Mackintosh lands were at least a two week ride to the north. It was ten times as large as the McLaren lands and it was perfect for growing wheat and barley. He knew that hundreds of heads of cattle would be grazing next to hundreds of sheep this time of year. His father was more than just a good chief, he had a keen sense of business as well as knowing how to get the most out of his lands. Unlike Mermadak McLaren, John Mackintosh cared about feeding his people and leaving a legacy for his children.
How long had it been since he’d been home? Ten years? Eleven? He’d lost track. Frederick had left on good terms with his father and stepmother. They corresponded somewhat regularly but it had been months since he’d heard from them. As yet, he had not received any responses to the letters he had sent telling of his marriage to Aggie or his difficulties in establishing himself as the future chief.
He continued to study the land before him. It was better suited to sheep and cattle than anything else. Unfortunately, however, Clan McLaren had only a handful of cattle and no sheep. Apparently, Mermadak had sold the last of the clan’s sheep last fall.
The soft scrape of something on the other side of the large chimney stacks broke through his quiet reflection. Cautiously, he walked in the direction the sound had come from for two reasons; he was unsure of the stability of the roof and he wished not to startle his wife.
He came to an abrupt stop when he rounded the corner of the chimney stacks. To his left was Findal, standing with his back against the outer wall. Directly ahead were three long, narrow raised planting boxes that ran perpendicular to the chimney stacks. They were filled with all manner of green plants, many of which Frederick could not name.
Aggie was in the middle of the center row with her back turned toward the chimneys, her attention focused on the plants. His wife was wearing the old, worn and ugly blue dress—the one he had told Rose to make certain found its way into the rag box. Questions abounded. Why was she wearing that old rag of a dress? Why did she have a garden up here of all places? Why did he still find her so damned bonny, even while wearing rags?
With her attention focused solely on the plants, Aggie did not hear Frederick’s quiet approach.
“Good morn to ye, wife,” Frederick said as he took a step toward her. He did not like the look of dread that filled her face when she spun around. A look reminiscent of a child who’d just been caught pilfering sweet cakes filled her eyes.
Aggie lowered her hands to her side as she took a fearful step back. Her eyes darted from Findal to Frederick. Her skin paled as if she had just seen a ghost and had the life scared out of her. Her breathing became rapid and it took no great leaps in deduction to realize she felt trapped between the two men.
“I be sorry, Aggie,” Frederick said, lowering his voice. He lifted his palms toward the sun. “I didna mean to startle ye.”
Damn, he hated how naturally fear seemed to come to her. He prayed for the time when he could get close enough that she would not flinch or shrink away, like an animal that had been mistreated for far too long. He prayed that time would come soon.
Wanting to put her at ease, he clasped his hands behind his back and looked around at the boxes. “What have we here?”
Aggie said nothing as she took cautious steps to extricate herself from between the rows. Frederick cast a sidelong glance at Findal whose face bore an odd expression.
“’Tis a lovely garden, Aggie,” he said with a smile. “I do no’ ken much about gardens, ye ken. What do ye grow here?”
She cast a glance at Findal before looking back to Frederick. She still refused to speak in front of anyone but Frederick, Ailrig and Rose.
“Findal, ye may leave us. I’ll help me wife now.”
Findal started to say something but stopped. As Findal passed by, he paused long enough to whisper a word of caution into Frederick’s ear. “Do no’ block the path to the ladder.”
Frederick pulled away, confusion written across his brow.
“I’ll wait fer ye below stairs, Frederick,” Findal said before turning to speak to Aggie. “Mistress, I shall see you after the noonin’ meal.”
Frederick waited until he heard Findal’s footsteps fade away before turning his attention back to Aggie. “Are ye well, lass?” he asked.
Aggie answered with a cautious nod as she continued to glance around the roof top. Frederick soon realized she was looking for a means of escape. Findal’s words of warning suddenly made sense. Frederick worried that if he continued to block the only safe and realistic exit, she might become so uneasy and frightened that she would go to the dark place again. Deciding now was not necessarily the best time to either test his theory or discuss the subject with his wife, he began to slowly make his way to the spot Findal had occupied moments ago.
“I didna ken ye liked to garden,” he said. “Be there a reason why ye garden here?”
His question was met with more nervous silence and a scrutinizing stare from his wife. Her eyes continued to dart anxiously between him and the ladder hatch.
“’Tis it because ye find safety here and no one can bother ye?” he assumed.
“Aye,” she whispered, relaxing ever so slightly the moment he came to a halt next to the low wall.
Frederick gave her a warm smile. “I be sorry fer invadin’ yer sanctuary, Aggie. I didna ken. Would ye like me to leave?” A large part of him hoped she would say no. But if she answered in the affirmative, he would not hold it against her.
AGGIE TOOK A few moments to study him closely. For years now, she had learned to question the sincerity of every person she came in contact with, save for Ailrig and Rose. Duplicitous and ill-intentioned people abounded. Chaos and maliciousness were the constants in her life. Frederick swooped in and upended the only order she’d known. True, it was a hectic life filled with persistent fear, worry, and never knowing from one day to the next if it would be her last, if her father would finally succeed in beating the life out of her. Still, it was all she’d known for a very long time.
It continued to amaze her that she had been blessed with this man for her husband. Exceedingly kind and generous, so much so that there were many times she wondered if he weren’t simply a figment of her imagination. She didn’t truly know what to make of Frederick or this glimpse into a life filled with kindness that he seemed so intent on giving her.
Being so used to chaos and anger as the prevalent forces in her life, it oft took many long moments of introspection and thought before coming around to the same conclusion: he meant her no harm.
It had taken a few long, horrible and terrifying moments ten years ago to realize that men could not be trusted. And the first beating she had received from her father several years ago sealed that belief as firmly into her heart and soul as if it had been bound in unbreakable stone.
In a significantly short amount of time, Frederick had begun to chisel away at that large, impenetrable stone. Bit by bit, using kindness and generosity, he had managed to scrape away some of the years of mistrust, fear and doubt. It was a most unsettling sensation.
“Nay,” she finally answered. “Ye m-may stay if ye’d like.”
His smile brightened and grew, giving her a glimpse of his white, nearly perfectly straight teeth. His eyes sparkled with apparent relief and joy. No man had ever looked at her that way before; with unrestrained joy at the thought of simply spending time with her. Her stomach tingled and felt warm—a highly unusual and foreign sensation.
Frederick clapped his hands excitedly and rubbed his palms together, like a man oft does when he’s about to set himself to work on a project that brings him much joy. “Thank ye kindly, Aggie!” he beamed. “Now, pray tell, what can I do to help?”
Goodness, she hadn’t meant for him to offer to help. There really wasn’t much he could do. She had simply come up to pull away any weeds, tend to any plant that might need her help, and to clip some mint, milk thistle and mugwart.
“I d-dunnae,” she said as she tried to shake the awkward feeling from her mind. �
��There b-be n-no’ much t-to do.”
He looked momentarily disappointed by that. “Well, then, tell me, what are ye growin’ here? These be herbs mostly, aye?”
Aggie nodded. “Aye.”
“I thought as much,” Frederick said as he walked toward her without any thought. “I do no’ ken much about herbs. Now, I ken an onion from a carrot in a regular garden, but beyond that, I fear I’m poorly educated.”
Before either of them realized it, he had come to stand next to her. Her first instinct was to feel fearful and shy away. She did not like the sensation of feeling trapped. And the thought of being close enough that should he want to, he could grab hold of her. Fighting the urge to run, simply out of habit, she took deep, steadying breaths. He’ll no hurt ye. He’ll no hurt ye.
FREDERICK POINTED TO a dark green plant. “What be that?” he asked as he leaned over for a closer look.
Aggie couldn’t resist the urge to giggle. “M-mint,” she told him. “I leave it b-by yer b-basin each morn.”
“’Tis?” he asked disbelievingly.
“Aye,” Aggie answered. “B-but I g-grind it into a paste fer ye. ’Tis why ye d-do n-no recognize it.”
She gently removed a leaf from a stem, broke it in half and rubbed the bits in her palm. “See?” she asked as she held her hands up to his nostrils. “D-do ye recognize it n-now?”
Frederick closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He’d known all along ’twas mint he was looking at. He’d intentionally feigned ignorance in the hope that Aggie would feel at ease whilst giving him a lesson in herbs. He knew he had made her a promise that he’d never lie to her, but in the grand scheme of things, he’d do whatever he needed to in order to make his wee wife feel comfortable and not afraid.
“Aye, it smells good,” he said when he opened his eyes. Aggie was smiling proudly at him. Though ’twas an innocent smile, the effect it had on him was similar to being struck directly in his stomach with a bolt of lightning. Hot. Fierce. Unstoppable.
He had to look away lest he took her in his arms and kissed her. Knowing she’d never be able to trust him if he did, he stepped away from her. Distance was necessary and if he continued to look at that beautiful smile, he’d have to go bathe in the cold loch.
Clearing his throat he pointed to another bit of fuzzy greenery further down the box. “What be this?”
Aggie stepped forward and glimpsed down at the plant in question. “It’s Latin n-name is anemone. B-but most people call it Pasqueflower,” she informed him.
“And what be it used fer?” he asked, impressed that she knew its Latin name.
“It calms ye, helps ye t-to sleep if ye t-take it proper. It also helps relieve p-pain.”
“Ye seem to ken a good deal about herbs,” he remarked as he stepped away and continued his perusal of the herbs.
THE NERVOUS WORRY crept back in. She wasn’t sure what she could or should divulge to Frederick. This garden had been a well-kept secret for some time now. Until a few days ago, its existence was only known to Ailrig and Rose. If her father learned that she had disobeyed his direct order to never practice the art of healing again, he’d be instantly angry.
Frederick turned to face her. He looked perplexed by her silence but waited patiently for any answer or explanation.
She cleared her throat and tucked her hands into the pockets of her skirt. “Ye’ll n-no t-tell da it’s here, will ye?”
Frederick pursed his lips together. “Of course no’, Aggie,” he answered. “But, pray tell, why would yer da be upset over an herb garden?”
Aggie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Ye’ve m-met him. D-does he n-need a good reason to b-be upset?”
Frederick chuckled. “Nay, he’s proven time and time again that he does no’ require any good or sound reason to be upset. Or angry. Or cruel. But tell me, be there a particular reason why a wee herb garden would vex him so?”
Aggie took a deep breath and expelled it through puffed cheeks. “Me m-mum was a healer.” Aggie often wondered why her father’s hatred toward her mother had emerged not long after her death. It seemed to her that any reminder of Lila, no matter how vague or faint, would set Mermadak into a rage. Aggie supposed that since she bore such a remarkable resemblance to the woman Mermadak now hated with a vengeance, that that was why he hated Aggie so.
“Me m-mum taught m-me the art of healin’ and the powers of the herbs. Not long after she d-died, da d-declared I could n-no longer practice any of what she t-taught me. He had m-me herb garden d-destroyed. Set it aflame.”
“I see,” Frederick said. “So ye keep it here now, where no one can see it and to keep yer da from destroyin’ it again.”
“Aye,” she whispered as she cast her eyes to the ground. “But if ye d-do n-no’ want m-me to have it—”
Frederick stopped her. “Nay!” he said with a wave of his hand. “Nay, if this brings ye a bit of happiness then I’ll no’ take it away from ye. And I’ll do what I can to help ye keep yer secret.”
Relieved tears filled her eyes, but she managed to keep them from falling. “Yer certain?”
Frederick smiled, “Aye, I be certain.”
Before she realized what she was doing, she had raced toward him, flung her arms around his torso and hugged him tightly. “Th-thank ye, Frederick!” she exclaimed into his chest. She held on for a long time, relieved and deliriously happy. The herb garden was one of the few things she could call her own.
TO SAY HE was surprised by Aggie’s outward display of gratitude and affection would have been a trivialization of what he actually felt. Her actions caught him altogether unaware. The moment she thrust her arms around his torso and lay her head on his chest stole his breath away. Something indefinable, something he’d not ever before experienced, a spark, deep within his heart flickered and flared and came to life. It nearly knocked him off his feet.
Hesitantly, he held his breath, and waited with his harms held out, uncertain how she would respond should he return the embrace. How would she respond if he wrapped his arms around her? Would she scream in fright and run away? Would she be so horrified and frozen with fear that she would withdraw into that cold, deep, dark place of protection? Seeing as she had been the one to embrace him first he would take that as a sign that it would be acceptable for him to return it. Still, doubts lingered. Assumptions could be dangerous for both of them.
“Aggie,” he drawled in a low whisper. “Would ye mind if I wrapped me arms around ye?” He asked nervously, recognizing instantly that he must sound like a frightened young lad asking permission for his first kiss.
The silence that followed hung and lingered like smoke from a morning campfire. It reverberated through the air as loud as a thousand drums. It seemed to Frederick that a hundred years passed before she answered.
“Aye,” she whispered, nodding her head against his chest.
Relief, akin to a drowning man being pulled from the depths, washed over him. Slowly, he let out the breath he’d been holding and with great care, wrapped his arms around his wife. Such a wee, slip of a woman. Tiny. Skinny. Uncertain. Fearful. Scarred. Imperfect. Yet …. she was utter perfection.
Without warning, his heart exploded within his chest, with as much force as if he’d been stabbed with a broadsword, but without the pain or fear of dying one would associate with such a thing. Nay, this, this was altogether different. Wondrous, delightful, heady and full of so much hope.
Aggie trusted him.
Or, at the very least, she was beginning to. If someone were to ask him at that very moment which thing he would prefer the most—Aggie’s trust or to be the King of Scotland—he would have chosen the former. Aggie’s trust was more valuable than all the gold in the world. It meant more to him than being the chief of any clan, no matter how great or small. It. Was. Everything.
Aye, he’d known he had wanted her to trust him. But until this moment, he hadn’t fully understood why. As he was oft want to do, he had assumed he had desired her trust in order to make the
ir life together easier. He wanted her trust more for his own selfish reasons. It stood to reason that if she could not trust him then they’d never get around to making him an heir or two. If she could not trust him, they’d have a much harder time at rebuilding this clan and restoring it to its previous level of success. If she could not trust him, they could not move forward with his goals, his dreams or his desires.
With this tiny woman pressed against his chest, his heart thrummed rapidly, filling itself with new and curious sensations before exploding and bursting only to repeat the process again and again with each beat of his heart. Frederick Mackintosh realized then that his goals, dreams and desires meant nothing. Now he understood with perfect clarity just what Aggie’s trust meant to him and it went beyond a successful future, beyond his lofty goals and hopes.
Aggie’s trust was the most precious gift she could ever hope to give him. More importantly, it was a gift he was giving her. How he’d done it, he did not know, but somewhere, somehow, he was able to make this beautiful young woman trust again. With trust came freedom. Freedom for Aggie to blossom, to grow and love and laugh and live.
Oh, he wasn’t so foolish as to believe that all their problems were solved in this miniscule moment of time. Nay, he knew they still had far to travel before the last ten years of her life were nothing more than faded memories. That was now his new goal in life. To do whatever he could or must in order to keep her trust. Whatever he needed to do, he would to keep Aggie’s trust and win her heart.
That was what he now ached for. Aggie’s heart in return for his that she had just unwittingly stolen. She had taken that stone cold heart of his, unused and ignored the entirety of his life. As if she took it in her hands, dusted it off, and pressed an imaginary kiss to it and brought it to life. That’s what those odd, mysterious explosions were. His heart was finally coming to life.
Frederick's Queen: The Clan Graham Series Page 20
