‘I’m sorry.’ She spoke just once. Alasdair had returned from a bloody battle where too many men had been lost and, exhausted and beaten, still, he came to her door
‘I’m sorry Laird.’
‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Bridie,’ Alasdair said.
She looked at his bruised, battered face, loathed that she was so weak, that she had done nothing to help in the castle while the men were away.
‘Angus found the brute who did this.’ He struggled to keep the malice from his voice, Bridie did not need it, but it was the hardest battle he had fought and the Laird had fought many. ‘He’s been dealt with, Bridie. All you have to do now is get well.’
Yet, over the coming months he started to understand better Mrs Moffat’s words – for perhaps the Lord did take her that bleak morn, for it would seem that the Bridie he knew was gone.
Her injuries had faded, she moved back down to the servants quarters but her soul seemed to have been taken and barely a word did she speak.
Sometimes Mrs Moffat would walk her into the grounds for some fresh air and it pained Alasdair to see Bridie taking such tentative steps, when she used to laugh and run.
‘Come on now Bridie!’ Mrs Moffat lost her patience more than once and as Bridie sat on a stone bench and stared mutely out to the loch she tried to reach her. ‘You cannae let that scoundrel ruin your life – this is a working castle, you cannae sit idle forever. The Laird is to marry soon, the new Lady might not put up with a maid that does nothing…’
But Bridie just sat.
‘Good afternoon, Bridie.’ Alasdair greeted her as he walked past but Bridie did not answer and he stared for a long moment into the dull eyes that met his.
‘Answer the Laird when he speaks with you.’ Mrs Moffat nudged.
‘Dinnae scold her.’ Alasdair said. ‘Bridie will speak when she’s ready.’
Just no one knew when.
‘She may never come back,’ the healer said and then he told Mrs Moffat and the Laird something else – that the event they all so badly wanted forgotten would stay with Bridie forever now, for she was having a baby.
‘Bridie.’ Mary’s voice was soft at the door and again Bridie did not turn. She was lying on her side staring out of the window so she could not see Mary’s swollen eyes and she did not move as Mary climbed on the bed beside her and cuddled into her friend. ‘Mrs Moffat spoke with me.’ Mary’s voice was thick with tears but she attempted to veil the shock from her voice, for Mrs Moffat had just told her the truth. ‘I know you didn’t fall.’ She took her friends hand. ‘I know you’re having a baby. You’re not to be scared Bridie, Mrs Moffat says she’ll make plans for the bairn. I’m so sorry for what happened to you Bridie.’
And Mary got a small squeeze of her hand.
‘Leave her now…’ Mrs Moffat came in and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I’ve spoken with the priest.’ She rubbed Bridie’s shoulder, worried at how thin she had become. ‘His sister, Lara Campbell, well, she’s desperate for a wee one of her own, so you’re not to worry about raising it. Once the baby is here and weaned…’ she watched as a tear slid out of Bridie’s eye. ‘Well, you can start to get on with your life again. Put it all behind you.’
Summer came and looking out from the castle one afternoon, Alasdair saw her, sitting alone and staring out to the Loch as she always did, but there was a hopelessness in her manner that disturbed him and he decided he might take a walk.
‘Good afternoon, Bridie.’
‘Laird.’
Unusually she answered him and Alasdair joined her on the stone bench, but instead of goading her to speak, he looked out to the loch as Bridie did, content to join her in silence but, after a while, came Bridie’s voice. ‘I’m sorry for the burden, Laird.’
He turned and looked at Bridie - her hair blew in the soft breeze, she was dressed in a kirtle, but despite the warmth of summer she was wrapped in a rug and her freckled face was so pale, the once vivid green eyes were like dusty jewels and he wanted them polished and shining again - he wanted her back. ‘You’re no burden, Bridie.’
‘I’ve no’ been working. I’m no’ earning my keep.’
‘Dinnae worry about that.’ Alasdair said. ‘This is your home, Bridie. What that animal did…’ He went to swallow his loathing before continuing, except it was Bridie that spoke next.
‘Animals.’ Bridie said, and Alasdair’s heart thumped a tattoo of rage that he knew for Bridie’s sake must stay silent if there was to be any hope that she speak, but he silently vowed to track them down. ‘They took turns with me.’ Her voice was dull as she stated it and he wanted to take her hands, he wanted to put his arm around her and hold her, but for all she had been through he was worried that it might make things worse. He sat with her silence and patiently waited and, a good while later, as if there had been no pause in the conversation, again Bridie spoke. ‘And there’ll be a baby.’ He saw her brow move to a frown as if she simply could not fathom that a baby grew in her womb. ‘That’s two burdens Laird.’
‘You’ve never been, nor will you ever be a burden, Bridie and it will be the same for your bairn.’ There was so much more he wanted to say, he knew Mrs Moffat had spoken with the priest, he just wished he knew what Bridie might want. ‘Would you like to walk?’
But Bridie didn’t answer him, for she was back to her own world - just staring into the loch and Alasdair might as well not have been there, but he stayed till Mrs Moffat came to bring her back from the grounds.
‘Bridie’s not to be left alone.’ Alasdair pulled the auld woman aside.
‘The fresh air’s good for her.’ Mrs Moffat retorted. ‘I cannae be siting out in the sun all day with her. I’ve a kitchen to run.’
‘Well then, Mary or one of the others is to be with her.’ Alasdair would not be swayed – Bridie’s listlessness and the dull despair in her eyes had disturbed him. ‘You’re to keep me informed about the baby.’
‘I’m so worried….’ Mrs Moffat shook her head and she sighed in despair. ‘She’ll no survive the birth – what with her injuries and being on the verge of decline, she’s no got the energy for it. Bridie has no will to live. I’m forcing her to eat and it’s not enough for one as it is…’
It wasn’t enough, for Bridie didn’t get much bigger and as the seasons turned and the hillside started to turn to orange, he was told by Mrs Moffat that the midwife had been called for Bridie.
‘It’s too soon, is it not?’ Alasdair said.
He paced the castle floor, waited for her screams to pierce the night, but they did not and his heart ached that she laboured in silence, that not even the agony of birth could reach her.
And then, as the sun rose to greet another morning he heard the cries, not from Bridie, but from her bairn, small feeble cries that were far too weak.
Mrs Moffat came out and told him the baby was a girl and then she started to cry. ‘I don’t think she’ll make it.’
‘How’s Bridie?’ But he did not wait for Mrs Moffat’s answer – he wanted to see for himself.
He walked into the room and Bridie sat holding her infant. Bridie’s hair was dark from sweat, as if she had swum in the loch and her skin was by far too pale, like the wax on the candle by her bed. She was staring down at the baby she was holding as if bemused as to how she had got there. She was shaking just with the exertion of holding her and when her arms trembled Alasdair scooped the babe into his own strong arms. He had never held one, but even to his inexperienced arms he knew she was too small, for she weighed nothing. She reminded him of a skinned rabbit. Alasdair felt tiny fingers, as light as a sparrows claws, curl around his finger, looked at the little knots of red hair and then her eyes opened and china blue met his, eyes that seemed to reach in and tether a feeble heart to the strong, hardened one of the Laird.
‘We’re trying to find a wet nurse for her,’ Mrs Moffat told Bridie, for she did not want her getting too attached to the infant. ‘But for now you’re to feed her and the priest is coming to
baptise her.’
And Bridie’s eyes met the Laird’s.
‘I can’t lose her, Laird.’ She looked over to him and Alasdair swallowed, everyone had said she would want nothing to do with the baby when it came. ‘She’s my saving grace.’
‘Why don’t you call her Gracie then?’ Alasdair said but Mrs Moffat had other ideas.
‘The Campbells might want to choose her name….’
And Bridie held her hands out to hold her daughter. ‘Aye, well Mrs Campbell’s not the one feeding her.’ Bridie said. ‘She’s to be baptised, Gracie.’
And so she was, but from the tears in the room it was clear that the priest would soon be called back.
‘She’ll not make it.’ The midwife said away from Bridie’s ears. ‘Not this early and small - she’ll soon tire from feeding and she’ll not get enough nourishment.’
Gracie’s lips were hungry and at first willingly she fed, but in just a couple of days as the midwife had said she would, Gracie was tiring. Her mouth was slack at Bridie’s nipple and no amount of cajoling would waken her.
‘I can’t feed her Laird.’ Alasdair saw the hopelessness in Bridie’s eyes. ‘My milk’s dried up.’
‘It’s not your fault, Bridie..’
‘I should have eaten more.’
‘Bridie...’ The Laird did not know what to say, for he knew Bridie was fragile, knew she was exhausted and that if the bairn died then Bridie would only blame herself further.
‘I can’t lose her, Laird.’ Bridie kissed one tiny pale cheek. She held a rag that had been soaked in sheep’s milk into Gracie’s mouth, for they were trying anything now. ‘Is this to be my punishment?’
‘I’ll speak with the midwife again.’
Never had Alasdair felt more useless, always he had a plan, always he fought for what was right, but in this, it seemed, he was powerless.
‘There’s a woman in Glenbarach,’ the midwife reluctantly divulged when Alasdair demanded that she do more. ‘They call her a wise woman, though she’s more like a witch. She’s reared a couple that are smaller than Gracie but her ways are feared. She lives in the woods, she’s not allowed near the Glenbarach Castle…’
‘Go and get her.’ Alasdair went and spoke with Callum. ‘Go and speak with Hamish and, if that fails, ask to speak with Peter.’
‘Laird Glenbarach?’ Callum raised his eyes. ‘He’ll no give us something for nothing. What am I to offer?’
‘Hunting rights to the burn for a month.’ Alasdair said and it was a more than generous offer, for the traps were full and the deer were plenty.
‘And if no?’
Alasdair looked down to Gracie who lay pale and weak in her crib and he must remain strong, except he could not stand for Bridie to lose her. ‘Do what you have to, but get her here.’ He turned. ‘Go now.’
Chapter Three
Deep in the night the priest was called again and Bridie clung to an ailing Gracie, tears pouring down her cheeks as she was anointed.
‘Rest now,’ Mrs Moffat said.
‘I want to hold her.’
Bridie held her and tried to feed her but it was hopeless. Seeing Bridie weeping was too much for Mrs Moffat. ‘I’ll take her to the warm kitchen and try her again with some honey.’
‘I want to hold her.’ Bridie begged but Mrs Moffat took Gracie and Bride lay sobbing, her breasts swollen and sore, her womb aching for Gracie and her heart filled with dread.
Callum returned just after sunrise with the wise woman, a dark haired, wary beauty named Morag. Wrapped in a purple cloak, with a large pendant around her neck, her eyes were suspicious as she came into the kitchen where Mrs Moffat was watching wee Gracie. The baby lay flaccid in her crib and had not cried even once since last night.
‘I think it’s too late,’ Morag said as she saw Gracie’s sunken eyes and she unwrapped the blanket she was swaddled in and saw too the slack dry skin. ‘She’s too far gone.’
‘We were just about to take her to Bridie to try and feed her again, and I’ve sent a lad out to bring me the first goat’s milk, to try her with that.’
‘Where’s her mother?’ Morag asked, but when she heard she was in the servant’s quarters and resting between attempts to feed, Morag shook her head. ‘She’s to be in the warmest room and the bairn is to stay beside her and not be moved through the castle. Have the mother moved there now and then I’ll bring the infant to her, I’ll stay with the wee one for now.’
And so, since his was the warmest room in the castle, the laird was woken and Bridie found herself back in the laird’s bed.
‘You might as well move in for good…’ the laird growled as he carried Bridie through the castle and he was rewarded with just a hint of a smile.
Mrs Moffat tucked the fur rug around Bridie and sent for Mary to bring Morag, the wise woman.
‘Is she a witch?’ Mary’s eyes were wide, scared to go down alone and get her.
‘Go now,’ Mrs Moffat scolded, but she was nervous of Morag too, and more so when the door opened, for Morag just stopped in her tracks, stood there, as if transfixed, staring at Bridie.
‘Can you help my baby?’ Bridie begged.
Morag said nothing and the whole room stood silent, fearful of the wise woman and her strange ways. She stood, holding Gracie but staring at Bridie and, taking her heavy pendant in hand, Morag mouthed words, as if in prayer.
‘Is it a spell?’ Mary whispered and Mrs Moffat hushed her with a stern stare.
‘Please,’ Bridie sobbed, and the laird was growing impatient, as still Morag did not move, just stood holding a flaccid Gracie, but perhaps Bridie’s grief moved her, for suddenly Morag stirred.
‘I’ll do everything I can.’ Her voice was raw an earnest. ‘I want some hot water, warmed from this fire and put more logs on…’ Her eyes fell to the laird, but as Mary moved to oblige Morag stopped her. ‘No,’ said Morag. ‘It is to be him.’
And so the laird added logs and then everyone was sent from the room and Morag handed Bridie her babe.
‘You’re to drink this,’ Morag said and handed Bridie a long glass vial. She swallowed the disgusting brew without question, even if she had no idea what it might do.
‘Is it the laird’s babe?’ Morag asked as she took the water that was hanging over the fire and filled a small vessel.
‘No,’ Bridie said and Morag frowned as her hands tested the water, warmed by the logs he had thrown on the fire.
‘His energy is here.’ Morag said but Bridie did not understand. ‘It is a good energy.’ Morag smiled and lit a candle from the fire and put it beside the vessel. She then opened her bag and made a stew of herbs and oils chanting at the same time then Morag picked up a length of plaid and held it to the fire. ‘Take your kirtle off,’ she told Bridie.
‘That’s the lairds plaid,’ Bridie said for she was worried to see Morag tearing it.
‘It holds warmth,’ Morag said as she wrapped a length around Bridie’s body and the other pieces stayed warming by the fire.
Then she unwrapped Gracie and Bridie just about folded over when she saw the wasting body, for her legs were like wee twigs and lay idle and her arms hung down as Morag lifted her to the vessel and washed her in the strange liquid.
‘Love her,’ Morag said to Bridie and then sang a song as she bathed Gracie. ‘Don’t fear her,’ she said. ‘You must gaze on her now with love.’
‘I do love her…’
Bridie did.
‘There must be no fear.’ Morag said. ‘Think of her bonny and plump and crying as she did when she was born.’ Bridie tried to let her fears go, tried not to think of death and punishment, just looked to her scrawny infant and remembered the cries that had gently pierced dawn, thought of those slack lips as they once had been - searching and hungry and as Morag sang, Bridie ached to feed her, a rush coming into her breasts, a wet patch on the plaid as she dripped with longing to feed her infant.
‘Put honey to your breast,’ Morag said and though they had tried that already,
it felt different now, for Bridie’s breasts were dripping and aching. Morag brought Gracie over, pressed her to Bridie’s engorged breast and then wrapped them both in the plaid and added another warm layer. Bridie felt Gracie’s skin next to hers, held her close, skin to skin, as she never had, and slowly Gracie seemed to warm, stirring in Bridie’s arms, her little mouth searching for nourishment.
‘She’s feeding.’
Bridie’s eyes shone with hope, but it dimmed, for after a few suckles, Gracie tired again.
‘She stays here now,’ Morag said. ‘Warmed by your skin, fed from you.’
Morag was patient, milking Bridie’s breasts, drip feeding tiny Gracie and over and over she changed the outer layer of plaid with the one that warmed by the fire, till Bridie’s face was flushed with heat.
Finally the wise woman said to let Gracie rest. ‘But not for long,’ she warned.
Gracie slept at her mother’s breast and regularly the outer plaid was changed and finally, the cloth between Gracie’s legs was wet.
‘Feed her again.’ Morag held her pendant chanting to the sun by day and at night the moon and over and over Bridie fed her bairn.
‘Should we let her sleep?’ Bridie asked one time, for Gracie looked so content.
‘She’ll sleep till she’s dead if you leave her,’ Morag said, not looking at Bridie and smeared honey on Bridie’s nipple again.
‘How do you know what to do?’ Bridie asked later, when Morag woke from dozing and instructed Bridie to feed.
‘I’m not here to answer your questions,’ Morag said. ‘Just to get your bairn well.’
Bridie knew that Morag loathed being in McClelland, as much as Bridie would loathe being sent to work at the Glenbarach castle. She wasn’t offended by Morag’s silence, just so grateful that day-by-day Gracie grew more vigorous and more and more Bridie loved her.
‘We’ve found a wet nurse.’ Mrs Moffat told her a good week later and Bridie held Gracie close. ‘And when she’s plumped the Campbell’s are waiting.’
‘No.’
Bedded by the Laird (Highland Warriors) Page 2
