“We buried what we could, Rowan,” Frederick offered solemnly.
Rowan placed a hand on Frederick’s shoulder. “Thank ye, Frederick. I’ll speak to their families soon.”
Frederick cleared his throat before going on. “Derrick’s auldest brother, Patrick, was with me, Rowan. He’s agreed no’ to tell his mum and da the whole truth. We,” his voice cracked as tears welled in his eyes. “We didna think they needed to ken the entirety of it.”
Rowan agreed that it was probably best. ’Twas bad enough to know they were gone. To know their bodies had been so violated, slaughtered, would serve no good purpose.
“We left there as soon as we could, Rowan. About two days ago, we came across a group of six men, hiding out in the caves near Loch Breen.” Frederick cast a glance at Domnal who was standing to his right. Domnal had been there and was visibly shaken. It had been his first experience in hand-to-hand combat.
“They put up one hell of a fight, Rowan.”
Rowan raised an eyebrow. “How good a fight?”
“Good enough that we had to believe they were no’ Garrick’s men. They fought far too well.”
For days, Rowan had been convinced that Garrick Blackthorn was behind the attack, for several reasons. The main reason being that Garrick was the only man he knew who was foolish enough to attack in this weather and to send just five men. “I was certain it was Blackthorn men who had attacked. They wore no colors to prove it either way. We didna find anything in their belongings to identify them or who they may have fought for.”
“They were no’ Blackthorn’s men,” Domnal said quietly.
“Domnal is right,” Frederick added. “They were no’ Blackthorn men.”
Rowan waited patiently for someone to tell him who the hell it was that had killed his men and had tried to attack the keep. “Well?” he demanded, growing impatient.
“They were hired mercenaries. We were able to get information from one of the bastards before he died.” Frederick smiled wanly. “There are many more men coming, Rowan.”
Confusion grew on Rowan’s face. “What the hell do ye mean?”
“Someone hired these men. Supposedly, the six we came across were to remain at the border to wait fer reinforcements. They were instructed to kill any Graham man, woman or child they came across. They were to show no mercy. We learned that five men were sent ahead, to watch the keep. I can only assume that they attacked Lady Arline because she was out in the open.”
“That doesna make a damned bit of sense!” Rowan growled. “Did they no’ think we’d retaliate? Did they no’ think we’d fight back?”
“Nay, they did no’,” Frederick answered. “Fer they were told there were but a handful of auld men and women at the keep. They were told our men would no’ be here, ye’d all be drawn away and fightin’ to the west.”
The more Rowan learned, the less he knew. He shook his head in dismay. “None of this makes a damned bit o’ sense,” Rowan muttered. “How could anyone ken we’d no’ be here?”
“Because we were to have been attacked a sennight ago,” Frederick answered.
The storm had hit a sennight ago. Clarity dawned and Rowan’s eyes grew wide. “The storm.”
“Aye,” Frederick said. “The storm.”
“It stopped them from attackin’.”
“Aye, it did.”
They stood facing one another as the same thought that had occurred to Frederick suddenly occurred to Rowan. “If they were delayed by four days, that means,”
Frederick finished his line of thinking. “We could be attacked at any moment.”
“Bloody hell!” Rowan shouted.
“Aye,” Frederick said as he followed Rowan out of the room. “Bloody hell is right!”
Rowan found Selina in the hallway. “Find Lily now!” he barked. “Take her to my room. Send the healer there! Do no’ leave either me daughter’s nor Arline’s side.”
Selina did not take the time to question his order. She spun around to go find Lily.
Rowan shouted out orders as he thundered down the stairs. People were sent in different directions with orders to prepare for an imminent attack. In moments, the keep was a flurry of activity.
Frederick had tried unsuccessfully to gain Rowan’s attention as they bounded toward Rowan’s library. “Rowan!” Frederick shouted to his chief’s back. “There be more!”
Rowan flung open the door to his library. “I want every able-bodied man assembled in the gathering room within a quarter of an hour!” Rowan shot the order to one of his men.
Frederick shook his head and grabbed Rowan by the arm. “Rowan, I need ye to listen!”
“What is it?” Rowan ground out.
“There should be three hundred men, to the west of us. They’re waiting fer their orders to attack. They’ll no’ move an inch until they receive them.” Frederick waited impatiently for that information to sink in.
Rowan mulled this bit of news over in his mind. They could not withstand an attack of this magnitude. Whether their unknown enemy was well trained or not did not even factor into the equation. The enemy had sheer numbers on their side. Hope began to wane and he grew increasingly worried.
“Rowan, do no’ give up hope just yet,” Frederick said hopefully. “All is no’ lost, ye ken?”
“No I do no’ ken! We canna withstand an invasion of three hundred men.”
A smile grew on Frederick’s face. “Nay, we canna withstand an invasion. But, we can make certain the invasion never takes place.”
For a brief moment, Rowan thought mayhap Frederick had lost his mind. Curiosity begged him to ask the question. “What do ye have in mind?”
Frederick threw his head back and laughed heartily, sealing Rowan’s previous opinion as it pertained to the man’s soundness of mind.
“Och, Rowan,” Frederick said. “Pour me a wee dram and I’ll tell ye exactly what I be thinkin’.”
Less than an hour later, Rowan, Frederick and the others departed from their meeting in the library. Rowan was not only convinced that Frederick was indeed in complete control of his faculties, but that the man was brilliant.
Two hours later, Frederick, Daniel and nine of Rowan’s best fighting men had left the keep and headed west. If Frederick’s plan worked -- and there was a very good chance that it would -- then the impending attack on Áit na Síochána would never take place. Only time would tell.
On the off chance that Frederick and Daniel failed, Rowan had dispatched messengers to his closest ally, Caelen McDunnah, asking for his help in defending Áit na Síochána.
After his men left, Rowan donned a cloak and left the keep, heading directly to the chapel. It was a place he hadn’t stepped foot in since Kate’s death. He had stopped praying four years ago. This afternoon seemed as good a time as any to start again.
The chapel, a small stone building, stood on the east side of the keep. It was a simple, utilitarian building that could hold some two hundred people.
They had lost so many people four years ago, including their priest. Rowan, having given up on God, had made no attempts to find a replacement. The Black Death had been all the proof that Rowan needed to believe that God had turned His back on Rowan and his clan.
His stable master, Red John, acted as a priest of sorts, though not a celibate nor sober one. Nay, Red John was married and had eight children -- seven sons and a daughter. Still, he was the most qualified in that he had memorized the Bible, could recite any passage from memory, and most people considered him a kind, generous, and godly man. So he stepped in and led services three times a week.
Rowan paused outside the door of the chapel for several long moments. Before he entered, he asked for forgiveness for waiting so long to return and for thinking God had abandoned him.
Stepping inside the quiet chapel hadn’t been as difficult as he had imagined. The late afternoon sun shone through the windows, casting a soft, honeyed glow on the room. Little bits of dust floated in the air, dancing in the sunl
ight like tiny faeries.
He closed the door behind him and reverently walked to the altar. With no warm fires burning, his breath misted and hung in the air. Crossing himself, he knelt before God for the first time in far too many years.
Rowan prayed for many things over the next hour. He prayed repeatedly for having asininely believed that God had abandoned him when he knew it had been the other way around. Rowan had abandoned God.
He prayed for Arline, that she would recover and would agree to become his wife. He prayed for his daughter, that she would grow to be a fine young woman.
He prayed for his people, for his men whom he had sent in two opposite directions. He prayed for Lady Arline’s sisters. He even prayed for Mrs. McGregor.
He prayed for strength, patience, and the ability to see all the beauty that God had to offer and vowed never again to take things for granted. Beauty could be found everywhere, if one looked at things with one’s heart instead of one’s eyes.
Most of all, he prayed for the ability to control his temper, to be a kind and patient man to all. Just as he had begun his prayers with thoughts of Arline, he ended them there as well.
Please, God, let her live so that I might love her all the rest of me days.
Twenty-Five
Rowan returned his room and Lady Arline’s bedside with a wee bit more hope than when he had left it. Ora reported that Arline fared well and thankfully had not gained a fever. A fever meant infection and most likely death.
He hugged Lily, who had been sitting on the bed next to Arline. She looked so forlorn and full of woe that Rowan had to fight back tears. “Da,” Lily said as she sat on his lap. “Is Lady Arline goin’ to die?”
The question nearly sent him to his knees. He hugged her tighter, rubbed her back and tried to answer her question. “I do no’ think so, Lily. I went to the chapel and prayed for her.”
“Do ye think God heard ye?” Lily asked as she rested her head against his chest.
“Aye, he heard me.” But whether God would choose to grant his prayers remained to be seen. He would not pile his worries on top of hers.
Selina offered to take Lily down to the evening meal for which Rowan was grateful. Ora left with them after checking Arline’s wound.
Finally, he was alone with Arline. He brought his chair closer to her bed and took her hand in his. The dark circles under her eyes were such a stark contrast to her pale skin. What he would not give to have her wake so that he could first apologize for whatever he had done that had caused her to flee the castle. He could only pray that whatever wrong thing he had done, she could find it in her heart to forgive him.
He sat in quiet contemplation for some time, guardedly watching each shallow breath that she took. Ora had said she would soon begin to wean her from the potion that made her sleep so deeply. If kept on it too long, she might never recover, but if she woke too soon, she could be in a tremendous amount of pain. It was a dangerously precarious endeavor, trying to balance the two options.
Day finally gave way to night and still, she had not stirred. Rowan lit a candle and placed it on the table next to the bed and returned to his quiet vigil.
“Try talkin’ to her, Rowan.”
Rowan looked up to see Thomas standing in the doorway. He looked reticent, uncertain if his presence would be welcomed.
“Come in, Thomas,” Rowan said quietly. There had been a litany of things Rowan had prayed for earlier. One of those prayers had been that he would quit being an ass and stop blaming Thomas for what had happened to Arline. It was no more Thomas’ fault than it was Arline’s.
Thomas entered the room and stood across the bed from Rowan. Genuine sorrow could be seen in his eyes and countenance. “I be truly sorry, Rowan,” he whispered.
Rowan gave him a wave of his hand. “Nay. None of this is yer fault and I’m sorry fer blamin’ ye. As ye’ve witnessed in me before, auld friend, me anger sometimes makes me do and say foolish things.”
Thomas smiled his agreement. “’Tis true,” he chuckled. “It becomes more apparent when yer in love.”
Rowan could not deny that. “Aye, love makes a man sometimes act like a fool.”
“It can also bring out the best in a man,” Thomas said. “I never felt as perfect or as imperfect as when I was in love. ’Twas as if all was right with the world and I could handle anythin’.” Thomas had lost his sweet wife more than ten years ago. She had fallen down an embankment and crushed her head against a boulder. “Anythin’ but fer harm to come to me sweet Elisa.”
Rowan understood that feeling all too well. Elisa’s life had been cut far too short, as was the babe’s that she carried. Rowan doubted that Thomas would ever get over the loss.
“I am sorry, Thomas, fer bein’ an ass to ye. I hope ye can find it in yer heart to forgive me.”
Thomas shook his head. “I’ll forgive ye if ye’ll forgive me.”
So a silent agreement was made between the two friends. Rowan promised himself that he’d practice being more patient as well as not let his anger run away with his good sense.
“Ye should talk to her, Rowan,” Thomas told him again. “Let her ken that yer here.”
“I dunna ken if that is a good idea, Thomas. I’m the reason she left the keep to begin with.”
Thomas cast him a puzzled look.
“I dunna ken what I did, but I did somethin’ that angered her to the point that she fled the keep and climbed the wall to get away from me.”
Thomas looked at Arline then back to Rowan. “Ye must have done or said somethin’.”
Rowan had been wracking his brain for days trying to figure out what he might have said or done. He came up empty handed at every turn.
He recounted the events, as he remembered them, of what Arline had told him right before she fled.
“Christ,” Thomas muttered when Rowan finished. “The lass has had a rough time of it.”
Rowan nodded in agreement. “Aye, she has.”
“Did ye tell her ye were happy to learn she’s no’ barren? Did ye ask her to marry ye?” Thomas urged Rowan to continue with what happened after he had learned the truth behind Arline’s marriages.
“I didna get a chance! I was so happy, standin’ there like an eejit, so surprised I was. Ye couldna have wiped the smile from me face with an anvil.”
Thomas slapped his forehead with his palm and shook his head at his friend. “Ye were smilin’?”
“Aye,” Rowan answered, unclear why that made any difference. He’d been so happy, truly elated to know he could ask her to marry him without worrying over losing his chiefdom or Lily’s birthright.
Thomas let out an exasperated sigh. “Ye fool! The lass just shared the secrets of her life, her marriages, and ye smiled at her?”
Rowan couldn’t understand the significance for several long moments. When he finally gained clarity, he felt could feel nothing but relief. He hadn’t done anything unforgivable. And once he explained to Arline what he had been thinking, he knew she would forgive him.
“I’m a complete eejit!” he sighed. “An ass and an eejit!”
“Don’t forget loud.”
Arline’s weak and scratchy voice made the heads of both men spin in her direction.
She hadn’t heard the entire conversation, only the part where Rowan admitted to being the eejit she knew him to sometimes be. Her mouth was horribly dry, her tongue felt thick, as though it had grown too large for her mouth. She ran her tongue over her teeth and tried to swallow. It felt like she was swallowing a bucketful of sand.
Her brain pounded furiously against her skull and her shoulder felt like it was on fire. She had no idea where she was or what had caused her to feel like she’d been run over by a team of horses and a wagon.
“Water,” she scratched out. For the life of her, she could not open her eyes, her lids felt as heavy as lead.
Rowan jumped to his feet, relieved to hear her voice, even if it was weak and scratchy. He poured water from the pitcher into a small
bowl. He tried to conceal his utter joy and excitement, lest she open her eyes and see a smile on his face. He did not want to start their argument anew.
His hands trembled as he held the bowl to her lips. She took small sips at first, just enough to wet her mouth and throat. It hurt to swallow or move or think, let alone speak. She decided it best not to do anything but breathe.
She had no memory of how she came to feel so ill or in so much pain. The last thing she remembered was standing in her dressing room and being consumed with anger over something Rowan had either said or done. But what offense he had committed, she had no clear recollection.
After quenching her thirst she relaxed, feeling only slightly better. Her arms and legs felt insufferably heavy and she knew it would be impossible to move them, if she had the desire to make the attempt.
Though she had the sense of being asleep for an exceedingly long time, she did not possess the strength to even make the attempt to open her eyes to wake. The last thing she remembered before drifting off to sleep again was the warm sensation of Rowan’s hand wrapped around hers.
Hours passed before she stirred again. She drifted in and out of sleep throughout the evening and well past dawn. Ora continued to decrease the doses and by morn, Arline was ready to bite steel, the pain in her shoulder was so intense.
Ora explained that the pain was good for her; it let her know that she was still alive. Arline was not as thrilled to remain among the living as she could have been. Her shoulder felt like there was a large horse standing on it, grinding his hoof into her wound. Her brain continued its assault against her skull. And the one time she did try to open her eyes, the light from the one candle burning near her bed felt like the light of a thousand. It burned her eyes and caused her head to throb even more.
How she came to be lying abed in so much nauseating pain, she did not know. That fact irritated her to no end. She could not remember what had happened to her. The last memory she had before waking in such an ungodly amount of pain was standing in her dressing room. She vaguely remembered being angry at Rowan, but for what reason, she could not recall.
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