Wedgewick Woman

by Patricia Strefling

  “And ‘tis my fault.” Annabel spoke, her brown eyes wide.

  “”Tis not your fault, Annabel.” Phoebe said impatiently. “You are not a warrior. He is. That is why ye are in here and he is out there.”

  Phoebe had hoped to calm her heart, but had unknowingly pitched her heartbeat up a few beats.

  “What would the people do if Laird Carmichael were killed.”

  “He is wise. He is peaceful. Do not worry overmuch. If Fergus, Ross, Ewan and Cameron and his people have anything at all to do with it, they will prevail. I have assurance of it.” she finished, a smile on her face. “For the Laird has gained a liking in this part of Scotland and with the newly acquired Campbells fighting for him…they will know what the evil Laird of theirs is about and tell all.”

  “You love this land don’t you Phoebe?”

  With all my heart.” she said quietly. “It is my home, now.”

  They shared a look.

  Suddenly there were sounds like rocks pinging at the glass windows. “What is it?” Annabel feared.

  “Tis the arrows hitting.”

  “They are inside the walls?” She was shocked.

  “ Nay. They have catapults that shoot the arrows. The Laird’s men are at the parapets though and will soon rid the Campbells of their weapons.”

  Phoebe’s strong voice settled her nerves.

  “How do you know all that?” Annabel wondered gathering Eleanor into her arms.

  “Fergus tells me.” She smiled. “He protects his Laird with all his heart.”

  “Yes.” Annabel said, the sound of glass shattering below in the courtyard. Her eyes darted to Phoebe’s and she was comforted. She watched as Phoebe went to a far window and pulled the curtain aside for a peek.

  “There is fire. They have set the bungalows afire.” She said calmly.

  “How? Are they within the walls?”

  “Fear not. The Campbell Laird is cruel. He catapults his men over with fire on their arrows and before they’ve gotten more than a single arrow off they are pelted with a dozen of our own.”

  “Oh. It is awful.” Annabel whispered.

  “Aye. It is but Fergus has taught me that freedom does not come without death and he is willing to fight for it.” Phoebe lifted her chin.

  “You love him with all your heart.” Annabel stated.

  “Aye.”

  “You have chosen well, Phoebe.”

  Phoebe glanced at her friend. “You would do well to see that the Laird cares for you.” She whispered.

  “For me?” Annabel laughed nervously. “He abides me.”

  “Nay, I see things in his eyes that you do not see.”

  “”Tis only the kindness of a stubborn Scot…with a good heart.” she laughed lightly.

  “Then you are blind, Annabel.”

  “I am a Wedgewick, Phoebe.” Annabel closed the subject.

  The castle was bombarded for several hours and then there was a sudden quiet about the place.

  “What has happened? I do not like the quiet.” Annabel worried, slipping Eleanor into her bed. “Is she safe here, Phoebe?” she asked.

  “She is safe. I will go below and see what has come about.” Phoebe said and slipped through the door, looking both ways before stepping out into the hall.

  Below stairs the castle began to fill up with male voices talking excitedly, even laughing. Annabel paced waiting for Phoebe’s return. She didn’t wait long.

  “Aye. It is over for the while.” She smiled. “It seems that Laird Campbell took two arrows to his backside and cannot ride, therefore cannot lead his people in the battle.” She shook with laughter. “Fergus’ arrows were true to the point.” She added.

  “Oh, Phoebe…then it’s over?”

  “Nay, it is only begun, but we have a reprieve of sorts for we will not see the Campbells fighting without their Laird. When he is well, the battle will go on until Laird Carmichael defeats him.”

  Annabel took a deep breath. At least they were safe for now.

  “Are we needed below?”

  “Aye, they would have the women come. The men are celebrating their good fortune and honoring Fergus this eve. We shall have a bit of fun.”

  “I will stay with Eleanor while you go below.”

  “Oh, no. Eleanor will be about the fray as well. The Laird likes to have her among the people, so she will know them and they her.”

  “I see.”

  “Bring Eleanor when she awakens…that will give you time to be with her. I shall go below and stand next to my Scot hero.” She smiled and was gone.

  While Eleanor slept Annabel pulled her best handmade dress from the trunk and smoothed the wrinkles. The blue silk material was sturdy. The lace bodice softened the line of the dress. It was cut well enough she felt it would do for the eve. She had not brought her beautiful gowns, intending to be working on the Mulhannon Lands.

  She finished her own hair, fashioning a small headpiece from brown feathers. It would have to do. The maids and wait staff were busy below, for the noise of talking and laughing could be heard even through the thick door.

  Eleanor woke talking. “Mummy.”

  Annabel found a long white linen dress for Eleanor and tied a blue ribbon around her tiny waist. “There now you are beautiful.” She declared and combed her daughter’s hair.

  Hand in hand they descended the stairs.

  There were long tables set up below and men, women, and children all about, talking, laughing, singing. Food platters were being passed down the rows and Mrs. Calvert was running about tending to this one and that one.

  “Come.” She saw a hand being held out to her. Laird Carmichael looking quite happy, took his daughter’s hand and sat, Annabel and Eleanor to his right. “It is a time to celebrate.” He laughed, handing the child a leg of mutton.

  The hours passed. The Laird was about the room laughing, talking, and slapping the backs of his men, especially Fergus, whose face was red most of the evening due to the attention he was receiving. It seems both his arrows had, shall we say, hit their mark. This from the Laird.

  After a time, Eleanor became cross. Annabel saw the Laird across the room and he was busy, so she took the child above stairs to put her to bed.

  “Papa?” The child cried.

  “I am here.” He called from the door. Annabel turned.

  “She waits for me to put her to bed. I saw you ascending the stairs.”

  “Yes. I shall leave you then. Good eve, Eleanor.” She called seeing the smile on the babe’s face as she looked at her father.

  “You do not have to leave, Annabel…unless you wish it.” he offered and came to take the child from the bed.

  Annabel left.

  “She is angry with me.” He said to Eleanor and found a book.

  Chapter 36

  The castle returned to its normal duties. There was much damage from the skirmish to be repaired. Annabel felt out of place and heard the comments of the servants in the house when they didn’t think she was about.

  “It’s the English lass the Campbell Laird hates, for her weakness. If she would have kept the lands he could have won the Mulhannon tract easily enough. Now he must fight the Laird Carmichael for them.” They said proudly.

  After several days Annabel felt the need to escape. Just that morning the Laird Carmichael had eyed her angrily and she did not know what she had done. It must be, she reasoned, that her presence was making the battle between the Campbells and the Carmichaels a laughingstock. Not just because she was English, but also because of the name she carried, which she was not even certain was her true last name.

  Certainly she has been disinherited. Perhaps now the Laird would not refer to her as another Wedgewick woman.

  For the next two days she spent as much time with Eleanor as possible and secretly packed a small valise. Her heart could take no more. The angry look from the Laird had been her undoing. She loved him, knew it now deep in her heart, and could not abide his anger for a moment longer.
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  When she thought him gone on a journey, she left a note for Phoebe, funds for the horse she was going to steal and made her way to the stables with her valise early before the castle was awake.

  While the stable boys were busy feeding the animals she took Cork’s horse, for he was docile enough for her to ride, asked God to forgive her for stealing, and set herself upon the mount. Quietly and without notice she slipped out. Getting through the gates was going to be another problem.

  “Open.” She yelled at the guards.

  “We cannot without the Laird’s order.” One returned.

  “It is the Laird who has ordered me out of the castle.” She said smartly.

  To her everlasting amazement they opened and she rode out across the bridge and was free. Stopping the mount for a last look about she sat and gazed, her eyes roving the new spring grasses now bright green; the fields of white daisies, and yellow buttercups strewn among them. Her heart nearly failed, but it was best, for she could not abide the disapproval of the man she loved.

  The horse tossed his head and she pulled the reins lightly and turned him toward London. She hoped she remembered the way and rode slowly drinking in each hill, the stand of birch to her left, the tall upright stones she now knew were called henges, to her right. The smell of fresh earth and dew-dropped grass filled her nose. Her broken heart, at last felt a sad kind of contentment. The hills of Scotland, the misty look of them, would forever be held dear in her mind and in her eyes.

  Hour after hour she rode the spongy roadways not allowing her thoughts to go to Cork, or Eleanor, or Phoebe…she would miss Phoebe and Fergus’ wedding. She tried, with the most difficulty, not to think of Laird Carmichael. For each time she did she wanted to turn her mount back and beg to be taken back in.

  Forcing her eyes to stay on the road ahead, she stopped for a few minutes and let the horse drink from a small stream and ate a small cut of cheese and an apple, then remounted and started again. She hadn’t thought of where she would sleep. It appeared her foolishness had preceded her wisdom in that regard.

  When it was nearing dusk she spied a set of trees near a hill dotted with large rocks. Hiding behind the largest rock, she spread her blanket and used her valise as a pillow. Laying on the rock studded grassy hills, she tuned on her side and watched as the sun slowly began its descent over the hills and wondered that God should be so good to the human race.

  It was then that she felt hooves beating the ground she lay upon. Someone was coming. Thankfully, she’d thought to tie her mount deep into the bushes. Pulling her knees up to make herself smaller, Annabel said a quick prayer. Lord help me. The sky was not yet dark which frayed her nerves. She could still be seen in the dim early evening light.

  She listened intently. It sounded like one horse and for that she was grateful even though her heart beat furiously.

  She hid her face in her hands and prayed. Lord, I want to go home. Please keep me safe. When the rider galloped past her she lifted her head and peeked between her fingers to see if he was gone. The movement must have caught his eye for the lone rider pulled his horse to a stop and turned in her direction. She was in full view from that side of the rock. She shut her eyes foolishly hoping whoever it was had not noticed her and would go away. It would be futile to run, she decided.

  When Annabel heard the sound of the horse galloping at a dead run straight toward her, her heart failed. She’d been found out. She stumbled to her feet to take whatever would come.

  Seconds later a black horse skidded to a halt; angry green eyes assaulted her with a disgust she had never seen before in the Laird’s face. His booted feet hit the ground…hard. “Have you no brains in your head woman?” he pointed to his temple. “Do you not know…nay you wouldn’t.”

  He gave her his back she knew to check his fiery temper.

  “Why because I’m English?” she yelled at his back. Her own ire was raised to a new high.

  “Aye. That would be some of it.” he allowed, and turned to accuse her. “Know ye not the Campbells ride these hills looking for someone like you? Vulnerable, a woman alone?” His shout echoed in the hills, his gloved hand pointed at her. “Laird Campbell would hold you until he forced my hand. Do you not see that?”

  “What would that be to you?” she plunked her hands on her hips, tired to death of holding back her own emotions, unable to stop the words that flowed so easily now.

  “You hate me and well you should. I have caused a war between the Campbells and the Mulhannons… and the Carmichaels.” She reminded him. “And I kept your child from you.” her voice wavered, “Not to mention causing James to lose his position. And you ask me why I leave the castle?”

  She turned away for a moment to gather her wits and turned back. “I’ve heard the servants talking. I know how they fault me for causing you trouble and don’t forget that I’m a Wedgewick woman as you have so often reminded me.” Annabel crossed her arms over her chest, the pounding of her heart beating in her head.

  He said nothing. Knight’s reins rested in his gloved hand.

  She rubbed her temples disagreeably and glanced upward noting his threatening stance. Annabel forced herself not to move backward.

  He stood, his huge body in outline against the dusky sky, black coat flapping in the wind. Even at eight feet away she could feel his angst by his stance; black booted feet braced wide apart, his muscular arms crossed over his more muscular chest. And he was grinning.

  “Why do you laugh at me again? I am leaving your Castle. You should be most happy to be rid of me.” She stomped her foot now.

  “It is good to see ye speaking up. Ye’ve been too docile, too easy on those that hurt ye. I didn’t know ye had a bit of temper in ye’re bones, lass, until just this minute.”

  Could that be because you don’t know me? I’m not like my sisters. She wanted to shout the words at him. She forced her gaze away from his laughing eyes and stared out over Scotland’s beautiful hills as they began to fade in the coming darkness. She couldn’t abide his joking manner.

  “Tis not as it seems.” He spoke quieter now.

  She said nothing, not understanding him in the least, as she worked her toe in the ground.

  “Lass, why do ye always run away when ye’re hurt?”

  “Because…because…” she thought for a moment, her heart racing. Please don’t ask me that. “What is that to you?” She shot back and turned her shoulder to him pretending to look at the landscape she loved so well, hoping he could not see the tender emotions of love on her face.

  When he didn’t say anything, she gathered her breath, schooled her face, then forced herself to turn to her accuser. The smile had gone from his face. He was waiting for an answer. And a Scot never waited long.

  “I don’t know why I run.” she began and stopped, looked away and back again. “All I know is that I want to go home.” Her arms flew in the air in complete frustration and hating herself she started to cry.

  The moment her arms went up, he dropped the reins and closed the distance between them. He looked down into her soft brown eyes full with tears, bent his knees, wrapped both arms around her middle and lifted her.

  “Put me down…you…you…Scot.” Instantly her flailing hands pushed at his wide shoulders, then grabbed a fistful of his coat for support as her feet left the ground.

  “When I am finished with ye, I’ll put ye down.” He said in the strangest voice. “Now cease yer wiggling, lass.”

  Her breathing stopped as Annabel slowly realized that she was being held lovingly. The big Scot wasn’t staring at her or yelling angrily. She stopped fighting and dropped her eyes to meet his. They were filled with love. She saw it and let out a gasp.

  One thick arm left her waist and she felt his hand stir in her hair at the back of her head.

  “I would have a kiss from ye.” He ordered.

  She leaned her head back and whispered, “Are you … sure?” Still stunned to find herself wrapped in his arms the look of love there in his eyes
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  “Is a Scot ever wrong?”

  “But I’m a Wedgewick…and you hate…”

  She never finished for before the words were barely whispered, he had taken her mouth in a kiss, soft at first, then with more urgency. Annabel relaxed against him and she felt his strength coming through her body as his lips played gently with hers.

  His hand fussed with the pins in her hair. Her hand flittered about trying to stop him and he pushed it away. Suddenly the heavy silkiness splayed across his arms.

  Her mind could scarcely embrace what was happening. Some moments later he lifted his handsome face and looked into her eyes as he let her slide to the ground. He removed his gloves and released them. She heard them thunk on the ground.

  “In future, I would have ye run to me and not away from me, lass.” He whispered as he gathered her against him. Her knees weakened and as if he knew, he lifted her off her feet again, his warm hands encircling her waist. Annabel watched in awe as his beautiful green eyes sought hers. Moments passed like minutes and then he kissed her again.

  Sometime later he let her slide to the ground once more, but his hands remained at either side of her waist. “Have you anything to say now?” he questioned.

  “Nay.” She whispered in the Scot accent. “Nay.”

  And he kissed her again.

  Epilogue

  At his insistence Annabel had been ensconced in front of the Laird on Knight, Cork’s horse tied to the saddle, followed behind. Barely a word passed between them as they rode through the night. Annabel would forever remember the comfort of his strong arms as they rested about her securely, the feel of his heartbeat at her back. Her lips softly bruised from his kisses. She ran her hand along his arm and felt the scar.

  “Cork?” she whispered.

  “Aye.” He said in the dark and wondered how she knew.

  Lee savored the caress of her long silky strands of scented hair as they blew across his face and the press of her slender back relaxed against his chest. She would fight him no more.