“Right,” he said, surprising her. “That's that.”
“What?”
“Stoked the fire for you,” he said, blushing. “And cut the bread.”
“Oh!” Arabella smiled. “Thank you, Richard. These are almost ready.”
The eggs boiled with much rattling and noisiness and then they settled down for breakfast.
“That,” Richard declared, wiping a streak of egg from his face with his handkerchief, “was the nicest meal I have ever eaten.”
“You flatter me, dearest,” Arabella laughed. “But yes, it is lovely. A good meal in the best company.”
He grinned and held her hand. The breakfast was simple – boiled eggs, slices of bread, vast slabs shaved off the impossibly hard salted cheese in the back of the cupboard – but it was delicious. And, Arabella mused as she finished a third slice of bread, I'm starving.
By some strange result of their activity the previous night, her appetite was enormous. It seemed as if all her senses had awakened that morning, her eyes, ears, skin, even the sense of taste, was heightened. She felt like she was experiencing the world anew.
“So,” Richard said, pushing back his chair with a query in his soft smile. “Shall we go?”
“Oh!” she flushed, recalling their imperative journey planned for later. “Yes. Let's.”
As they tidied up the cottage, leaving it in a semblance of order with a promise to return and improve it later, Arabella had a thought.
“Um, Richard?” she asked as they walked out into the mist-swathed morning.
“Yes, dearest?”
She blushed. “Um...never mind.”
“What?” he asked, looking about. They had no means of transport save their feet and the nearest village, as Arabella recalled, was twenty minutes' ride away. She guessed he was worried about that, and held her silence.
“It's nothing,” she demurred. She looked down at her hands where they were folded before her carefully.
“What, dearest?” he inquired. He gave her a concerned frown.
It was two thoughts, actually. The first was less worrisome, so she cleared her throat to voice it. “If...if we are to be married now, then...”
“Then what, dearest?”
“What shall I wear?” She went red. “I mean, I know it doesn't really matter but, well...I had rather hoped to have something else...” she looked down again.
He laughed. “Oh, of course! My loveliest Arabella! Of course we shall find something else. I can't expect so beautiful a woman to wear such a thing to wed me. Lovely as you are in any garment, you deserve a wedding befitting you.”
“Oh, Richard,” Arabella said, her heart melting.
They walked to the village.
It was mid-morning when they arrived, the sun high and starting to burn off the mists. They reached the place and Richard paused at the edge of the woods, looking at it.
“Should we go in?” she asked, feeling her heart tense with sudden worry. If they simply walked in, what would happen? Word would doubtless have spread of her capture and in the small village of Fearrick, they were more than likely alert to the problem. Some of the villagers would certainly know her. What would happen to him?
If they are out searching for a tall, powerfully built fellow in brogues and a kilt, they'll only have to set eyes on him to spring to his capture.
“I have an idea,” Richard said.
He filled her in on it, she contributed her own revisions, and then they headed toward the village.
“Name and purpose?” the sentry at the gate challenged them.
“Dougal McAdam,” he said quickly. “And I'm here searching for the thief who pinched my bagpipes.”
“You laid a charge?” the man inquired, and Arabella noticed with some excitement that his eyes held a glimmer of interest. Their plan was working!
“I have!” he exclaimed. “Fellow attacked me like a demon, so he did! I was lucky to escape with my life! Madman, he must have been. Who attacks village musicians? Of all the wickedness you can imagine, that's the worst imaginable.”
Arabella bit her lip, watching as the sentry was slowly won over to their side. Richard's Lowland Scots had improved within the time she'd known him – after all, they used it almost always when they were together – and the man clearly believed him utterly.
“This is interesting,” the man said, nodding slowly. “We had reports of a feller in disguise. Must be the feller you mentioned. You didn't spy what he was wearing?”
“It was dark,” Richard said boldly. “But he was wearing hose and doublet, that is for certain.”
“Oh,” the man nodded. “That's interesting.”
Arabella could almost see him making notes, planning to tell his superior officer this latest information. Their whole plan hinged on the likelihood that the real victim of Richard's theft was somewhere else.
“And the lass?” the sentry asked, eyeing her with evident interest. Arabella bit her lip and wished she was wearing more layers. She felt her whole body go tense as the man stared at her and she wouldn't have been able to think of an answer – real or imagined – to his query if she tried.
“My wife was setting out our tent when it happened,” Richard said succinctly. “The cursed fellow gave us such a turn that all our things were left where they lay, while we chased him hither and thither. When we got back, our things had gone.”
Arabella nodded and did her best to look tragic, which wasn't difficult in the circumstances. “And that's why you see me in such disarray, sir,” she whispered. “All my clothes...” her voice trailed off effortlessly. She had changed her accent a little, modifying it to make it more like a country lass and less like a highborn person. It seemed to be working. The sentry nodded gravely.
“Och, you poor wee things,” he said sympathetically. “Come on. Let me show you tae the inn. And buy ye a pint?” he inquired, raising a brow at Richard mildly. “Least I can do. We should go and see the guardsmen later. There were reports from the castle of a fellow, as I said. You'll want to be talking to the guard – mayhap you can help them find him. He stole a lass from there. Earl's daughter.”
Arabella felt her heart thump as his gaze wandered over. She tensed, sure he'd noticed the similarities. Then she had to laugh. What was she thinking? With a torn shift, her hair a mess, her skin pale from lack of sleep and unwashed from the escape the day before, she looked nothing like an earl's anything.
“That's terrible!” Richard shouted. “The poor lass! Shocking. How could he do such a thing?”
“No idea, Mr. McAdam,” the sentry nodded. “Now, let's get that pint. I'll go and find my superior.”
“Thank you,” Arabella breathed.
The moment they were in the inn, they looked at each other.
“Shall we go?” Arabella hissed.
“Let's not run too fast, it'll be suspicious,” Richard demurred.
They waited for five agonizing minutes, during which Arabella imagined themselves captured a thousand times over. Then he stood.
“Let's go.”
Dizzy with relief, they headed into the village.
The first thing they did was find a seamstress's shop. Arabella felt her heart melt at the thoughtfulness of that, as Richard went inside with her. She spotted the dress she wanted almost instantly. Simple linen, with a border of homemade lace around the opening for the under-skirt, it was simple, well-made and just like the sort of dress she'd imagined herself.
“That dress,” she whispered. “Is it...”
“I made it for Lady Bernadette,” she said. “But then she moved out of the Manse and now I'm selling it. You want it?” She sounded almost skeptical, as if she doubted Richard could afford such a thing.
“I do,” Arabella breathed. She glanced at Richard.
“Price?” he said.
“Three silver pieces.”
Arabella bit her lip. It was expensive, at least compared to what she guessed were their current means.
“We'll
take it.”
She looked at Richard in wonderment. He shrugged. Handed the woman the coins. Her eyes went round. The dress changed hands. Arabella, stroking the bundle as they walked out, thought her heart would melt.
“Oh, Richard,” she breathed. “It's lovely! How could you?”
He shrugged. He'd bought himself a shirt and trews too, and seemed quite satisfied with the result of the morning's purchase. “I got my wages the week before I left,” he said. “Why shouldn't we spend them?”
“Oh, Richard,” she sighed.
They kissed.
Later, they retired to the woods and changed, the priest waiting in the glen outside the church. Oddly shy, Arabella waited until Richard had turned round before she took her dress off over her head and worked the new under-dress on over her body. When she turned round, he was buttoning his own shirt, staring at her. She blushed.
“You!”
“What?”
She laughed. “You know.”
They kissed again.
“Now,” she ordered firmly. “You go and stand at the edge of the trees with Father Brogan.”
It was ill luck for the groom to see the bride dressed before the wedding – or so she'd been told. Richard, resplendent in his new shirt and trews, headed off wordlessly.
Arabella struggled to hook up the buttons behind herself, and managed to get them all done save two. She looked down at the dress, feeling a sweet sense of peace settle on her soul. This was right. This was what she wanted.
Then she walked out of the woods and into the clearing. Before her, his back tall and straight, stood Richard. The preacher was before them and, as she took her place beside Richard her heart felt like it shone within her as the ceremony started that would make them man and wife.
When the ceremony was over, the priest departing hastily, she looked up into his eyes. The glade was dusk-pale, the sun set. They kissed.
A NEW START
Walking back from the clearing, it seemed to Richard as if he was asleep and dreaming. He kept on glancing to his side, to radiant, beautiful Arabella, her red hair soft in the dusk, her sweet curves gleaming in the forested gloom.
His wife.
It made no sense and so he stopped trying to make sense of it and simply walked beside her, letting the unreality and wonder fill him with utter unbelievable delight.
The walk back to the cottage took almost an hour, but it seemed like time did odd things – longing making the time interminable, joy making it fleet. He carried on one shoulder a host of provisions, almost all of which they would donate to the woodsman who'd sheltered them.
“How much further?” he asked Arabella, whose knowledge of the paths was greater still.
“About ten minutes,” she said shyly. Her voice was soft and she glanced back at him with that sweet smile that made him so aroused. He smiled back.
“Well, then,” he whispered. “Good. I can't wait.”
Arabella grinned, her smile a glow in the darkness. “Well, me either.”
They headed toward the cottage.
When they reached it, the thought occurred to Richard that they were being foolish. Should they trust the man? What if he'd told someone of their presence? They could be walking into a trap.
“Arabella?” he asked. “Should we wait...just to see who's in there?”
Arabella frowned. “Dougal wouldn't betray us,” she said firmly.
“I hope so,” Richard said softly.
“I know,” she said.
All the same, when they neared the place – dark except for the orange glow of the hearth fire that shone through one of the two low windows – Richard felt his heart tense.
“I don't like this,” he cautioned.
“I'll go in,” Arabella said firmly.
Richard sighed and, not wanting her to go first, followed her.
“Dougal!” Arabella said, smiling at the man. Richard, eyes adjusting to the gloom, saw the pale face and the man's shocked expression.
“Whist! Lady Arabella!” he sighed and collapsed onto the stool by the fire, relieved.
“Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you,” she demurred.
“The guardsmen,” Dougal said in a low voice. “They're searching everywhere. They would have come here, but they got word of news in the village. They're searching the place now.”
“Oh.”
Arabella and Richard looked at each other in horror. They'd got away just in time! The priest knew they'd been there, but he had promised not to betray their secret, and he'd keep a promise.
“Thank Heavens,” Arabella breathed.
Richard nodded.
They restocked the larder and Dougal stared as if the Grail had descended in a ring of fire into his home. They ate well that night.
While they ate, they made a plan. Richard wanted to go back to the troops. Dougal agreed.
“You'll be safer there,” he nodded, pulling a piece off a wheat loaf and chewing it thoughtfully. “Milady will be safer as a soldier's woman.”
Richard felt his heart swell with pride at the thought that he had a wife. He grinned. “I hope so.”
The woodsman nodded. He spooned up some of the soup Arabella had cooked them, grinning absently at the flavor of wild mushrooms and onions. “I know she will be. But you should go tomorrow, at first light.”
Richard nodded. As he thought about it, his stomach contracted in alarm. The army was safe, but it did carry its own problems. Or, rather, one problem. Major Rowell.
“You had word from Fearrick?” Arabella asked, reaching for a slice of dark bread that she soaked in the gravy as she spoke.
“Aye,” he nodded. “Place is full of guardsmen, milady. The earl your father's,” he added.
“We must go,” she nodded. She glanced at Richard who saw the look of worry in her eyes and wondered if she had the same thought.
I would the fellow simply disappeared!
He sighed. It was unlikely to happen. He would have to think of something else.
As he reached for a slice of cheese, the woodsman leaned back with a sigh. “Heaven did me a good turn when he brought the two of you to my door,” he nodded absently. “Now. I think I'll take my rest in the barn tonight. I couldnae sleep afore...all that rustling in the thatch. Blasted rats,” he added, glancing suspiciously up.
Richard caught a faint flush in Arabella's face and knew she was thinking what he was thinking – there were no rats in the thatching. The noises he heard had a different origin. It must have been their own.
“Well, goodnight, then,” Richard nodded. “And greatest thanks.”
“Aye, goodnight to you two and all,” the man nodded. He rose stiffly to his feet, gathered his cloak off the chair and retired through the back door to the barn.
Richard glanced at Arabella. They were alone together.
Her eyes lit with warmth and he smiled, aware, suddenly, of her legs beside his under the table. She blushed and stood.
“We should tidy,” she demurred.
Later, they lay before the fireplace and he held her in his arms, looking down into her sweet face. His body was sated, his heart full of love. He kissed her.
“I am the happiest man in Scotland,” he whispered, kissing her brow. “The happiest in the world.”
Arabella smiled and stroked his hair. “Oh, you.”
They lay to sleep, but though he dozed off for a while, contented, he woke later. He found himself staring at her profile, his heart sore, his mind worried.
“Keep her safe,” he whispered to the night. “I don't care what else happens, to me or aught else in the world. But keep her safe.”
Finally, exhausted, he slept.
The next morning, they woke and found the woodsman already gone. They ate leftovers for breakfast and Richard stood, stretching.
“I'll rinse my face under the pump,” he nodded, heading into the yard. Arabella nodded, rinsing the dishes in the pail.
When he got back, he found her all packed – their few
belongings besides what they wore – the apron, the old kilt – she'd wrapped up in the plaid. The dress, she'd torn up and put beside the fireplace. He frowned.
“I'll have none of it – it was part of my old life.”
Richard smiled, but felt a little uneasy. He went out to fetch a walking staff, salvaged from the hoe he'd stolen from the tannery – and his uneasiness grew. What had he done? He'd stolen an earl's daughter, a woman so highborn she'd probably never even met a minor baron's son before. He'd married her. In those two acts, he'd condemned her to a life beneath her station.
She's a capable woman. She'll not mind that. I wager she's fuller of resources than me, and strengths!
All the same, the nagging uneasiness persisted as they set out.
She was quiet too, he noticed. As they walked on, heading south, deeper into the woods, her silence lengthened.
She's probably regretting it too, he thought sorrowfully. I can imagine that. She must curse herself as a fool for ever having wed me. Not only am I leading her to danger, I am so far beneath her I'll never give her what she was born to.
“Shall we stop for lunch?” he asked. He had noticed Arabella was limping and he felt like a fool for not having suggested it sooner.
It was almost midday, he judged from the position of the sun, and he was starting to think wistfully of the bread and cheese he carried in their bundle, strapped to the stave.
“Yes,” she murmured.
“You seem tired.”
“I am.”
She stopped walking once she reached the bank of the stream, and stood and looked down pensively, watching the swirl of the clear, crisply scented water. Richard stood back. He could see from the set of her shoulders and her stiff, formal posture that something was bothering her. He felt guilty.
“We should have stopped earlier,” he said. “I should have thought about your getting tired.”
“Perhaps.”
They settled on the bank of a stream. He passed her a chunk of bread and a small, sweet apple.
She ate it in silence, and they watched the water curl round mossy banks, whispering and laughing to itself, seemingly, as it gurgled over the rocks and round the stones.
The Highlander’s Trust_Blood of Duncliffe Series_A Medieval Scottish Romance Story Page 13
