"Fill your heart with forgiveness." Mother Agnes' parting words to her played through her mind.
Mustering everything she had inside, Rhiannon let go of her anger, her pain, as she forced her thoughts to that of forgiveness.
"Are you all right, milady?" Hamish asked as he and Travis gently lifted her from the floor.
Travis drew his sword and turned, aiming his weapon at a dark-haired warrior's heart. "You dare to harm a guest in this castle, Garrett?"
The warrior's face reddened. "She should sleep with the dogs, not eat with us."
Travis pressed his sword more firmly against the man's chest, drawing a gasp. "That is for the master to decide and not you. If you value your position here in this castle, I suggest you remember that."
The warrior's face paled and his gaze dropped to the floor. "Aye."
Travis sheathed his weapon. A low-level murmur rippled through the room. "Come, milady," he said, taking her by the arm. "You have us to support you."
Rhiannon gazed at the two big men, and offered them a soft smile. "My thanks," she said, grateful for her new champions. Together, the three of them made their way past the remaining tables, until there was no doubt in Rhiannon's mind that they headed to the high table. Once there, Travis released her arm. Rhiannon breathed a sigh. The worst was over.
She stopped and consciously braced herself before she brought her gaze to Camden's. He looked so different tonight, dressed in a dark shirt and dark breeches with his hair tied back at his nape. He looked tough, sleek, elegant.
"You look well," he said, his gaze lingering on the rise of her breasts as they pressed against the low-cut bodice.
She tried to control her response to him as she remembered the lecture about staying away from him that she'd given herself upon their arrival at the cottage. Her mind might want one thing, but her body responded otherwise. Her breasts swelled beneath his gaze and heat moved through her body in mindless, melting waves.
She forced a calm smile as she approached the empty seat between Camden and Violet. "Good evening, Lord Lockhart, Lady Violet."
"No!" Violet cried, her distress echoing throughout the room. The room plunged into silence. Her chair crashed to the floor. She threw herself at Rhiannon. Tears rolled unchecked down her reddened cheeks.
Rhiannon froze, startled by the little girl's attack.
"Take it off," Violet sobbed, raking her small fingers across the fabric of Rhiannon's dress. "Take it off!"
"Violet, what is the matter?" Camden thrust back his chair, coming to kneel beside his niece. He grasped her hands gently with his own, protecting Rhiannon from Violet's violent attack.
"Violet, what have I done to distress you so?" Rhiannon asked, as she also knelt beside the hysterical child.
"Make her take it off." Violet writhed in Camden's grasp. He pulled her tight against his chest. "That's my mum's dress."
Rhiannon felt the blood drain from her face. "What have I done?" she whispered, realizing the grief she had caused Violet. To her knowledge, the little girl had never truly grieved her mother and father's loss. No doubt she'd been too traumatized by the events to truly do so.
Grief poured from the little girl now. The sound of her wails knifed through Rhiannon's chest.
Camden stared at Rhiannon. She could read the uncertainty in his face. How could she explain the trick Mistress Faulkner had played on her? Would he believe her if she did?
"Excuse me." Rhiannon raced for the stairs. The faces of the people and the names they called her became a blur as her sight fastened on one woman's face. Mistress Faulkner stood near the staircase, a satisfied smile on her face.
A cold sickness settled in the pit of Rhiannon's stomach. Rhiannon stopped before Mistress Faulkner. "How could you do something so hurtful to Lady Violet?"
The woman's gaze flew to the front of the room. "I hadn't thought… I never considered…"
"Next time you want to hurt me, hurt me. But leave Lady Violet out of it. That girl has been wounded enough."
Mistress Faulkner's mouth gaped open, trying to form words, though none would come.
Feeling slightly redeemed, Rhiannon raced up the stairs to her chamber and after fumbling with the lacings at her back, she ripped the dress from her body. She hurriedly put on her old gray dress. She opened the chamber door to find Hamish and Travis heading for her chamber. "We are going back downstairs," she said as she passed them. She needed to reassure Violet that she would never wear her mother's clothes again.
Rhiannon braced herself for the barrage of hateful words that would no doubt come her way. The others might think that Ruthvens were good for nothing. But this Ruthven knew her duty, and would let nothing and no one stand in her way.
Camden stared at the sleeping form of his niece. Her eyes were closed, free from the horror he had witnessed in them earlier this eve. "Are you sure she's asleep?" he asked Rhiannon.
From her position on the opposite side of Violet's bed, she nodded. "Absolutely."
"Will she be all right?"
Rhiannon nodded. "Give her time. She's lost much. Grief comes out in odd ways sometimes."
"You sound as if you know something about grieving."
She dropped her gaze to her hands. "I still miss my mother after all these years."
He could hear the pain in her voice and he felt an answering echo in his own chest. "Aye."
Camden shifted his gaze to Violet. He stroked a yellow-gold curl that lay against the girl's rosy cheek. Out of necessity, he'd been forced to see to Violet's grief, to reassure the girl that she was safe here with him. Yet Rhiannon needed his reassurance almost as much. Not with her grief, but about her position within his home.
He hadn't missed the hateful glances and vicious words Rhiannon had had to endure on her journey through his hall. He had watched her progress from the moment she'd stepped into the room. He'd witnessed her fall, and had started to rise to assist her when Hamish and Travis had intervened.
He was to blame for the way they treated her. He had set the precedence the moment he'd learned who she truly was. He'd made his feelings for her abundantly clear, and his staff now rallied behind him.
When had his feelings about her changed? What exactly did he want from her? She'd come here to care for Violet. Did he want something more? This afternoon he'd experienced lust, pure and simple. His body quickened at the memory of her warm and willing flesh pressed so intimately against his own.
Camden frowned at the woman across the bed. Candlelight flickered over the rich gold of her hair and stroked the creamy rise of her breasts as they pressed against the square bodice of her gown with each breath she took.
She gazed at him, a question in her soft, tawny brown eyes, her lips parted. If Violet were not between them, he would take her in his arms and…
And what? Satisfy his need for her? Because that's where his desires would take him if he allowed himself to forget who she was and what her family had done.
Was he ready to move beyond that? This evening, his household's response to her and the anger it had invoked within him, had proved one thing; something had to change.
"Rhiannon." His voice was thick, and he clamped his fingers together before him. Saints above, he wanted to touch her. "I saw the way you were treated tonight by the other members of my household."
Her body stilled; she stared at him, not speaking.
"They had no right to treat you that way. I shall speak with them."
She appeared momentarily disconcerted. "You don't have to do anything for me," she said, shifting off the bed, moving away from him.
"I don't have to," he said gently. "I want to."
"Why?" She shut her eyes tightly. "It makes no sense."
"It's the right thing to do."
Her eyes opened to reveal glittering tears. "And duty means everything to you."
He stood. "Aye."
"Well, I am not your duty," she said, her voice suddenly fierce. "I can take care of myself." She turned away
and with jerky movements headed for the door.
Chapter Eleven
Before Rhiannon could pass through the doorway of the bedchamber, a young woman, her face pale and her hands stained with blood, nearly knocked her down.
"Forgive me for intrudin', milord, milady," she panted. "I need your help. Well, not me, exactly. Charlotte and her baby." The young woman's eyes were wild as she shifted her gaze between the door and the bed.
Rhiannon tensed when she sensed Camden behind her. "Explain," Camden demanded.
"Somethin' is wrong. The baby is not comin' as it should," she said. "I sent one of the men for the midwife in Glasgow, but I fear she will arrive too late. Charlotte needs assistance now."
"I'll go to her. I might be of some help." Rhiannon started down the hallway.
"I shall accompany you." Camden strode beside her down the stairs, through the hall, and into the western rooms of the castle. They followed the young woman into a chamber. There were only a few candles scattered about the room, making it difficult to see anything. "We need more candles," Rhiannon commanded as she made her way to the bed. She took charge of the situation and Camden let her.
In the middle of a straw pallet on the floor lay a young woman in a pool of blood. She clutched her distended belly with white-knuckled force.
Four women crowded the space around her feet: Mistress Faulkner and three other women Rhiannon did not recognize. "Can you see any part of the baby?"
Mistress Faulkner nodded, her face pale. "One foot."
"Breech," Rhiannon said, her voice low, barely above a whisper. She'd seen two other breech presentations before — unfortunately, both were with horses. But were the dynamics of birth much different between horses and humans? For Charlotte's sake, she hoped not.
"Any chance we can change her pallet and get rid of all this blood?"
Mistress Faulkner signaled to one of the other women in the room. She hurried away to return a moment later with two young men carrying a straw mattress. They set it on the floor near the hearth, then returned to Charlotte's side. "We are going to move you miss." The two men transported her to the clean bedding but not without an intense groan of pain from Charlotte.
"Many thanks," Rhiannon said.
Both men made a bow before slipping from the room.
The light of the fire made it easier to see. Rhiannon took in Charlotte's flushed face and glittering eyes. "Are you thirsty?"
The woman nodded. Rhiannon stood, then turned to Mistress Faulkner. "If you want her to live, you'll help me, without interfering. Understood?" Her firm tone left no room for argument.
Mistress Faulkner nodded, her eyes misting with tears. "This is my granddaughter. I'll do anything."
Rhiannon nodded with relief that she would not be challenged. "I'll need someone to mix me a tisane of valerian and germander to numb her pain while I try to turn the child."
"Turn the child?"
"What kind of witchcraft is that?" two of the women questioned in unison.
Camden came to stand beside Rhiannon. "Do you know what you are doing?" he asked.
"Aye," she said with more confidence than she felt. Now was not the time to tell him all her experience had been in observing her mother with deliveries of the village babies and helping with the animals in her father's stable. Charlotte would no doubt lose her baby, and probably her own life, if someone didn't at least try to help her immediately.
"Then proceed." He left the room briefly only to return with two large candelabra that he set on the hearth near the bed. He sat in a chair across the room from her. He clutched the small linen package that Mother Agnes had asked her to deliver to him. He stared at the bundle in his hands, with a dark expression on his face, as though he were trying to make a difficult decision.
"I won't die," the young woman whispered, bringing Rhiannon's attention back to the pallet. "You'll see. My baby and I will live."
"Of course you will," Rhiannon smiled shakily. "You are a fighter. I can see it in your eyes."
Mistress Faulkner returned with the steaming tisane. Rhiannon accepted the mug from her then held it to Charlotte's lips. "I need you to drink as much of this as you can."
"Wait," Camden said. "It looks too hot. Allow me to take it by the window for a moment to cool it."
"That isn't necessary," Rhiannon said, unsettled by his interference. Her nerves stretched taut with the responsibility of what she was about to do.
"I insist." He took the cup from her hands and made his way to the window on the far side of the room. There, he threw the shutters open and with his back to all, cooled the liquid contents in the chill midnight air. He fumbled with something in his hands, then turned back toward the room's occupants. "That should do it. I appreciate your indulgence."
He returned the cup to Rhiannon's hands, his fingers lingering upon hers a moment longer than was necessary. Warmth that had nothing to do with the fire roared through her blood. Even now, in the direst of situations, her body responded to his. Rhiannon accepted the mug with careful precision and brought the liquid to Charlotte's lips. "Drink."
Charlotte closed her eyes and took a small sip, then another before pulling away. "It tastes terrible."
"Aye," Rhiannon agreed. She knew how bitter the concoction must taste. "But it will help save your baby."
Charlotte brought her lips to the mug again and drank deeply. When she was through, she collapsed back against the linen on the mattress, clutching her belly once more. "It hurts," she cried.
"Stay focused on your baby, Charlotte. Picture in your mind what the child will look like. It will help."
A calm settled over Charlotte's features. She released her grip on her belly. Her eyes drifted shut, and she lay quietly beside the flickering flames of the fire.
"The medicine has taken effect," Rhiannon said, grateful that her mother had allowed her to assist when she'd been called to help the villager's wives deliver their babies.
"I need two of you to help me. Position yourselves so that one of you can kneel on either side of her." Mistress Faulkner and one of the other women followed her instructions. When the two women were in place, Rhiannon said, "I need to put the foot back inside her. Then once I do, as I move the baby, place your hands on her belly to keep the child in place."
With a prayer for guidance, Rhiannon dug her hands into Charlotte's flesh, locating the baby's head. Slowly, carefully, with the help of the others, she guided the child downward.
Despite her induced sleep, Charlotte cried out, her distress obvious.
Tears rolled down Mistress Faulkner's cheeks in response to Charlotte's distress, but she remained silent.
"Lord Lockhart," the other woman cried. "Please, milord, can you not use the Charm Stone to ease Charlotte's pain? Lady Clara must have passed it to Lady Violet before she died. 'Tis said that the Stone has been in your family for years."
Camden appeared uneasy at the woman's request. "Lady Violet has no knowledge of the Stone's location."
Perhaps Violet did not, but did he? Rhiannon paused in her manipulation of the baby's head. The Charm Stone. She'd heard tales of the legendary Stone since she was a child. It had come back to Scotland from the Crusades. When had the Lockharts become its keeper?
Rhiannon returned her attention to Charlotte, but her thoughts remained on the small bundle of linen she'd seen Camden with earlier. He no longer held the package in his hands.
Charlotte groaned again and her eyes flickered open.
"We are almost there, Charlotte," Rhiannon soothed, while applying a final thrust of pressure. The baby's head slid down, and dropped into place.
The rest of the birth proceeded quickly. Just as dawn's first light appeared in the sky, a lusty cry heralded the baby's safe arrival.
Mistress Faulkner burst into tears. After a slight hesitation, she threw herself into Rhiannon's arms, burrowing her face in the fabric of her gray gown. "Thank you," she cried, the sound muffled. "I gave you more than enough reasons not to help my d
ear Charlotte. Yet you did. I am so ashamed of myself and this entire household for judging you so harshly."
Rhiannon stiffened, not knowing what to do, how to respond. She'd done what was needed. And she'd do what she could to help anyone else, despite how they had treated her. Was the woman asking for her forgiveness? A Ruthven?
"Please say you forgive me," Mistress Faulkner said.
"All is forgiven," Rhiannon said, awed by the change in the woman. She gently stroked the back of the woman's head, remembering yet again Mother Agnes' words of forgiveness.
Joy bubbled up inside Rhiannon. The world seemed suddenly enveloped in a soft golden haze. Life was newly born and brimming with possibilities for Charlotte, for her baby, for herself.
Camden had never understood why his sister-in-law risked so much to use the Charm Stone.
He did now.
At first he'd wrestled with the decision to use the Stone or not. Now he was glad he'd gone to the chapel to retrieve the Stone when he'd left the birthing chamber in search of candles.
The thrill of doing something that helped to save lives rippled through him. He saved the lives of his people each time he went to war, but not like this. This time, the enemy had been death itself. And in his experience, death usually won. Carefully he slipped the healing Stone back into its hiding place in the chapel and stepped back.
An odd sensation prickled the back of Camden's neck — as though he could feel someone's eyes upon him. He turned toward the door and searched the shadows of the room. No one was there. 'Twas only his own excitement at the miracle the Stone had brought forth this night.
The Stone had been only one part of tonight's miracle. Rhiannon's contribution had been every bit as important. He never would have thought to turn the baby. He'd never seen or heard of such a technique before.
She continued to amaze him with her unselfishness. His people had treated her poorly, but she always seemed to overlook that fact to do what was right.
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