Rowan's Lady

by Tisdale Suzan

  She’d come to fight it out with him, not assault him.

  “Rowan, I--” she didn’t know what to say. She took a step toward him.

  “Nay!” Rowan snapped. “Stop before ye kill me!”

  Her eyes grew wide with horror as she stood as still as a statue. Oh, lord, help me.

  Rowan let out an exasperated breath, took her hand and sat her in the chair in front of his desk. He remained quiet as he rubbed his forehead and tried to gather his thoughts.

  They sat in tense silence for quite some time before Rowan finally spoke.

  “Lady Arline,” he said as calmly as he was able. “I take it ye have somethin’ ye need to discuss?”

  Arline swallowed hard as she tried to dislodge her voice from her throat. She was studying him closely. For a drunkard, he certainly looked quite healthy. She had expected to see the remnants of a four-day drunk, red and bloodshot eyes, an unshaved face and trembling hands. Instead, she saw the same handsome, strong and well kempt man she had seen days ago. It made no sense, no sense at all.

  “Well?” Rowan asked after a considerable amount of silence passed between them.

  Arline shook her head slightly. “Yes?”

  “Why are ye here?” he asked. She seemed quite distracted.

  “Och! That!” she said, scooting closer to his desk. “Yes, I did in fact wish to see ye, Rowan.”

  Rowan glanced at Daniel and Frederick. They looked just as confused as Rowan felt. She was acting quite odd.

  Arline spotted the remnants of a tray of fruits, cheeses, meats and breads on the corner of Rowan’s desk. Just sitting there. How could they let food go to waste like that when their larder was lacking? They could at the very least give it to the poor children!

  “Lady Arline?” Rowan asked, breaking her train of thought.

  “Yes?” she said, glancing back at the tray.

  Rowan finally noticed that she was indeed quite focused on the tray of food. More than once she licked her lips and swallowed hard.

  “Lady Arline,” he repeated as he took the tray and slid it in front of her. “Would ye like somethin’ to eat?”

  She licked her lips again with a look of longing in her eyes. “Nay, thank ye. Mayhap ye should give it to the children.”

  Rowan thought it an odd request, but then she was acting out of sorts. “Me lady, please, tell me what it is that ye needed to discuss with me.”

  With tremendous will, Arline pushed the images of the food from her mind, took a deep breath and proceeded to tell Rowan Graham just what was on her mind.

  “While I do appreciate yer kind offer of a position here, among yer people, I am afraid that I canna continue on like this, me laird. I do no’ ken what I did that angered ye so, or made ye turn to drink. Whatever it was, I will apologize fer it, here and now. But, I’m afraid I canna go on like this. While I am glad fer a roof over me head, and the pallet ye provided and the fur, it is no’ quite enough to keep the cold out. A few pieces of wood at night would have been sufficient. And to say ye want me here as Lily’s governess, then to forbid me to see her, well, that just doesna make any sense, me laird, no sense at all.”

  Rowan tried to ask her what the bloody hell she was going on about, but she did not give him time to ask. She went on, occasionally distracted by the food on the desk.

  “I am no’ sayin’ that ye need to drape me in the finest fabrics, but to deny me even the use of a bone needle to repair me dress? I would think even prisoners get to repair torn clothes! And to call me the things ye’ve been callin’ me? I canna abide that either me laird. I simply canna remain silent. All that I ask of ye is an escort to Inverness. I realize now, that ye dunna want me here, and that is all well and good, though it does perplex me why ye asked to begin with. And I still dunna ken why ye hate me so much! I be no spy. And I’m no’ a witch either!” She took a deep breath, licked her lips again, and went on. “And the porridge! Och, I hate the bloody porridge! But I eat it, just to keep me strength up mind ye. I mean, I canna eat bread just twice a day and expect to survive!” She took another deep breath and wiped an errant tear from her cheek.

  The last thing she wanted was for Rowan Graham to think he’d broken her spirit. She’d be damned if she would allow it to happen or allow him to know it.

  “I ken there be a good man in ye, somewhere, me laird. I’ve seen him, I have. With me own eyes. Please, I will beg ye if I must, but please, at least give me a horse!” The memory of the night Garrick threw her out of his keep sent shivers down her spine. She sent a silent prayer up to heaven that Rowan would at the very least, allow her a horse when he tossed her out.

  Her emotions were getting the better of her. She took deep breaths to steady her nerves. Her hands trembled and she began to feel light headed. She sat in silence, waiting for Rowan to respond.

  “Me lady, I have absolutely no idea what yer goin’ on about,” he said as he leaned forward in his chair.

  Arline rolled her eyes at him. Was it possible that he’d been so drunk that he could not remember any of his directives or orders? “I am wantin’ to ken why ye are so angry that ye won’t let me mend me dress, why ye took the firewood and brazier away, why ye refuse to let me see Lily, why ye only give me bloody porridge and stale bread twice a day! And why the bloody hell you keep callin’ me Blackthorn’s whore!”

  He sat there in silence, as astonished as he was confused. His voice cracked ever so slightly when he finally spoke again. “Arline, I never did any of those things to ye.”

  The tears fell, one by one, down her cheeks. “Nay, ye had others do it fer ye.”

  The accusations appalled him. He started to stand, changed his mind, and sat back in his chair.

  “Has the healer, mayhap, given ye somethin’ that might make ye a little daft?”

  It was Arline’s turn to be confused. “Healer? I’ve no’ seen the healer, me laird.”

  He tilted his head ever so slightly. “Did she not give ye something to help yer ribs when ye first arrived?”

  “Nay. I tell ye, I’ve no’ seen the healer at all.”

  Worry began to settle in the pit of his stomach. “And why have ye no’ joined us fer any of the meals?”

  She scrunched her brows together. The man was daft. “Me laird, I was told I could no’ join ye at the meals. I was told to stay out of yer way because ye were so angry with me.”

  Rowan remained silent, the anger boiling up inside him.

  He studied her closely. She seemed perfectly lucid and sincere. He detected no lies, nothing disingenuous on her part. She truly believed everything she was telling him. He noticed then that she was wearing her cloak. It had not been washed for it still bore the mud and berry stains from her fall down the side of the ravine.

  “Lady Arline, why are ye wearin’ yer cloak?”

  “To stay warm,” she sounded somber and embarrassed. “And to cover me dress. Ye’d no’ allow me to wash it or mend it.”

  “Show me.”

  Was the man truly insane? Had he drunk himself to insanity? Fine, if he wanted proof, she’d show him. She scooted the chair back and stood before him. She undid the ties of her cloak and pulled it open.

  The torn bodice hung limply at her waist. He could see where she had tried to remove the berry stains on her chemise for they were faded somewhat.

  Feeling as though she were some oddity on display, she burned crimson. She pulled her cloak closed and hugged herself with it and sat back down.

  Rowan saw her look at the tray of food again. “When was the last time you ate something other than porridge and bread?”

  “The cheese and apples ye gave me when we were comin’ here.”

  “And yer last good meal?” His jaw was beginning to ache from grinding his teeth.

  “Me last good meal? I suppose it was right before I married Garrick,” she said trying to add some levity to the room. She failed miserably.

  Rowan shot to his feet and gave Daniel and Frederick a few orders. “Go now, to the kit
chen. Find her some food, anything but bread and cheese!” He came around the desk and stood next to Arline. “And I want every last person in this keep assembled and in the gathering room now.”

  Daniel and Frederick left to do his bidding. Rowan gently took Arline by the arm and guided her to the chair next to the fireplace.

  “Lady Arline, I most humbly and sincerely apologize fer the way ye’ve been mistreated.” He went to the desk, grabbed the tray and brought it back to her.

  Rowan sat down on the stool in front of her and held the tray out for her and urged her to eat.

  “Nay, me laird,” she whispered and turned her head away.

  “Why will ye no’ eat?”

  “Give it to the children, me laird. They need it more than I.” She was exceedingly glad to see the old, sober Rowan had returned. There was no hint of the drunkard or the angry and belligerent man she’d been warned to stay away from.

  “Quit me lairding me and eat, lass.” He was growing more and more frustrated with her refusal.

  “Nay!” Arline shook her head. She would have loved nothing more than to devour every morsel left on the tray, but her conscience would not allow her to. “Please, give it to the children.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The children have eaten.” They were going around in circles.

  She gave him a look of pity, one that said, Och! Ye poor, poor man. She placed a cold palm on his cheek. “I ken that yer larder is bare, me laird. ’Tis nothin’ to be ashamed of. Many clans have fallen on bad times. I canna take food out of the mouths of children.”

  He placed the tray on his knees, dumbfounded, perplexed, and growing angrier by the moment.

  “Arline,” he said, trying to keep the angry edge out of his voice. “Ye have been sorely mistreated,”

  Arline removed her hand and placed it in her lap. With down cast eyes, she said, “Ye could no’ help it, me laird. Ye were too drunk to ken what ye were doin’.” She wiped her face on the sleeve of her cloak, unable to look at him.

  “Drunk? Who the bloody hell told ye that?” He could no longer shield his anger.

  Arline blinked as she looked up at him. “Lady Beatrice and Joan. ’Tis why ye’ve treated me so poorly. Ye could no’ help it. ’Tis why yer larder is bare, because ye drink too much and canna hunt or lead yer clan to prosperity.”

  He was too stunned, too angry to speak. He stood, sat the tray on the stool he had just occupied and turned away. He did not want her to see the fury as it boiled in his blood.

  Beatrice.

  It all began to make sense to him. Beatrice had lied to him and to Arline. Somehow, she had managed to convince Arline that Rowan was a drunkard. A drunkard who would take away her food, wood for her fire, and not even allow her a bone needle.

  “I be truly sorry for speakin’ of it, Rowan. I did no’ want to embarrass or humiliate ye. Me da sometimes drank far too much, but I think he drank fer different reasons than ye. Please, do no’ think that I hold ye in low esteem.” In truth, she could not continue to be angry with him, even after all he had done. If anything, she pitied the man, felt ever so sorry for him.

  Arline believed he was driven to drink after the loss of his wife. It was a pain he could not vanquish without the aid of whisky. ’Twas a shame, really, for she believed that if he were able to put the bottle down, he could be a remarkable man and leader. The poor soul.

  She had been so furious with him, just moments ago, that she could have beaten him over the head with a chair. Had he been drunk when she entered his library she might very well may have done just that.

  Standing before her was a proud man, the man she had grown to care so much about. The father of an innocent little girl who worshiped the ground he trod upon. The anger had slowly begun to evaporate when she caught sight of that man.

  “I be no’ angry with ye, Rowan. Ye couldna help yerself.”

  The pity he heard in her voice intensified his anger. He held no animosity toward Arline. Nay, his fury and rage he would reserve for one woman and her maid. His hands balled into fists. Never in his life had he ever wanted to physically harm a woman. Until now. This was beyond the pale.

  He took several deep breaths before turning to look at her. The pity she held for him was plainly evidenced in her teary eyes and the faint, sad curve of her lips.

  “Arline,” he cleared the anger from his throat and began again. “Arline, I can assure ye that me larder is no’ bare. Our children do no’ go hungry, I most certainly am no’ a drunkard, and I would never call ye Blackthorn’s whore.” His words were clipped and angry.

  He could see from her expression that she did not believe him. “Would ye like to see the larder? Would ye like me to bring the clansmen and children in one by one to tell ye that I speak the truth?” He paused and shook his head. “I swear to ye that I speak the truth.”

  He went to her then, bent to one knee and took her hands in his. “Ye’ve been lied to, lass. I have been worried over ye to the point that I canna sleep at night. Lady Beatrice has lied to us both. She told me that ye do no’ like it here, that ye want to go back to yer da, to Ireland.”

  Arline stared blankly into his brown eyes. He was pleading with her to believe him. There was such sincerity to his voice. She desperately wanted to believe him. It was difficult to believe that Lady Beatrice, the woman she thought her only true friend here would lie. Arline had thoroughly believed that only men were devious and masters of manipulation. The thought of a woman behaving in such a manner never entered her mind.

  Something in his eyes, the firmness of his voice, the quiet turmoil she saw simmering just under the surface of his calm exterior made her believe he was telling the truth.

  The sudden realization that she had been lied to, had been made to believe all the ugly, horrible things said about him left her feeling as though a wall of stone had just crashed onto her shoulders. She felt guilty and ignorant and terribly naïve all at once.

  She covered her mouth with the palm of her hand to stifle the cry and the curses that threatened. “I’m a damned, bloody fool.”

  Relief washed over Rowan when he saw clarity dawn in her wide eyes. He chuckled softly, squeezed her shoulders and smiled. “If ye be a damned, bloody fool then I am a thousand times worse.” He shook his head and let go of her shoulders. “I should never have believed the things Beatrice was telling me. I should have demanded that ye see me. Earlier, when I cam to see ye, I should have broken down the door and made ye speak to me.”

  Arline’s eyebrows drew inward. “Ye came to see me? When?”

  “Not more than a few hours ago. Right before the evening meal. I knocked and knocked but ye didn’t answer. Joan finally came to the door and told me ye were sleepin’.”

  Beatrice and Joan were far more devious than Arline would have given them credit for. “Rowan, I was no’ sleepin’ and I didna hear ye knock. Which room did ye visit?”

  “The room I gave ye four days ago, lass. Me mum’s auld room.”

  Her mind began to race with all the events of the past few days. Outrage began to build from the depths of her belly. “Lady Beatrice moved me out of that room days ago, Rowan. I’ve been stuck in a tiny room on the third floor. I’ve been sleepin’ on a pallet amongst empty trunks. They came today and took the brazier away, sayin’ ’twas by yer command. If ye had knocked on the proper door, I would no’ have turned ye away. I would have hit ye over the head with me chamber pot!”

  He chuckled again as he rubbed his fingers along his forehead. “I do no’ doubt it! Is that why ye came chargin’ in here earlier? To beat me senseless?”

  Shame turned her face beet red. “Aye,” she whispered, feeling all the more guilty and ashamed for having been so easily duped.

  Rowan patted her shoulder and smiled. “I canna say that I blame ye. I reckon I’d have felt much the same way.”

  He offered her the tray of food once again. This time she took it, placed it on her lap and ate without question, without rest
raint. “Would ye like somethin’ to drink lass?”

  With her mouth full of cheese, she nodded her head. “A dram of uisge beatha would be verra good,” she answered, plopping a plum into her mouth.

  Rowan’s brow quirked with surprise. “Ye like whisky?”

  Arline nodded in affirmation as she tore a hunk from the loaf of bread and stuffed it into her mouth. “Ye ferget, I be Irish. We’re weaned off our mum’s breast and onto the uisge beatha.”

  She took a knife from the tray, found a relatively clean spot on her cloak to wipe it clean. Butter! She could have cried tears of joy over the butter alone. She slathered a dollop onto a piece of bread and popped it into her mouth. Manners be damned, she was hungry!

  Rowan returned holding a bottle of whisky in one hand and a mug in the other. Arline set the knife down, brushed crumbs from her fingers and took the bottle.

  “Thank ye, Rowan!” she smiled and took a drink from the bottle. A moment later, she sighed a most contented and blissful sigh as the whisky spread from her belly to her extremities, leaving her feeling warm and happy.

  The look of bliss on her face, that happy, contented sigh reminded Rowan of the sounds a woman -- or a man -- made after a good round of loving. It made his groin ache.

  Arline took another drink from the bottle and sat it at her feet. “’Tis no’ bad whisky, fer a Scot that is.”

  He did not take her statement as an insult toward Scots. She was a woman just as proud of her heritage as he was his. Though Rowan felt Scots made much better whisky, he would not argue the point with her now.

  She took another drink from the bottle and handed it back to him. “I best be careful with that. I’ve not eaten well in some time and have had nothing but that awful bitter tea ye all are so fond of.”

  Rowan had no idea what she meant. “What bitter tea?”

  “Och! That tea Joan kept bringin’ me. ’Tis bitter and tastes like the devil himself peed in it!” She giggled at her own jest as she ate another plum.

  Rowan was just about to ask a question as it pertained to the tea but Frederick walked in, carrying a tray of food.