Rodrick the Bold

by Suzan Tisdale

  “Mum says ye’re goin’ to have a babe,” Ailrig said quietly.

  She felt her stomach tighten for the briefest of moments. “Aye, I am.”

  “She says ye’re goin’ to marry Rodrick the Bold.”

  “Rodrick the Bold?” she asked. “Why do ye call him that?”

  “Because that be what everyone calls him,” Ailrig replied.

  Muriel had to chuckle. “I mean why do they call him that?”

  Ailrig shrugged his shoulders. “Mayhap because he be a mean son of—” he stopped and corrected his language. “He be a right fierce man on the battlefield, is what I be told. Most people be afraid of him.”

  “Are ye?” Muriel asked. She wasn’t certain how much of this was rumor or truth. She thought back to how Rodrick had helped her escape from the ship. Aye, he’d been more than just fierce. If he hadn’t been there to protect her, she was certain she might have died from fright alone.

  He thought on it for a moment. “Nay, I be no’ afraid of him. But neither would I want to anger him on purpose. ‘Twould be akin to pokin’ a wounded bear with a sharp stick, ye ken.”

  Aye, she could very well see what he meant. Oddly, she didn’t find anything terrifying about Rodrick. Whenever he was with her, he was forever the gentleman. She felt safe with him, safer that she’d ever felt around anyone other than her father. Not even her brother Charles had left her feeling that way.

  “I think Rodrick will make a good father,” Ailrig said. “Even if the babe be no’ his.”

  A sense of dread and unease fell over Muriel then. She was still filled with doubt about the prospect of marrying Rodrick. And she still clung to the worry of keeping this babe. What if she or he looked too much like Fergus? Would she still be able to love the babe, or would it be naught more than a daily, constant reminder of what had happened?

  “I heard mum and da talkin’ about it,” Ailrig added. “They think I can no’ hear them late at night, but I do.”

  She wondered what else the boy had heard. Suddenly, that all-too-familiar sense of shame came rushing in. She didn’t want a boy so young to know that such violent things occurred in this world. And she did not want him to think less of her because of the actions of another. Before she could put to voice what she was thinking, Ailrig was speaking again.

  “Can ye keep a secret?” he asked without moving.

  Muriel could hear the seriousness in his voice. She remembered having ‘secrets’ as a little girl. They were naught tremendously important secrets to anyone but herself. They were silly things really, if one compared them to the significance of real, adult secrets or problems.

  There was something in the little lad’s tone of voice that told her she should not laugh or make light of him, even if she believed his secret ’twas naught more serious than what lass he might ‘like’ or that he took a sweet cake when his mother wasn’t looking. “Aye, I can keep a secret.”

  Slowly, Ailrig sat up, pulling his knees to his chest. “Ye may no’ ken this, but I was bastard born.”

  Aye, she knew that, for Aggie and Rose had told her. “Aye, I ken that, Ailrig,” she replied softly.

  He wore the most serious expression. Turning away from her, he stared at the stream. “That used to bother me, when I was younger.”

  She had to stifle the urge to laugh, for he was still quite young.

  “That be no’ the secret,” he told her. “Me bein’ bastard born and all.”

  With her curiosity piqued, she said, “What is yer secret then?”

  “I ken the truth. I ken who me real da is.”

  It took every ounce of energy not to gasp or otherwise look surprised. Muriel didn’t know what she should do or say, so she simply listened.

  “I heard me mum and da talkin’ about it a long time ago. I ken that Eduard Bowie raped me mum.”

  There was no way to hide her astonishment. She had to look away. This poor child! Her heart hurt for him. What if my own child some day learns the truth? It would be devastatin’ for her. Muriel began to rethink her decision to keep this babe and just why Ailrig was sharing this with her. Mayhap she should tell him that mayhap ‘twould be best to talk to his parents instead of her.

  “At first, it was quite a shock. I was verra angry, ye ken. Angry that no one had told me the truth.” He grabbed a blade of grass and began to rub it betwixt his finger and thumb. “But I was even more angry that he had done that to me mum.”

  An errant tear escaped Muriel’s eye and slid down her cheek. I can no’ do that to this babe. I can no’ keep a secret such as this, to pretend, to lie. ‘Twould no’ be fair. “I am so sorry, Ailrig,” she whispered, still unable to look at him.

  “Do no’ feel sorry fer me,” he said. “Because I no longer feel sorry fer meself.”

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips before looking at him. “I do no’ understand.” She truly couldn’t. How could he not be filled with shame or rage at knowing the truth?

  “I ken it might sound odd,” he began, “but I ken me mum and da love me. That is all that matters to me. I remember Mermadak, the man who raised mum. He was a mean, cruel son of a whore and I be glad he is dead.”

  She took note that he didn’t correct his foul language and couldn’t chastise him for it.

  “I be grateful me mum was nothin’ like him. I be grateful fer what I have, ye ken. Because, fer a verra long time, me and mum did no’ have anything to our names but the clothes on our backs. Fer a verra long time, we lived in constant fear of Mermadak, fear of his beatin’s, ye ken.”

  No, that she did not ken. She knew there was more to Aggie’s story than she had shared. Now, Muriel was getting a bigger glimpse at her previous life.

  “I also ken I be nothin’ like Eduard Bowie, the man who sired me. I will live the whole of me life tryin’ to be the opposite of everythin’ he was. I will be like Frederick and me mum. I will be a fierce warrior who protects the innocent, just like me da and uncles do. And like Rodrick does.”

  Now she understood why he was telling her these things. He knew the truth about her babe. From his own experience, he was trying to give her hope.

  Wise beyond his years, Ailrig scooted to sit next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Do no’ cry, Muriel,” he said. “I did no’ mean to make ye cry.”

  Muriel felt absurdly foolish crying her eyes out in front of an eleven-year-old boy.

  “I just wanted ye to ken that if ye love yer babe like me mum and Frederick love me, then all will be well,” he explained. “All that matters to a child is that they’re loved.”

  All that matters is that they’re loved.

  Those were wise words from a boy as young as Ailrig.

  Muriel wiped away the rest of her tears and took in a deep cleansing breath. “Thank ye, Ailrig,” she told him. “I will do me best to remember what ye said.”

  He patted her shoulder once before scooting away. “And ye’ll no’ tell anyone that I know the truth?” he asked.

  “’Twill be a secret I take to me grave,” she told him.

  He gave a quick nod before looking back to the fishing lines. After a long moment of silence, he said, “Ye best hurry with catchin’ fish, fer I do believe I be winnin’.”

  Muriel giggled at him. “I did no’ realize ’twas a contest.”

  He looked at her with mouth agape. “Fishin’ be always a contest,” he said.

  Oh, the more she got to know this young lad, the more she liked him. “Verra well then,” she said with a smile. “I have nothin’ to wager, but let us say that whoever catches the most fish will be declared the King of Fisherman, aye?”

  He seemed to like that idea a great deal. “And what shall the loser be declared?” he asked.

  “The loser will simply have to live with the shame of losin’.”

  He nodded in approval. “Do no’ worry,” he said. “I shall tell no one ye lost.”

  Chapter Eight

  August arrived and brought more sunshin
e and heat than Muriel could ever remember in her lifetime. It also brought with it new hope for the future. For days, Muriel thought about what Ailrig had told her that day on the banks of the stream. All that matters to a child is that they are loved.

  The more time she spent with Rodrick the more she began to believe he would make a good husband and an even better father. If he was willing to look beyond how the babe was conceived, then mayhap she could as well.

  ’Twas just after the noonin’ meal when Rodrick sought her out at the outdoor kitchen. She had just finished washing a pile of pots and pans left over from preparing the noon meal. Her hair was damp from sweating and her dress spotted with water. He didn’t seem to mind. “Fancy a walk, lass?” he said as he stood across the table.

  With naught better to do, now that her chores were done, she agreed. Wiping her hands off on a drying cloth, she asked Rose for permission. “Go on with ye,” Rose said with a smile. “But be back in time to help with the evenin’ meal.”

  Muriel took note of the stern expressions on several of the other women’s faces. Thus far, none had been cruel or mean to her. No one taunted her for being an unwed woman with child. Though they weren’t treating her poorly, neither were they being as warm and kind as Aggie and Rose. She could only hope that someday they might put aside whatever ill feelings they had for her.

  Muriel thanked her and left with Rodrick.

  They took their usual route, leaving through the big gate, and walked around the outer wall. “How was trainin’ today?” Muriel asked.

  “’Twas good,” he replied. “The men, I think, are finally understandin’ which end of their swords they should use. ’Tis a small victory, but one I will gladly take.”

  Muriel knew he’d been having an awful time with the men he had been training. There were days he swore ’twas like trying to teach a week-old babe how to use a spoon. “I am glad to hear things are goin’ so well,” she told him.

  Rodrick grunted. “I said they had improved. I didn’t say things were goin’ well,” he told her as they continued to walk around the outer wall. Soon, she heard the sound of the men working on the keep. “Why do ye no’ help with the buildin’ of the keep?” she asked him.

  “I be in charge of trainin’ the men,” he replied. “As well as in charge of men who guard our borders.”

  “So ye be Ian’s second in command?” she asked.

  His lips turned upward, the smile unmistakable. “Aye, I be his second in command.”

  “That be a verra important thing, aye?” she asked.

  “Aye, lass, it is.”

  She felt proud of and for him. To be the second in command was almost as important as being the chief. Muriel knew Rodrick took his duties very seriously and was glad for it. If he took being a husband and father as seriously as his other duties, then he would indeed make a fine husband and father.

  Later in the afternoon, Muriel finally met the healer and midwife of the clan. Angrabraid had to be the oldest person Muriel had ever met. With wrinkled skin, gnarled hands, and a hunch in her back, she looked ancient.

  “Ye be with child,” Angrabraid said as she stood in the doorway to Muriel’s home.

  “Aye,” Muriel replied, unable to take her eyes off the auld woman.

  “I be Angrabraid,” the woman said. “Yer midwife.”

  Muriel stammered for a moment. “’Tis good to meet ye.”

  “Well, are ye goin’ to make an auld woman stand outside all the day long?”

  Muriel gave a shake of her head as she allowed the woman in. How could someone this auld help deliver a babe?

  Angrabraid took a quick glance at her surroundings before slowly lowering herself into a chair. “Do no’ be put off by me age,” she told Muriel. “Havin’ a babe is the most natural thing in the world. Ye will do most of the work. I am just there to see ye do it right.”

  Muriel suppressed the urge to laugh. “Would ye like a bit of cider?” she asked as she crossed the floor to her small kitchen area.

  “Nay,” Angrabraid replied. “I can no’ stay long. I have other women to see this day.”

  Muriel put the pitcher of cider back and sat down across from the midwife.

  “Do ye ken when ye’re due to have this babe?” Angrabraid asked.

  While Muriel had a general idea, she was not exactly certain. “I believe in February,” she replied.

  “A winter babe,” Angrabraid said as if she approved of the time of year. “Well, let us see fer certain, aye?”

  Muriel’s suspicions were verified by Angrabraid. She could expect her babe to arrive in mid to late February. Silently, she prayed the babe was a girl child.

  After Angrabraid left her, Muriel went to the outdoor kitchens to help begin preparing the evening meal. There were a dozen women all working diligently, slicing vegetables, preparing breads and meats, and the other dishes they would serve later that evening.

  She looked for Rose and Aggie, but they were not with the other women. Cautiously, she approached the long table, pulled an apron over her head and asked one of the older women, “What would ye like me to do?”

  Muriel could not remember the woman’s name, but thus far, she had been one of the few who hadn’t looked at her with scorn. “Ye can clean these,” she said as she placed a big bowl of carrots on the table. “The water be over there,” she said with a nod over her shoulder.

  Muriel smiled and headed toward the buckets of water. There were two younger women standing near the buckets and they looked at her with nothing less than disdain. Her stomach tightened ever so slightly but she pushed the discomfort aside. Just show them ye be a good woman, she told herself. Let them get to know ye better.

  A feast was held that evening in honor of Frederick and Aggie Mackintosh, for they would be leaving on the morrow. While Rose tried to keep an air of happiness about her, Muriel suspected she was quite sad. Rose’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  Muriel and Rodrick ate at one of the crowded low tables with a group of warriors. They were not at all a talkative group of men. Mayhap ’twas because she was the only woman at the table and they were silent out of respect. But the rest of the gathering room was filled with lively, talkative sorts. Many people walked by the high table to tell them they would miss Frederick and Aggie.

  As soon as Rodrick noticed Muriel was done eating, he rose from the table. “Fancy a walk, lass?”

  She could not help but smile at his invitation, even though ’twas the same invitation he had been giving her for weeks. “I would like that,” she replied warmly.

  Someone at the table grunted, whilst another snorted. There was no mistaking the thinly veiled hostility coming from the men. Muriel felt her face grow hot with embarrassment. Rodrick gave each man a look of warning that turned them mute.

  They hadn’t taken but a few steps from the table when the formerly mute men began to talk in hushed whispers. Muriel felt Rodrick grow tense as she watched his smile turn to a scowl. His reaction was brief, however, and soon he was leading her through the doors and into the cool night air.

  Muriel waited until they were a good distance from the keep before she made mention of what had just taken place. “Your men,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “They do no’ like me much, do they?”

  Rodrick continued to scowl. “Ignore them lass. They be naught but fools.”

  “Will they ever accept me as one of their own?” she asked.

  “It matters no’,” he replied. “I accept ye, as does Rose.”

  But it did matter. She did not want to live the rest of her life as an outcast. “Mayhap, if they knew the truth, that I be no’ unmarried and with child by me own choosin’, they might think differently of me.” The last thing she wanted was to have everyone in the keep know that she had been raped. ’Twas not a discussion she wanted to have with anyone, let alone complete strangers. She was filled with too much shame to do that.

  “They will eventually come around, lass,” Rodrick told her as th
ey walked through the wide gates. Mayhap ‘twas cowardice that kept him from telling her the truth about her brother. Believing it best for now to have her believe the clan’s reaction to her was due to her unwed state, he remained mute. Later, after the babe was born, he would tell her the truth.

  Muriel knew he was only trying to make her feel better, but it didn’t work. While she appreciated the fact that Rodrick, Rose, and Aggie had accepted her, it somehow didn’t seem to be enough. She wasn’t naive enough to believe the entire clan would want to be her friend, but she needed more than just a handful of people willing to claim such.

  For the rest of their walk, Muriel and Rodrick were quiet as each were lost in their own thoughts. After only one trip around the outer walls, Muriel wanted nothing more than to go back to her hut and sleep. ‘Twasn’t just that she was tired, her heart also felt heavy. She could sense that something weighed on Rodrick’s mind, but he was unwilling to share it. “I fear I be verra tired,” she told him as they neared the gate.

  Rodrick said nothing as he gently guided her through. As they went, Muriel saw three men standing together, passing a flagon of something.

  “I do no’ care what ye say,” one of the men was speaking rather loudly. “Her brother was a traitor.”

  Muriel felt Rodrick grow tense once again as his back straightened and his face grew dark.

  “But that does no’ mean she be a traitor,” another man said as he took the flagon and drank from it.

  “I say we give the lass a chance.”

  Muriel came to an abrupt stop and listened. In her heart, she knew they were talking about her.

  “Come, Muriel,” Rodrick whispered as he tried to pull her along.

  “Charles McFarland was a traitorous bastard,” the third man said. “I will wager ye, his sister be one as well.”