doubts lingered.

  Having not been properly educated, and not knowing how to write much more than her own name anymore, Aggie wondered if there was a word or phrase other than blastedly confused to describe how she felt about the entire situation. Was Frederick genuinely concerned about her health and well-being or was he ashamed of her? Was it possible to be both?

  Rose was kept busy with new duties—duties she insisted she would discuss with Aggie at a later time, but she did visit each morn. Aggie had countless questions that Rose refused to answer, saying instead that she preferred to listen to Aggie speak. It had been years since she heard her best friend’s voice. “’Tis a balm to me tired soul, fer certain,” Rose would say with a smile.

  Aggie reckoned that Rose would tell her in good time just what she was up to.

  Ailrig had become fascinated with Frederick, Ian, Findal and the other Mackintosh men, and followed them around like a pup. Aggie worried that Ailrig would become a bother and frustrate the men, but Frederick insisted neither was true.

  Aggie suspected that the men were keeping Ailrig away from Mermadak, protecting him without the boy realizing he was being watched over like a bairn. Ailrig was the happiest she’d ever seen him so she supposed she should stop fretting over it.

  The first few nights after the beating, she slept on her stomach, heavily sedated with Mrs. McCurdy’s sleeping draught. By the fourth night, Aggie refused to consume any more of the foul smelling and noxious tasting drink. Her wounds were healing nicely, if such a thing were possible. Thankful that none of the gashes had become infected, Aggie knew things could be far worse.

  At night, Ailrig slept in the bed beside her and they were both fast asleep before Frederick returned from whatever kept him so busy throughout most of the day. Frederick would join her each day in their room for the noonin’ meal. When she would inquire as to what he was doing in those long stretches of time, his answers were short and to the point. Trainin’ me men. Or, tryin’ to put this keep back to rights. To which Aggie would swallow the question as to why he’d want to do such a thing.

  Aggie had lived in this keep her entire life and had serious doubts that putting it back to rights was even possible. Mermadak had neglected the needs of the keep—as well as his people—for many years. Though the damage and neglect wasn’t necessarily irreparable, getting it back to how the keep and the clan had been when her grandfather was chief would take an act of divine intervention.

  After more than a week of being kept tucked away in her room with nothing to do, with people tip-toeing around her as if she were a frail woman with a weak condition of the heart, Aggie had reached the end of her good will. Though she rarely wandered past the walls of the keep, she did enjoy the feel of sunshine and fresh air on her skin.

  Although Frederick did his best to convince her that her chores were being tended to by others, there was one chore which no one but Aggie could do.

  Aggie feigned exhaustion when Rose arrived to change her dressings and bring her her morning meal. ’Twasn’t necessarily a complete lie. In truth, she’d exhausted all patience and willingness to spend her days alone in her room like a hermit. Nay, ’twasn’t the need to be with other people, but the need for some fresh air and sunshine that drove her to fibbing. She quelled any guilt she felt over the fact that she was a woman full grown and didn’t need to be coddled.

  The desire to leave was easy. But actually being able to step out of her room was altogether more challenging.

  Her first hurdle involved clothing. She had two dresses and one chemise to call her own. The chemise was nowhere to be found. She supposed Rose was too busy with her new duties to tend to it. For a brief moment, Aggie thought of waiting until Rose returned later in the afternoon and ask for it to be brought to her so she could mend it herself. But Aggie was far too antsy to wait.

  Frederick had lent her another finely made tunic to wear as a nightdress. She supposed the tunic would have to work as a chemise for now. With her shawl drawn tightly around her shoulders, she determined no one would be the wiser. Besides, people paid her very little attention anyway. Unless she walked down the stairs wearing nothing but her skin, a man’s tunic wouldn’t warrant anyone’s attention.

  Her brown dress was missing and she could only assume it was with her chemise. Her muscles ached from lack of use when she pulled her blue dress on and cinched it up. It took a few moments, but she finally found her boots. They were under the bed with her woolens. She mused
how nice it would be to have shoes that were actually made to fit her own feet. Mayhap someday.

  She braided her hair, tied a bit of leather around the end then grabbed her shawl from the chair. A burst of energy blended with a wave of excitement. The energy she understood, but the excitement? That was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in more than a decade.

  Knowing she’d need to be exceedingly careful to avoid being seen by her father or Donnel, she carefully opened the door and stepped into the hallway. She came close to jumping right out of her boots when she saw two of Frederick’s men standing but a few feet from her door. Aggie didn’t know either of them by name, but knew they had to belong to Frederick, for she knew all of her father’s men.

  “Good day, mistress!” the shorter of the two men said with a kind smile before stepping toward her. His smile evaporated instantly when Aggie took a reflexive step backward which in turn stopped his forward approach. “Didna mean to startle ye, mistress,” he apologized. “I be Robby and this be Gundar,” he said with a nod toward the black haired man standing next to him.

  Aggie’s heart thrummed rapidly. Calm yerself, Aggie, she chastised her fearful heart. While neither man appeared to be dangerous, instinct prohibited her from speaking or daring much else. She gave a quick nod before turning on her heels and heading in the opposite direction.

  Lifting her skirts, she quickly made her way to the other end of the hall and rounded the corner without looking back. At the end of the short corridor, she pulled open a door. The bottom of the heavy door scratched against the wood floor with an unearthly groan. She didn’t bother with pulling it closed behind her. She wanted to get to the top of the tower and away from the intimidatingly big men she’d met in the corridor.

  No one save for Aggie ever used these stairs. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling like macabre fingertips. Ignoring her aching muscles, she took the winding stairs as fast as she dare, swirling through the damp, musty air along the way.

  She made her way to the uppermost landing and took the doorway to her left. It led to a small alcove, barely large enough for one average sized man. A wooden ladder stood to her right. She paused long enough to peer upward into darkness. Carefully, she ascended the ladder hand over hand until her head bumped against a piece of ancient wood. With one hand holding tightly to the ladder, she used her other to push and lift the heavy door. The old iron hinges squeaked ever so slightly as bright beams of sunlight burst forth.

  Giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the early morning sun, Aggie paused briefly before hauling her tiny frame onto the roof of the tower.

  TAKING GREAT CARE as to where she placed her feet—because the sturdiness of the roof was at times questionable—Aggie made her way across the flat roof and toward a set of massive chimneys. Her destination lay on the other side.

  The sun warmed her skin as she took in a deep breath of crisp summer air. It had rained last night, just enough to leave a few puddles scattered about the roof.

  Leaning her head back, she looked up at the brilliant blue sky and soaked up the warm rays of sun. She felt downright giddy to be out of her dark bedchamber. It would be hours before Frederick returned for the noonin’ meal. She’d make certain she returned to her room and be abed before he arrived.

  This little spot on top of the flat tower roof was her bit of heaven-on-earth. Here, she could be alone with her plantings and herbs and away from the scornful eyes of her clan. It was the only place where she felt almost human, where she could pretend she wasn’t Aggie McLaren, the mute and scarred laughingstock of her clan.

  Aggie had started her private little garden years ago. ’Twasn’t a large and auspicious garden like the ones that used to grace the McLaren keep. Just a little ten by ten space she had built in secret two years ago.

  Raised boxes filled with rich soil stood hidden behind the chimney stacks. There were three rows, with just enough room for her to walk between each. It made it much easier to tend to the herbs and little flowers. Mrs. McCurdy used the herbs for everything from medicinal teas and poultices to seasoning food and she never asked where Aggie found them.

  Lila McLaren had been a healer up until the day she died. Aggie had learned much about the powers of herbs and roots at her mother’s side. Her lifelong dream had been to become a healer. But after Lila’s death, Mermadak had refused to allow Aggie to continue in her mother’s footsteps. Declaring that Aggie was too much of an idiot to be of use to anyone, he said, “I’ll no’ take the chance of me eejit daughter killin’ off half me clan.” Thus, her dreams were quashed.

  Mrs. McCurdy stepped in after Lila’s death to handle the little illnesses and injuries that sometimes befell the clan. If anything serious arose, they would call on a healer from the nearby Farquhar clan.

  But her father did not know about this little spot on the roof of the tower. Knowing she had at least one thing to call her own, even if she couldn’t declare it to the rest of the world, made her feel less an inadequate idiot and more a woman. This was something her father hadn’t taken away.

  Lost as she was in one of her rare moments of freedom and looking forward to doing something she wanted and not something demanded of her, she didn’t hear the footfalls of the person behind her.

  TAKING THE STAIRS two at a time with his gifts for Aggie carefully draped over his arms, Frederick headed toward his bedchamber. He was hopeful that the gifts would bring a bright smile to his wee wife’s face. In truth, one of the few times he’d seen her smile was that day at the Graham keep, when he had seen Aggie for the first time. The memory of that smile and the hope of seeing it again was one of the few but important reasons why he didn’t pack up and run days ago.

  There was no way for him to explain it, that strong desire he felt at wanting to see her smile, to see her genuinely happy. He’d come into this marriage wanting nothing more than the future chiefdom that came with it and, at best, a relationship based on mutual respect. He had never thought of either until the damned voices starting sing-songing in his mind all those months ago. Frederick, ye need a wife. Frederick, ye need a wife.

  Well, now he had one.

  But what to do with her? Most of the time he felt like a newborn lamb who just discovered he had legs to stand on. Wobbly and uncertain as to what he should do with his discovery.

  Confusion followed him like a shadow when it came to Aggie. The young woman was nothing at all like the beautiful, well-read and vivacious lass he had imagined would make the perfect wife for him. A woman like Lady Arline Graham. Tall, graceful, elegant, enchanting Lady Arline was. The epitome of perfection and poise.

  Aggie McLaren was none of those things he’d been convinced he would need in a wife. Wee, quiet, unassuming. There were moments, when at the end of the day he would sit in his chamber by the fire, he would forget she was even in the room. She was as quiet as a mouse’s whisper.

  Still, there was something yet unnamable…like a preternatural breeze whenever he looked at her. It wasn’t a blatant, heart-stopping assault on his senses. More of a tender caress; a gentle nudge of sorts.

  He genuinely liked his new wife and he found that exceedingly odd. What confused him most was this insatiable need he had in wanting to see the smile that was now forever burned into his memory. He craved to see it. Longed for it. Yearned for it. And he didn’t know why.

  So instead of handling a confusing situation as he would have done months ago by getting good and drunk and lifting the skirts of any woman who’d allow it, Frederick decided to take a more mature and respectable approach.

  He’d simply accept it.

  A completely new manner of thinking on his part and one he knew would take some getting used to. He reasoned that if he were to someday be the chief of this clan, he’d better start setting good examples now.

  As he made his way down the corridor he spotted Gundar pacing in front of the chamber door.

  “Good day to ye, Gundar,” Frederick smiled as he opened the door. Gundar was right behind him.

&nbs
p; “She be no’ here, Frederick,” Gundar said nervously.

  Frederick stopped dead in his tracks as dread and anger swept over him.

  “What do ye mean she be no’ here? Where the bloody hell is she?”

  FREDERICK BREATHED A sigh of relief once Gundar explained the situation to him.

  “Me and Robby followed yer Aggie,” Gundar recounted. “Fer someone so tiny, she be a fast little thing! She be up on the roof of the tower. At first, seein’ how scared she was of us, we were no’ certain she didn’t plan to leap to her death!”

  Frederick crossed his arms over his chest. He cast Gundar a stern look. His sense of humor was not appreciated at the moment.

  Gundar cleared his throat and continued. “She be gettin’ a bit of sun, I think. I left Robby to watch over her. I figured if ye returned and found all of us gone ye’d no’ be verra happy about it.”

  Gundar had assumed correctly. Frederick gave him a nod of his head. “Thank ye, Gundar. Would ye be so kind as to fetch her back here for me?”

  NORMALLY, AGGIE WAS keenly aware of what was going on around her. One didn’t survive all that she had by being foolish or reckless. Surrounded by the likes of Mermadak McLaren and Donnel Brodie, one learned to keep one’s eyes and ears open at all times or risk losing one’s head.

  But up here, in her secluded bit of paradise, she never felt the need to be on full alert. Here, alone and away from the rest of the world, she could relax if she chose, or cry her eyes out when she needed.

  With her back to the chimney stacks and her attention otherwise engaged in pulling little bits of debris from her garden, she was not aware of the man standing just a few feet away from her. But when she heard the soft scrape of a boot over the tiny pebbles that covered the roof, her heart nearly stopped beating.

  With her hands balled into fists, she whirled around to face whoever it was that had discovered her oasis.

  “I be sorry, mistress!” Robby exclaimed. “I didna mean to disturb ye.”