Her Highland Destiny

by Leanne Burroughs

  He aimed another vicious kick at her belly, but she moved, so she took the blow to the hipbone. “You and your husband elude capture this day, but I shall be back. Remember that, woman. I will be back. You’ll never know when I shall return.”

  The shouts neared.

  ~ * ~

  Duncan was close to losing his mind. What was happening to his gentle wife? He could hear her, tried to follow the sound, but kept running into dead ends.

  “This way,” Trevor hissed.

  Duncan whirled around. “But the sound is there.” He slashed at the ancient boxwood, trying to get through the thick mass.

  “You waste time. Stay with me. We will move away from the sound before we circle back. The sounds come from the center. Come.”

  Not waiting for Duncan, Trevor vanished around another turn.

  “By Saint Ninian’s teeth,” Duncan grumbled. He took the turn Gillingham had, but the man was gone. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of Catherine’s screams. Now silent, he feared they might be too late.

  After two turns, he still hadn’t spotted Catherine’s brother. “Gillingham!”

  “Over here.”

  The call was deceptive. Duncan tried to follow the voice, but it seemed to shift. The wind was picking up and carried the words away.

  Grant came up behind him and patted his shoulder. Grant was the only one outside of Laird Drummond that would know the terror a maze held for Duncan. “Hold fast, my brother.”

  Another call came. Duncan looked at Grant. His friend listened and shrugged. Alex came up behind them. Duncan flicked his eyes toward Grant. “Alex, take that path. Grant, the one on the right. I shall take this one. Shout if you find my wife or her brother.”

  Alex moved off at Duncan’s order. Grant squeezed Duncan’s shoulder. “I stay with you.” He didn’t say it, but his grey eyes clearly showed he feared Duncan near to cracking from the combination of memories flooding back from his childhood and worry over what they’d find when they reached Catherine.

  “My wife...” Duncan sobbed, breath coming hard to his lungs.

  “You waste time. This way.” Grant urged him along.

  Catherine’s body ached. Her head spun and she feared she’d pass out from the sharp, stabbing pains. She’d never felt such horrible cramps before, couldn’t move. Groaning in pain and terror, shooting pains ricocheted through her body, no longer localized in her stomach.

  “Duncan...” She gasped when she tried to move, pain so intense she collapsed into a sea of darkness.

  “Here!” Gillingham cried.

  “This way.” Grant yanked on Duncan’s sleeve as they moved around another end and faced yet one more dead end. “Merde!” Grant muttered.

  Then they heard rustling. Trevor was on the other side of the tall hedge. “This way.”

  They tried to follow his voice, but faced a second dead end.

  “Here, MacThomas!” Then they saw. The boxwood was sculpted so the shadows hid the final turn to the center of the maze. They could have walked right past it a dozen times and never spotted it.

  Duncan’s heart dropped as he spotted her. “Catherine!” Dear God, was she dead?

  She wasn’t moving and her leg was bent at an odd angle. His eyes searched her carefully, but didn’t see her chest moving. She wasn’t breathing. Nay! Blessed God in Heaven, he’d lost her. Carrying his anger with his father too far, he’d driven away one of the most important people in his life—and now she was dead.

  He dropped to his knees and tenderly cradled her head while his men stood around him helplessly. They turned to look at each other, but could do nothing.

  His wife’s maid knelt on the ground sobbing.

  Chapter Twelve

  Catherine’s lashes fluttered when Duncan knelt beside her and placed his fingertips to the side of her neck and felt the light beating of her pulse. Until that instance, he was unsure if she’d drawn a breath. He bent and brushed his lips lightly over her forehead and heard her soft moan. The fear of losing her had crippled him, made him forget all his warrior training.

  Panic flooded him at that realization, how she had the power to destroy his life. That couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let his guard down for an instant with her. But saying the words and seeing them to action were two different things.

  Trevor knelt on Catherine’s other side. “Cat? ‘Tis Trev. Waken.”

  Refusing to release her hand, Duncan noticed even now that silly tendril flopped over her forehead. He wanted to touch it. Touch her forever. Make sure she was all right. Her eyeballs moved behind her lids. Finally, they opened.

  “Catherine, can you hear me?”

  When she turned her head, Duncan saw her grimace in pain.

  “‘Tis all right, lass,” he said softly, his mouth lightly caressing her ear. “You shall be fine. I shall see you safely home.” Looking at Catherine’s brother, he knew the worry in the man’s eyes matched his. “Help lift her into my arms.”

  Even with their care, every movement jarred her body and she screamed. Her eyes glazed over as she looked up at Duncan. He feared every step would feel like a sword thrusting through her body.

  Trevor kept pace beside him, gripping Catherine’s hand.

  Duncan shifted her in his arms. Her head rolled slightly as a cry lodged in her throat before she fell limp.

  Duncan and Trevor’s eyes locked. In unspoken agreement, they speeded up their pace.

  ~ * ~

  Shoving past hovering servants, Duncan charged into the house and up to the room Trevor indicated. In three strides Duncan was beside the post bed. He gently laid Catherine on the embroidered coverlet. Still she didn’t waken.

  He sat speaking to her, though he barely heard his words. His eyes took in everything. Catherine’s long, wavy hair spread over the pillow. Her face, pale from the pain, looked as white as the bed pillows. The stark contrast of her dark auburn hair against her alabaster skin frightened him. He’d never seen a woman this pale before. Nay, that wasn’t true. His mother looked like that the day his father took him away from Castle Glenshee.

  Her face and body were battered, bruises already discoloring her pale face and arms, and her lips were cracked and swollen. Blood oozed from the corner of her mouth.

  Catherine’s mother rushed in, the keys at her waist jingling as she wrung her hands in the skirt of her dark brown kirtle. Lady Gillingham shot a look of pure hatred. “Out of my way.” Her eyes shot to blood staining the pale yellow kirtle. “Good Lord, my daughter may lose her babe.”

  Nay! Duncan’s mind screamed. Terror raced through his veins. “I shall not leave her.”

  He stared at Catherine’s battered face, bruises forming before his eyes. He remembered the horror of seeing her lying on the ground. Blessed God in Heaven, what had that monster done?

  Duncan barely took note of a female servant who bobbed as she entered the room, showing in an elderly man. A physician, Duncan assumed. The man motioned toward the hearth and told them, “Kindle a fire. Gather clean rags to catch the bleeding. Cover the young woman from the waist down. Lady Gillingham and Rowena may stay. The rest of you leave.”

  Duncan didn’t move.

  The man pointedly cleared his throat, extended his hand to Duncan. “I am Thibideau Martin, the Gillingham family physician.”

  Duncan rose and shook the man’s hand.

  “You are the young lady’s husband?”

  “I am, and I have no intention of leaving.” Duncan’s eyes never left the man’s wrinkled face. “She is with child.”

  “I feared such.” His gaze went to Catherine, but he directed his words to Duncan. “Rather you a midwife be fetched?”

  “We do not have time to wait for someone else to arrive.” Duncan choked out the words.

  Sitting on bedside, the man drew a cone shaped implement from his bag. Lifting the blanket and her skirts, he placed it on Catherine’s stomach and bent his ear to listen. His face revealed nothing. He reached under the blanket and pressed
his hand on Catherine’s belly, causing her to moan in pain.

  Duncan hadn’t released her hand, now squeezed it tighter. He knew the physician had to touch her, but he didn’t have to like it.

  Completing his examination, the physician stood and once again listened to Catherine’s belly. Suddenly she screamed, her body arching off the bed. The doctor straightened, appearing uncomfortable. His eyes swept from Lady Gillingham to Duncan. “There is naught I can do to save the child. Whoever beat your wife did too much damage. Her body tries to expel it. The pains will continue until she delivers.”

  Duncan closed his eyes. What sort of animal would attack his innocent wife? The real question he couldn’t wrap his mind around, however, was why someone would do so. She’d never hurt anyone. He rubbed his forehead with his sleeve. Since the servant lit the fire, the room felt stifling.

  Catherine shifted in bed. She cried out as pains assaulted her body and her brow beaded with sweat. Duncan reached for a cloth, wetted it and gently pressed it to her brow.

  The night seemed to go on forever, the room darkening with long shadows. The fire was rebuilt, and rebuilt again. The physician firmly pushed on Catherine’s belly one last time and informed Duncan it was over. Their child had been expelled.

  Duncan’s eyes widened in horror at the blood surrounding Catherine. Merciful Saint Columba, did his wife bleed to death?

  The man furtively wrapped something in a cloth and started to hand it to the servant.

  “My bairn, what was it?”

  “Do not torture yourself.”

  Duncan reached out his hand to stay the man’s arm. Gently he folded back the cloth and looked down at the too tiny face of his daughter. He refused to break down in front of strangers. How could this have happened? How will I break the news to Catherine? God, why did you let this happen?

  Catherine’s mother sat in the far corner of the room, sobbing hysterically. Rowena opened the chamber door, letting in a faint ray of light. Trevor and Elizabeth rushed in.

  The young girl hurried to her sister.

  “Cat?” Elizabeth looked to her brother, then leaned her head down to touch her forehead to Catherine’s. “Trevor said someone hurt you.” Tears ran down her cheeks.

  Duncan hadn’t paid much attention to the young girl before, but he saw the resemblance. Elizabeth was a younger version of Catherine. Some day she’d grow to be a beauty. Only now her face was blotchy and eyes were red from crying. He’d heard her wailing in the hallway. Trevor probably held her as closely as Duncan held Catherine when he carried her home.

  Although Duncan thought the man irksome, he grudgingly admitted Gillingham loved his sisters.

  The physician finished packing rewrapping the tiny babe and gave it to a maidservant. He packed his small bag, then ran a hand through his already mussed hair. He approached Duncan and cleared his throat. “I am sorry, MacThomas. I truly wish I could have done more.”

  Duncan wished he’d done more as well. He’d failed Catherine yet again.

  ~ * ~

  Catherine’s body screamed with pain when she moved. Her mother approached when she moaned. Catherine turned and saw Duncan in a chair beside the bed.

  “Mother,” Catherine slurred. Her mouth felt as dry as if she had a cloth stuffed in it. “Water.”

  Her mother filled a pewter cup and held it to her daughter’s lips. After taking a few sips, Catherine had voice enough to query, “Why is Duncan here? I thought I but dreamed him before.” Her husband slept soundly in an uncomfortable chair.

  Her mother glared at the man in question. “You have been asleep for two days. The man refuses to leave, no matter how often I insist he do so. He is even more stubborn than your father.”

  Catherine started to ask another question, but Lady Gillingham handed her the cup. “Do not ask so many questions. Drink this and rest. You took a horrible beating.”

  Her mother’s words brought a flood of images to Catherine. Eyes wide with fright, she looked up. “Why did that man beat me?” Tears pooled in her eyes, “I could not get away.”

  At the sound of her sobs, Duncan stirred.

  In one fluid movement he rose and reached for her hand. Confused, Catherine jerked it away. Why was he being kind? She remembered their argument. Why was he still here? She raised her hand to her head, the movement causing pain to shoot through her, her stomach cramping.

  Her hands flew to cradle her stomach. “The baby. Mother! Something is wrong.”

  Her mother glanced at Duncan. She bent to kiss the top of Catherine’s head and patted her hand. Lady Gillingham whispered in her daughter’s ear, “I love you, Dearling.” She backed out the chamber door, tears glistening in her eyes.

  Catherine watched her mother leave, knowing unpleasantness had always been something her mother avoided. With every fiber of her being, she sensed now was one such time. Only Duncan remained.

  Cramps tore through her again. Duncan’s eyes were filled with empathy. Catherine’s met his. “My baby?” Her hand instinctively fell once again to her now flatter belly, an unspoken plea in her eyes.

  He sat on the bed, wrapped her in his arms and gently drew her closer. “The bairn is gone, lass.”

  “Nay!” Catherine choked on her torment. She didn’t want to believe, but knew he bespoke the truth. She tried to push away, but he held tight and cradled her in his arms as cries of torment washed over her.

  “You lie,” she sobbed pitifully. “You want to hurt me again.”

  Duncan said nothing.

  “P-please tell me ‘tis not true,” she pleaded.

  The pain in Duncan’s eyes was all the answer she needed.

  She leaned against his chest and sobbed. He held her and rocked her as if a child, murmuring soft words of encouragement in Gaelic.

  Gasping for breath, it was a long time before Catherine stopped crying. The anguish more than she could bear, her grief plummeted into despair.

  ~ * ~

  For days Catherine refused to speak. Her eyes vacant, she refused to eat, only accepted fluids when they held the cup to her lips.

  Lady Gillingham panicked over Catherine’s refusal to eat. Duncan and Trevor allowed her to call the physician back. Unfortunately, he had no solutions. “I have no idea how to feed her if she refuses. Be glad she takes fluids or she would already be dead.”

  Her family coddled her, but nothing snapped Catherine out of her desolation. Even her brother’s presence evoked no response.

  Duncan grew desperate.

  One morn Elizabeth came out of Catherine’s room, tears streaming down her face. She ran into Trevor’s arms. “Cat will not speak with me, Trev. Is she dying?”

  Duncan felt as if someone twisted a dirk in his heart. He stood aside and listened as Trevor tried to console his young sister.

  “Shh, Beth. Our Cat shall be just fine.”

  Duncan wished he could believe Gillingham’s words.

  ~ * ~

  His unease growing, Duncan reached the end of his patience. He told her family, “I am taking Catherine home.”

  Ready to break his fast in his Hall, Catherine’s father gave a condescending laugh. “You abandoned her in your home.”

  “And you gave up the right to comment when you sold her to me from your home for promises of wealth from your heathen king. I hope it was worth it. You should have protected her—your oldest daughter—regardless of financial gain.”

  Gillingham flung his goblet against the table where Duncan stood. “How dare you speak to me thusly? I should throw you out. I no longer blame Catherine for feeling as she does.”

  “I blame you,” Duncan hissed. “I intend to do a far better job caring for her than you did.” He turned on his heel and left the drawing room.

  Gillingham yelled, “Get out of my house.”

  “Happily.” Duncan passed Lady Gillingham as he left the room. “Prepare your daughter, madam. I take her home.” He headed to the stables. Thanking his friends for accompanying him to London, Duncan told
his men, “‘Tis time we take Catherine home. Grant, we shall be safe enough for you to return home. In Catherine’s present condition, it shall take me awhile to fetch her back to Scotland.” He shook his head and sighed. “She suffered enough and I must take this journey slowly.”

  “We leave?” Angus’ eyes widened in surprise.

  Duncan nodded. “Aye, shortly.”

  Alasdair’s brows furrowed. “Is Lady Catherine strong enough to travel?”

  “I believe so”—Duncan raised a shoulder—“but that is why we shall travel slowly. I wish not to hurt her more.”

  Turning to look at Catherine’s family home, Grant nodded. “If you do not have needs of us, we shall depart. Tory probably paces the floor and wears a path in the rushes by now.”

  Before he left, he carried Catherine downstairs and headed out the door leading to the gardens. Veering left, he walked to the tiny plot of freshly dug earth.

  “This is where our wee daughter Kaitlyn rests, lass,” he told her, trying to keep his voice steady. “I saw her, you know. The physician showed her to me after...after...” He had to clear his throat to keep from breaking down. He couldn’t do that. He had to be strong for Catherine. “She was so tiny. Like a butterfly that went to Heaven. Your mam suggested placing her beneath this beautiful fir tree rather than in the family vault beneath the house. The branches shall always provide shade for her. Is it not lovely?”

  She said nothing, but tears rolled down her cheeks unchecked.

  Duncan blamed himself. If only he’d stood firm and insisted she leave the garden and return to the house. He should have carried her kicking and screaming over his shoulder. He’d felt a glimmer of fear when he left her, had paid no heed to that inner voice—God’s warning.

  In hindsight, Duncan knew he should have done a lot of things differently. God was probably appalled with his behavior. His maither would be too if God allotted her a window from Heaven. “I gave her a name. She needed one, you know. God needed to know what to call her in Heaven.” Duncan knew he rambled, but if he stopped talking he’d ball like a babe. And he couldn’t do that in front of Catherine. Not now while her emotions were still so tapsal teerie. He never thought anything could hurt this much.