Frederick's Queen: The Clan Graham Series

by Suzan Tisdale

  “Aye,” Findal interjected. “And ’tis a beautiful voice at that.”

  Aggie looked at them in disbelief, her face burning with embarrassment. Believing it had been a mistake to speak, she swallowed back the tears and was making ready to return to her room.

  Frederick sensed his wife’s discomfort and cast his men a look of reproach. “Aggie, me men do no’ jest nor do they tease,” he told her as he gently placed a hand over hers. “’Twasn’t insults they spoke, but a genuine compliment.”

  The men immediately began to apologize at once, begging for her forgiveness. Aggie was taken aback by the cacophony of apologies.

  “I’d as soon cut off me foot than to insult ye, mistress!” Findal told her.

  “I’d cut off me whole leg,” Rognall offered, trying to outdo his friend.

  “I’d cut off both legs and an arm,” Peter offered, not wanting to be one-upped by either man.

  Ailrig chimed in, his little hand on the hilt of his wooden sword. Looking at each of the men, he spoke in the sternest of voices and with complete sincerity. “And I’d cut off each o’ yer heads to defend me Aggie’s honor, ye louts.”

  They each fought to hold in their laughter for Ailrig was quite sincere. Aggie bit her lip, Rose held her breath and Ian’s shoulders shook as he turned away. Ailrig looked at Ian’s convulsing shoulders. A broad smile formed on the lad’s face. “Ye see, Frederick? I have Ian quakin’ in his boots!”

  They could contain themselves no longer. Frederick pulled the boy down to sit on the ground beside him and ran a large hand over his head. “Aye, ye do, laddie,” he said with a chuckle. “And none here doubts that ye’d do just as ye said.”

  Aggie spirits lifted considerably. Elation swept over her and it was all she could do to keep herself contained when she realized she finally had something that had long been missing in her life; a loving family. Aye, she might not be related to them by blood, but still, these men all treated Ailrig like a cherished younger brother.

  “Ye ken who has a mighty fine singin’ voice, mistress?” Rognall asked after the laughter subsided.

  Aggie shook her head. “Please, c-call me Aggie.”

  Rognall looked first to Frederick for his approval. Frederick gave a slow shake of his head. Rognall gave a barely noticeable nod. Understanding that to refer to her by her given name was far too personal a gesture, Rognall pretended he hadn’t heard her request.

  “Frederick,” Rognall smiled. “Have ye sung fer yer wife yet?”

  Aggie turned and looked down at her husband. She couldn’t recollect ever seeing the man blush, but he was doing just that.

  “Rognall, be gone with ye,” Frederick said.

  Ian piped up. “Och! Do no’ be so shy, ye ox. Sing fer us!”

  Frederick held up his hand dismissively. “I do no’ have me lute,” he argued.

  “Ye can borrow mine!” a voice called out from somewhere behind them. In a matter of moments, a lute was handed through the crowd until it rested in Frederick’s hands.

  Rolling his eyes he smiled wryly at his men before he pulled himself to his feet. He turned to Aggie and bent at the waist. “Me lady wife, I shall apologize now. Me men have come to believe I can sing, but I warn ye, I be no troubadour.”

  The beaming smile he adored so much lit in her eyes and face. She looked expectedly at him, all the while smiling as if he were the only other soul on God’s Earth. There was naught much he wouldn’t do just to see her smile.

  The group of people surrounded him, standing or taking up places on the blankets. He rarely sang in front of strangers. Singing a bawdy tune to his men was one thing, to sing in front of his wife and members of her clan was an entirely different matter.

  He cleared his throat, plucked the strings and made a slight adjustment for tune. He looked at his wife while he strummed, searching his mind for a song more appropriate for this public moment. He couldn’t very well sing about tavern wenches.

  When her smile brightened further, he thought back to the moment on the roof and how holding her in his arms had made him feel. A song his father used to sing came to his mind. He sang that song for Aggie.

  Freedom is a noble thing.

  Freedom gives Man choice.

  Freedom gives all men comfort.

  He who lives at ease lives freely.

  A noble heart may have no ease,

  Nor anything else that pleases him

  If he doesn’t have his freedom, for happiness

  Is desired over everything else.

  Only he that he always lived freely

  May never know well what it’s like,

  The anger or the wretched condition

  That comes with foul enslavement.

  But if he ever experienced it

  Then he would know it perfectly,

  And should prize freedom more highly

  Than all the gold in the world.

  From his heart, he hoped Aggie understood the message he was trying to send to her, that he wished for her to experience freedom.

  One request after another was made, and seeing his wife’s smile, was all the encouragement he needed. After the fourth song, Frederick refused to sing anymore. “Me voice needs a break, lads,” he told the group. He handed the lute off and sat on the bench beside his wife.

  “Ye sing v-verra well, Frederick!” Aggie exclaimed proudly, her beaming smile making his heart beat faster.

  “Thank ye, me lady wife,” he said, wishing he could reach out and touch her. They were having far too grand a time for him to take the chance. He feared that mayhap she was not quite ready for unrequested gestures of affection. Mayhap someday.

  Ailrig stood before him. “Will ye teach me to play the lute?”

  Frederick gave the boy’s head a tousle. “Aye, I shall.”

  Ailrig was pleased with the answer and went to sit beside Ian.

  Night began to fall and more wood was added to the fire. More of the McLarens had come out of doors. Many stood watching from a distance. Frederick supposed it was curiosity that brought them out, but fear of the unknown and mayhap, fear of the McLaren, that forced them to keep their distance. He thought to invite them over, to warm themselves by the fire and partake of the ale and food. From the odd expressions painted across their faces, they mayhap were not quite ready yet to take that next step.

  “So, Aggie,” Ian spoke as he leaned against one of the benches. “How do ye like being married to me brother?”

  Frederick thought it to be far too personal a question to ask in front of everyone and was about to admonish his younger brother when Aggie answered.

  “I l-like it v-verra well,” she said as she cast a furtive glance and smile toward Frederick.

  Frederick was taken aback, unprepared for her genuine answer. He did not know what he should say to her.

  “He’s good to ye then?” Ian asked, smiling deviously. He was taking great enjoyment in Frederick’s discomfit.

  Aggie’s eyes sparkled and her smile grew. “Och! Aye! Verra g-good to me!”

  Ian scratched his jaw and nodded. “He is?”

  Aggie giggled. “Aye, he is,” Aggie answered. She smiled thoughtfully, looking once again at Frederick.

  “Pray tell me, Aggie, how is he good to ye?” Ian asked innocently. Frederick knew him to be anything but innocent.

  Before he could tell his brother to drop the topic, Aggie answered. “He treats me like a q-queen.” Though her face had turned bright red, her smile never left her face. Frederick could tell there was more she wanted to say, but graciously held back. She glanced at him again, out of the corner of her eye. She very much resembled a young, innocent and shy maiden. It endeared her to him all the more.

  Feeling quite playful, and more than proud at her answer, he left the bench and knelt before her. “Ye be every bit a queen in mine eyes, me lady wife,” he said as he took her hand. “And I am but yer lowly and humble servant.”

  Aggie’s eyes grew wide and her face burned. “G-get up
ye silly man!” she said, glancing around, not wanting attention drawn to them.

  Frederick would not let it rest. “Whatever yer heart desires, my Queen. What is that ye say?” He held a hand up to his ear as if she had said something. “Slay a dragon for ye, ye say? I shall! Whatever yer heart so desires, it is me command.” He grew more and more dramatic, and Aggie grew more and more red. “Bring ye the moon? The stars? The heavens? I shall, if but only to see ye look upon me fondly!”

  “Frederick!” Aggie chastised, but only half-heartedly. “Stop! P-people are starin!”

  “Aye, they are,” he said as he kissed the top of her hand. “But no’ at me. They stare because ye be so bonny!”

  Findal and Ian could not resist joining in the fun. They each fell to their knees in supplication before Aggie. Ailrig, not wanting to be left out, quickly followed in behind them. “If ye be Frederick’s Queen, then ye be our queen,” Ian said. “Yer wish is our command, our queen.”

  “Whether it be dragons ye want slain, or stars pulled from the sky, if it is yer will, it will be done,” Findal said with the most mischievous grin.

  Aggie looked to Frederick, pleading with her eyes for him to stop the silly game. Her smile was fading rapidly. He knew she did not like to have attention drawn toward her. He raised a brow and smiled up at her. “And if ye wish the hellions behind me to leave ye be, just say the word, o’queen.”

  Aggie swallowed hard and took a deep breath. She knew they meant well and were only jesting. Not at her but for her. Though she did not care to be singled out, whether for good reasons or bad, she refused to allow that fearful part of her to gain a foothold. “’T-tis is a q-quest ye seek?” She gave each of them a sly smile. “Verra well th-then! I wish f-fer more ale. And a b-bit more venison.”

  Ian, Findal and Ailrig shot to their feet. “Aye, as ye wish, my queen!” they said as they bowed at the waist and scurried off to do her bidding.

  Frederick stood and cast her a somewhat cautious smile. “Ye would make a verra fine queen, Aggie.”

  “Och! Ye speak n-nonsense,” Aggie said. Eying him closely, she could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down and a light sheen of sweat covered his brow. Was he nervous? What on earth could he have to be nervous about?

  He shook his head. “Nay, I speak the truth.” He pulled her to her feet and looked into her eyes. “Ye may no’ be the Queen of Scotland, but I’d be verra honored should ye think yerself me queen.”

  The sincerity in his voice and eyes stole her breath away. She suddenly realized he was no longer jesting, he was profoundly genuine in his request. Mayhap he did, in fact, want more from her than what she had previously thought.

  Twenty-One

  AGGIE WOKE LONG before sun-up. Ailrig was nestled in beside her, fast asleep with one arm outstretched. His other hand rested on the little wooden sword on his chest. He was such a good, handsome little boy and she could not be more proud of him. He was letting his hair grow out so that he could be more like Ian and Findal. Now, his dark brown curls hung past his shoulders.

  Aggie looked fondly at this little man. Frederick and Ian, as well as the other Mackintosh men, were having a tremendous impact on Ailrig. He no longer walked about the keep, keeping to the walls, avoiding people as Aggie did. Ailrig now walked with his head held high, his shoulders back as if he owned the world. He walked like a warrior. With pride and purpose.

  Though she tried to have the same confidence as her wee little man, she worried she fell far too short of her goal. She wished she had the same carefree innocence as the little boy beside her.

  Aggie pulled the fur up and covered Ailrig. He didn’t move a muscle. The boy slept like a rock most of the time; one more thing she envied him.

  As she lay there in the early morning hours, she heard the soft crackle of the fire, and something else that made her heart seize. She strained her ears to listen. The faint sound of someone near her breathing. She lay paralyzed with fear for some time before she realized it sounded more like someone in deep sleep than someone ready to pounce.

  Carefully, she turned her head ever so slightly and took the chance to open her eyes, just a bit.

  ’Twas Frederick! She breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He was asleep in the chair that sat between her bed and the fireplace.

  Immediately, she felt foolish. Not once in these past few weeks had she given thought to where the man slept at night. He was always gone before she arose each morn. She had assumed he slept in her auld room across the hall, with Ian and Findal. They had taken up residence there the day after she and Frederick were married.

  Cringing, she felt like an idiot. She’d been so focused on all he was giving her that she hadn’t thought to what she should or could give him. This fine man deserved more than a hard chair to sleep in at night!

  What to do with Ailrig was simple enough, even if it left a bittersweet feeling in her stomach. The boy was nine years old. She had been sharing a room with him since the day he was born. Events over the past several years prohibited allowing the lad to sleep below stairs with the men. ’Twas bad enough they teased and taunted him during the day. Who knew what they’d do to him at night?

  For their own sense of comfort and safety, she and Ailrig had remained together, sharing the little room across the hall. They each had their own pallets and blankets. But on very cold nights, they would often snuggle together on one in order to keep warm.

  Her decision was made. She would ask Findal and Ian if Ailrig could share the room with them. Ailrig, she was certain, would jump at the chance. How Ian and Findal might feel remained to be seen.

  Guessing that there was an hour or more before the sun would rise, she could not in good conscience allow her husband to continue sleeping in the chair. The bed was barely big enough for she and Ailrig. Adding Frederick to the mix was out of the question. There simply was no room for him.

  Her second decision was made. She would rise now to get an early start on her day. She could light a candle and sit in the far corner and sew.

  Careful not to disturb Ailrig, she slid out of the bed. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet. She was slipping into her boots when Frederick’s harsh whisper broke through the quiet morn.

  “What be wrong?” he asked, sitting up and looking about the room. His hand immediately went to the dirk in his belt. The poor man was fully dressed! She cursed her own stupidity before answering.

  “N-nothing!” she whispered back. “I – I…” she began searching for an appropriate way to say I’ve been a selfish idiot and I want ye out of the chair and in the bed. Please, fergive me.

  Frederick rubbed his eyes with his palms and shook the cobwebs of sleep from his mind. “Be there somethin’ ye need?” he asked. His voice was hoarse from sleep.

  I need to think of ye fer a change, she thought to herself. “Nay.”

  He eyed her for a moment. “Yer never up this early,” he remarked.

  That wasn’t necessarily true. She had never had the opportunity to sleep in past dawn before, not until Frederick had come into her life. “We c-can discuss it later,” she told him. “Come n-now. Ye c-can have the b-bed. I have things t-to do.” She nodded her head in the direction of the pillow whilst she pulled Frederick’s robe on.

  “No’ without escort,” he told her.

  Aggie rolled her eyes. “I be no’ leavin’ the room. I have sewin’ I want to do. I be done sleepin’ ye ken?”

  Frederick eyed the bed. It had been some time since he’d slept in a comfortable bed. Or any bed for that matter. His neck ached from all the nights he slept in the chair acting as sentry for his wife.

  “Are ye certain?” he asked as he stood.

  Aggie had to tilt her head all the way back in order to look up into his eyes. Even disheveled as he was, with sleep in his eyes and voice, he was still a very handsome man to look at. “Aye, I be certain,” she squeaked nervously. Clearing her throat, she ordered him to bed. “Off with ye n-now, Frederick. I’ve m-much sewin’ I want to do.�
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  He ran a hand through his hair and let loose a relieved and thankful breath. “Thank ye kindly, Aggie,” he said as he carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. A moment later, he was on his back with a hand thrown over his face. Resisting the urge to giggle at how easy it was to get the poor man into the bed, she drew up a fur and covered him with it.

  Mayhap that is what ye need to do, Aggie, to get him to kiss ye. Wait until he is too tired to fight ye. She drew her lips inward to keep from laughing out loud at her own jest.

  As quietly as she could manage, she added a log to the fire to help warm the room. Then she drew the chair into the furthest corner from the bed, lit a tallow candle and picked up her sewing. Unlike Rose, Aggie didn’t like to sit by a window to do her sewing, at least not any window that looked out over the glen, as the windows in this room did. Instead, she much preferred to have her back to them.

  She had done more sewing in the past weeks than she had in the past five years. Sewing had not ever been something she took enjoyment in. Nay, Aggie much preferred to tend to chores that took her out of doors. She even preferred cleaning the keep over sewing.

  Frederick had insisted that she take up the task during her convalescence. And since she was no longer allowed to do things he felt beneath the mistress of the keep, such as milking cows, tending animals and cleaning the privies, she was left with a good deal of free time.

  Her mind wandered hither and yon whilst she sewed dainty little flowers into a piece of fabric Rose had given to her. ’Twas a square piece of white silk and Aggie thought it much too fine a fabric to practice on. Rose had insisted, however, explaining to Aggie that she not only needed to practice the actual stitches, but how those stitches might change from one fabric to another. “And think how proud Frederick will be when ye master it,” Rose had told her.

  Frederick.

  Her thoughts inevitably turned to the large man sleeping in the small bed just a few steps away. One way or another, she was going to prove to him that she was worthy of being his wife. She imagined it might take a decade or two before she accomplished that feat. Still, it was a task worth taking in her mind.