Time For A Highlander (Real Men Wear Kilts)

by Maxine Mansfield

  Not that she would mind going to Heaven and being with her children right this very second, for she’d welcome the chance. But not in such a horribly brutal fashion. Not with buzzards pecking at Elspeth Frasier MacLeod’s innards.

  Over the years, Beth had experienced more than her share of pain. The beatings from Burt she’d thought would never end. The black eyes she’d covered with makeup. The sore ribs, the bruises, the scratchy throat from the chokings. The raspy voice she’d made excuses for, more times than she cared to remember.

  Instinctively, she rubbed her throat. The choking had been the very worst part of her ordeal with Burt. Especially when the spots formed in front of her eyes and the blackness descended. Every single instance she prayed would be different. That she’d never awaken. That the nightmare her life had become would finally end.

  But she did awaken, time after time after time. And when she could no longer keep her eyes closed but was forced to once more look into the hate-filled gaze of her husband, Burt would smile and begin the process all over again.

  The chamber door flew open, and Beth jumped as it banged against the stone wall.

  “Ye disobeyed me, Elspeth Frasier MacLeod, and do nae try and deny it. I saw ye with my own eyes hiding on the stairs.” Quint’s roar reverberated off the walls. “I’ll know why ye’d do such a thing, and I’ll know the way of it this very moment, wife?”

  Beth gulped. “I—I c—c—couldn’t help m—m—myself. I needed to see what kind of man would be so evil as to set f—f—fire to a coffer and b—burn an entire family to death.”

  He strode forward until he stopped inches from her. The memory of her very large Highlander husband slicing open Clach’s middle and the man’s intestines falling to the floor played over in Beth’s mind, and she flinched as she wrapped her arms protectively about her own middle and the child nestled within. “I’m sorry.”

  Quint sighed, but instead of doing any of the things she feared, he gathered her into his arms, nuzzled her neck, and whispered, “That’s why I did nae wish for ye to see what was about to happen, my Beth. Being laird sometimes means meting out justice. Cruel, hard, swift justice. Even when warranted, it’s nae for the eyes of a lady, especially my lady wife who carries my child.”

  She snuggled into his embrace and breathed in the warmth and safety mixed with the scent of wood smoke and leather that was Quinton Macleod. He kissed the top of her head, and Beth lifted her face toward him. “I know you only did what you had to do, and—and though it’s not a sight I’d want to see ever again—” She shuddered. “—I’m glad I witnessed what I did today. You are a fair and honorable laird Quinton MacLeod, and Clach was not a good man. He deserved his punishment.”

  He nodded. “Aye, he did, lass, but enough about Clach. What was it ye wished ta speak about?”

  Beth’s entire body stiffened. There was no way she could tell him about Elspeth’s memories, the viscount, or Marta’s plans, especially after watching how her husband dealt with those who betrayed his trust. So, what then, what could she say to him that wasn’t a lie?

  He nuzzled her once more. “Come now, my Beth. There is nothing ye cannae discuss with me.”

  Gazing up into the kind eyes of the man she was losing her heart to a little more every day, she decided to tell him of the one other worry that had been plaguing her all week long.

  “The nursery.” She chewed her bottom lip. “I’ve been working on the nursery, and I have a favor to ask of you.”

  Quinton MacLeod chuckled. “What is it, my Beth? Ask, and if it’s within my power, I’ll grant it to ye.”

  Beth’s heart filled to bursting with a mixture of love, respect, and guilt. This wasn’t right. She shouldn’t hesitate to warn him of the dangers coming. And she should do it right this very minute instead of waiting until it was possibly too late to avoid them. But Quint was looking at her with such care, such tenderness, and perhaps, even with a hint of love. She simply couldn’t risk it. Not yet anyway.

  She cleared her throat. No, she wouldn’t tell Quint the real reasons behind what she wanted to do, but maybe, just maybe, if she pulled this off, at least the one person who was in imminent danger might be safer. For a little while anyway. “I know you have your own plans for Duncan, husband, and I agree he needs to be trained to handle a sword and fight like a man. But I’d like your permission to move his sleeping quarters from the kitchen to the nursery.” She held up her hand when it looked as if Quint might argue. “I know what you’re thinking. That no good can come from coddling the child, but please, hear me out.”

  Beth took a deep breath. “Duncan’s place in this castle and this clan is about to change. No longer will he be the peat boy, but a valuable steward in training. And with you teaching him how to wield a sword, and me placing him in the nursery and getting him used to it, by the time our child is born, he’ll have a ready-made guard with him at all times. I’ve already spoken to Bronwyn, and she’s agreed to be nurse to them both.”

  Quint rubbed his chin. “If Bronwyn is ta be nurse, then who is ta be ye maid? Ye need a maid, lass. I’ve seen ye try and dress yeself.”

  Beth shrugged. “I thought of asking one of Cook’s granddaughters.”

  “Nae.” Quint shook his head. “Cook needs their help in the kitchen. But then if nae one of Cook’s granddaughters, it’d probably have ta be Marta, and I don’t trust her anymore. Especially around ye or Duncan. So one of Cook’s granddaughters it’ll have ta be. Since ye are lady of the keep, inform Marta she’s ta now help in the kitchen.”

  Beth gulped, remembering how Marta had been part of trying to poison Lady Lydia. “I’m not sure the kitchen would be such a good place for her either, Quint.”

  He shook his head again. “Ye are probably right, my Beth. But if not the kitchen, then what are we ta do with her? I’m the laird, but tis ye who runs this keep.”

  “I don’t know what to do with her.” Beth shrugged again. “I just try to stay as far away from her as I can.”

  Quint nodded. “That’s probably for the best. At least for the time being.”

  Chapter Eleven

  July 1643

  The lad was hopeless, and that was all there was to it.

  Quint sighed as he raised his sword. “Stand fast, Duncan, and prepare ta defend yeself.”

  It took the child three attempts to heft his newly acquired blade as far as his shoulder. When he finally did manage to lift it above his head, he lost his balance and ended up on his backside in the dirt yet again.

  Quint let his own sword drop to his waist. “Even for a wean, ye are bad, really bad, lad. Ye do ken this, don’t ye?”

  Duncan nodded. “Aye, me laird.”

  “Ye’ve been carrying peat for the fires for more than a year.” Quint shook his head. “At least a few muscles should’ve developed on ye scrawny arms by now. What am I ta do with ye?”

  Again, Duncan nodded, but this time his chin quivered. “Aye, my muscles should’ve grown, and I do nae know what ye are ta do with me, my lord. I am not much use.”

  Quint knelt to the child’s level. “Do nae fash. I’ll put one of the smaller lads ta gathering peat from now on. If ye are ta build a real man’s muscles, then it’s time ye moved up ta hefting stones.”

  Duncan’s eyes shone with surprise. “Really, like the older lads?”

  “Aye.” Quint chuckled. “It takes a lot of strength ta wield a sword, young cousin. And nothing hones a man’s body faster than hefting chunks of rock ta build new fences. First thing in the morning, after ye break ye fast, report ta old Alaric the stonecutter and tell him I sent ye. A few sennights or so of lifting and carrying stone under his watchful eye, and we’ll give ye sword arm another try.”

  Duncan nodded and slowly held out the shiny new blade Quinton had gifted him with only a short time before. “I suppose I will nae be needing this for a while, then.”

  Quint shook his head. “A man nae willingly hands over his sword ta another man, not even his laird, as long as he
has breath left in his body ta heft it and fight, lad. Ye remember what ye grandda said, don’t ye?”

  “Aye.” Duncan once more nodded.

  “Ye were born ta be a MacLeod guardsman, and a MacLeod guardsman ye shall be. Keep ye sword at ye side at all times. Ye never know when ye’ll be called upon ta use it.”

  “Aye, my lord.” The boy smiled.

  Quint patted him upon the head. “Now, off with ye, and find Cook. See what old Annie has ta fill up ye belly. Then report ta ye lady. My Beth has another surprise in store for ye.”

  As fast as his crippled foot allowed, Duncan hurried toward the keep, and Quint watched him go with a lightness in his heart he hadn’t felt since before the child’s parents died.

  ****

  God, she was tired.

  As a matter of fact, Beth couldn’t remember another time she’d been so tired. Though she’d taught middle school for years and was used to the antics of pre-teen juveniles, medieval six-year-olds were apparently another whole story. Now, she remembered why she’d adamantly refused to teach the elementary grades to begin with. Young children had the attention spans of toadstools.

  Their first reading lesson, which had consisted mainly of recognizing letters and simple words, had been met with rolling eyes, fidgeting, and yawns while the math problems were barely endured at all. Duncan couldn’t seem to grasp the idea that the apples she’d collected were for counting and not eating. All the child seemed to want to do was play with his blasted sword.

  Then had come supper and bath.

  Supper hadn’t been too bad. Though it was Duncan’s first time eating at the long trestle table in the great hall with the adults instead of in the kitchen with Annie and her granddaughters. Only three times did Beth have to remind him to sit up straight and quit squirming. But if Beth thought the first bath she’d helped give Duncan was a trial, then this one had to be described as a full out war.

  The child wrestled out of her and Annie’s grasp numerous times and had even managed to hobble into the great hall once, stark-assed naked except for his confounded sword. Beth had no doubt she was wetter than he was by the time she managed to grab him up and finish the job.

  Quint hadn’t been any help either. The dratted man had hefted his tankard of ale in a salute to Duncan’s tenacity, and every man in the hall cheered along with him.

  Her head hurt, her belly was queasy, she was tired, and all she wanted to do was go to bed. And she would, as soon as she could get young Duncan into his.

  He jerked from Beth’s grasp and tried his best to dart through the still open doorway. But his club foot prevented him from getting very far, very fast, and again she scooped him up and deposited him back into the middle of the small trundle bed for the fourth time in as many minutes.

  “Nae, I won’t do it. Ye cannae make me,” Duncan shouted. “I want ta go back ta me pallet in the kitchen. I cannae sleep here. Only bairns sleep in a nursery. I’m nae a bairn. I’m a man, a MacLeod guardsman. Ask the laird. He’ll tell ye.”

  Beth sighed again as she sat beside the boy and looked him straight in the eyes. “I know well you are no bairn. Why else do you think you were chosen for this honor in the first place? The laird assured me himself he will trust no other guardsman but you to watch over his son. After all, you’re the laird’s blood, his cousin, and will be blood relation to the babe also, once he’s born.”

  She playfully tweaked his nose.

  He swatted her hand away and tried once more to escape. “If’n it’s truly what the laird wishes, then I’ll do it. I’ll sleep at the bairn’s side once he’s born, but nae until.”

  Beth shook her head. “No, Duncan. Starting tonight, this is the room and the bed you will sleep in.”

  The little boy crossed his arms across his chest and adamantly shook his head. “I will nae.”

  Beth sighed. “Quinton trusts only your loyalty and only your bravery to see this task done. He told me so. It’s a duty you must prepare for like learning how to use your sword to fight or becoming proficient in reading and ciphering so you can someday become steward of all Brochel. It’s an honor your laird is bestowing upon you, Duncan, not a punishment. Becoming familiar with every inch of this room, learning to sleep in here every night, where Laird Quinton MacLeod’s son will be sleeping, is just the beginning of carrying out that task.”

  Duncan pointed toward Bronwyn, his eyes frantic. “But I cannae be caught sleeping in the same room as a lass, even a verra old one. ’Tis nae manly.”

  Beth hugged him close and whispered, “The laird sleeps in the same room with me every night, and he’s very manly.”

  The little boy sputtered. “B—b—but I’m sure it’s nae because he wants ta. Aunt Marta said the laird has nae choice but allow ye ta share his bed. ’Tis his duty.”

  Beth grimaced. “Well, Quinton has done his duty, and still, he lets me share his bed so that I may sleep in peace and am not afraid.” She pointed to her maid. “Perhaps you being here will keep poor old Bronwyn from being scared of the dark. She’s got to get used to sleeping in this chamber every night as you do. She’s to be the babe’s nurse when he’s born.” She hugged him close. “Can you do this one small favor for me, Duncan? For your laird, for the babe, for Bronwyn?”

  Though she could see he didn’t really want to, the child slowly nodded once and sighed. He slipped under the cover without another word and laid his head upon the pillow.

  Beth leaned over and kissed his forehead while tugging at the sword the child still had gripped tightly in his hand.

  “Nae.” Duncan tugged back. “A man nae willingly hands over his sword ta another as long as he has breath in his body ta fight. Laird says so.”

  She let go of the weapon, tucked the covers up and around the child’s shoulders, and stood. She’d fought enough battles for one day.

  After all, considering the way Marta felt about her one and only nephew, Duncan’s sleeping with a huge, razor-sharp knife that would have any twenty-first century child yanked from his home by children’s protective services, probably wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  ****

  Quint watched his wife sleeping peacefully at his side and smiled. Beth was as beautiful in slumber as she was wide awake, even more so, probably. At least in sleep, the worry lines that creased the length of her forehead these last few sennights were relaxed and gone. And though he had no doubt it was a case of pure exhaustion and not simply his presence in the bed that allowed her to rest so deeply, he was still thankful.

  He caressed her soft cheek, kissed the top of her head, and breathed in the scent of fresh soap and warm woman. God, how he loved her.

  The thought startled Quint, and he sat straight up. He loved her? Not just cared for Beth, but actually loved her? Was in love with his wife? Unthinkable.

  He shook his head. He couldn’t be. Could he? After Mairi, he’d promised himself he’d never be so stupid as to fall prey to the wiles of another woman. Especially a woman like Lady Elspeth Frasier was known to be.

  He laid back and watched the candle light flicker across her face. The Beth who lay beside him was in no way like the mean, spiteful Elspeth Frasier who’d met him with snarls and harsh words when he first arrived at her home. She wasn’t anything like the little scared rabbit of a lass who he wedded and bedded two days later.

  As a matter of fact, the woman he’d come to know as wife wasn’t anything like either one of those women. His Beth was the complete opposite. She was loving, confident, strong willed, giving, protective of Duncan, patient with his people, and more than a little responsive to his lust. She was everything he’d ever hoped for in a wife, and she was carrying his child ta boot.

  Yes, he loved her. He loved everything about her. He loved her tendency to snuggle up under his elbow and rest her head upon his chest right where his heart beat. He loved the way she smiled, the way she smelled, the way she tasted, and the sound of her laughter. He loved the way she chewed her bottom lip when trying to determine ho
w to best get her way, and he loved how she looked up at him with adoration in her eyes, as if he were her champion even when he’d told her no.

  Quint chuckled. Telling his Beth no did nae do a bit of good. The lass did about whatever she pleased while doing her best ta convince him, after the fact, that it was his idea in the first place. Like Duncan sleeping in the nursery.

  Quint knew damn good and well he’d nae told Beth to change the lad’s resting place from a pallet in front of the warm kitchen fire to a cold bed in the empty nursery down the hall this soon. He’d thought she meant to move the boy when her time to deliver grew near. But by the time she’d finished talking and by the time her eyes had misted with tears, she’d about persuaded him that it’d been his idea all along.

  Their argument of earlier in the evening ran through his mind.

  “I’m only trying to do what I thought you’d want.” She poked him right in the chest. “You said you’d make a MacLeod guardsman out of him or die trying, didn’t you? You said you promised his grandfather you’d train him.” Then, she’d sniffed, and a single tear had escaped and slid down her cheek. “How better for Duncan to learn how to become a guardsman than to make him the personal sentinel of your son, our son? And how can he be our son’s sentry if he continues to sleep in the kitchen?”

  Quint realized that in truth, their exchange hadn’t really been an argument at all. An argument meant a disagreement between two persons, and the only one doing any talking about anything had been his little wife.

  She’d placed her hands on her hips and glared up at him. “And since Duncan’s to become steward of Brochel one day, he needs to learn how to sleep in a proper bed as befits his station.”

  Quint laughed out loud. Nae, their conversation hadn’t been much of an argument at all, and his Beth was sly as a fox. As a matter of fact, the only comment he’d made during the entire exchange was the very first question of the evening. He’d simply inquired if she’d found a suitable position for Marta. A question, Quint now realized, Beth had avoided all together.