Wee William's Woman, Book Three of the Clan MacDougall Series

by Suzan Tisdale

Nora could not understand what the woman was saying and looked at Wee William for help.

  “Isobel,” Wee William said in English. “This be Nora Crawford of Penrith.”

  Isobel recognized the last name and did nothing to disguise her surprise or displeasure. She looked directly at Nora and continued to speak in the Gaelic.

  “Crawford? Have ye lost yer mind, Wee William?”

  “’Tis no’ what ye think, Isobel. She be a Crawford only by marriage.”

  Isobel glared at Wee William. Angus was not going to like this, not at all. Isobel wasn’t sure if she really cared how the lass was related to any of the Crawford’s. Her thoughts immediately turned to Aishlinn. They’d spent the last year trying to keep her existence a secret, for her own safety as well as the clan’s. Now, Wee William brings a Crawford into their midst.

  “Why is she here?” Isobel seethed.

  “She needs our help, Isobel. She was married to Horace.”

  “Horace?” She looked Nora up and down. “What do you mean was?”

  “That be a long story, Isobel. Mayhap we can talk after we see the lass gets a bath, clean clothes and a hot meal?”

  Isobel shook her head in disgust. Instinct warned her that she would not like the story behind the young woman’s presence.

  Nora had been listening, unable to understand what they were saying. But Isobel’s tone of voice and the angry glances she shot at Nora said plenty; her presence here was not a welcome one.

  Wee William had warned Nora that while she would receive his protection as well as his men’s, it might take a few days for his clan to warm to having another Sassenach living among them. He had assured her that once they knew the reasons why she was there, his clan would soon warm to the idea. She had prayed these past many days that he was correct and that they would at least be civil and courteous. But the looks this woman was giving her said that would not be the case.

  Nora tamped down her disappointment and tried to look as though she did not care what Isobel’s opinion of her was. She could remain silent no longer.

  “M’lady,” Nora said with a short curtsey. “I know our presence here is not welcomed and I apologize for the inconvenience we are causing. You have my word that we will leave as soon as my sister, Elise, is well enough to travel. I ask naught of you or your people other than a warm place for her to recover.” She refused to cry or to beg. Her only concern at the moment was Elise’s health.

  Isobel’s expression had changed from anger to curiosity as she studied Nora. The young woman looked gaunt, exhausted, and worried. Though she was covered with mud and muck, she stood with her chin up and her back straight.

  Isobel caught a note of pride in the girl, but it wasn’t born of arrogance or conceit. Isobel took a deep breath and let it out through her nose. Sympathy for Nora as well as the sick little girl on her way above stairs began to creep in.

  “Please forgive my manners, lass. I tend to be overly protective of my family and my clan, as I’m sure ye are of yours.”

  Nora tilted her head slightly. “Aye, I am. There’s naught I wouldn’t do for them.”

  Isobel nodded her head approvingly and turned her attention back to Wee William. “Lets get inside. I’ve put the babe in Aishlinn’s auld room. I’m sure Nora will want to stay with her. Ye all look as though ye could use a hot bath and some clean clothes!”

  Wee William’s shoulders sagged with relief. He knew that if Isobel was willing to help Nora and her family, then the rest of the clan would soon follow her lead. They trusted Isobel’s judgment and guidance. He smiled with the thought that this might end up being easier than he anticipated, until he thought of Angus.

  His smile quickly evaporated. How would his chief take this news?

  “Bloody hell!” Angus’ deep voice echoed throughout the war room. He stood with his palms spread on the top of the table as he glowered at Wee William and the rest of the men who faced him. The clan council sat around the table, waiting in silence while their chief finished his tirade.

  “Bloody hell!” he was beginning to repeat himself.

  Shaking his head in frustration, Angus pushed himself up and ran a hand through his long blonde hair. He was more than forty now, but no one would guess it from his broad chest and well-muscled arms. The men who surrounded him had witnessed his anger on more than one occasion. Angus let out a deep breath of air and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Seventeen years ago when he’d been made chief of Clan MacDougall, he had been honored. While it hadn’t always been easy, Angus McKenna had taken his duties and responsibilities seriously and he’d always done what he thought was best for his clan. The safety of his clan, as well as his wife and children, were always at the forefront of any decision he made.

  “We pass a decree immediately that does no’ allow any unmarried man to cross on to English land!” Angus said through gritted teeth. Fergus, one of the oldest members of the clan and the council, chuckled at Angus’ directive. Angus ignored him.

  “Every time one of ye goes across that border, ye come back with a woman! And no’ just any woman! Nay, ye come back with a Sassenach woman who threatens the safety of this clan!”

  Fergus smiled and chuckled again. “Need I remind ye, Angus, that were it no’ for some of these young men, ye’d no’ ken about yer own daughter?”

  Angus fumed. “I ken that fact very well, Fergus! But that is well beside the point. They brought back the wife of the man who made me daughter’s life a livin’ hell for her whole life! And they canna even tell me if the man lives or no’.”

  “Chances are they didna survive the night,” Rowan said as he tried to offer some hope. Angus shot him an angry glare that warned him to keep his mouth shut.

  “Chances are? Chances are?” Angus seethed. “Aye, ’tis possible that the bastards succumbed to the elements and the wolves still feast on their dead bodies,” he feigned calmness as he paced behind the table.

  “Aye, ’tis indeed possible.” He clasped his hands behind his back and appeared as though he were giving that possibility some weight.

  Suddenly he stopped and spun to look at the young men lined against the wall. “’Tis also quite possible that the whoresons live and they are on their way to this castle now! What then? Have ye considered that?”

  Wee William’s jaw was set, his shoulders back with his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. It would be over his dead body that they’d turn Nora over to Horace, if he ever showed up to claim her. From what Rowan had told him, the night they took Horace and his brothers away, not once had he inquired as to the safety or wellbeing of his wife. Such a man would not travel far to rescue his wife.

  The bruises on Nora’s face were all that Wee William needed to confirm his suspicion that Horace Crawford was a coward.

  “He’ll no’ come fer her,” Wee William said pointedly.

  Angus’ brow furrowed into a deep line. “And how can ye be so sure of that?”

  “He’s a coward and no’ once while they were taking him and his brothers away, did he ask after Nora.”

  “And what be yer point, Wee William?” Angus did not give him time to form an answer. “If Horace be anything like his father, he cares no’ fer her as a woman, but only as his possession. ’Tisn’t a matter of honor with his ilk. ’Tis a matter of Nora bein’ his.”

  “That may well be, Angus. But I doubt that even Horace is fool enough to venture this far into Scotland to retrieve her. He’s no’ that brave.”

  “Nay, he may no’ be that brave, Wee William,” Angus said. “But he may be that stupid.”

  Wee William had not considered that possibility before. Still, it mattered not. Horace could bring a thousand English soldiers with him and it would change nothing. He had grown quite fond of Nora and he wouldn’t allow her to go back to the life she’d been living. His honor would not allow Nora or the children to return to England or the life they had been living. He had made a promise.

  Angus shook his head, knowing full we
ll that his words fell on deaf ears. Whatever it was about this lass, she had somehow captured the hearts of the men standing before him. There were times when he wished the sense of honor that was instilled into the people of his clan, the sense of right versus wrong, and the innate desire to help the less fortunate, wasn’t quite so strong.

  There many a night where he lay in bed at night wishing he had killed Broc years ago. How differently his life would be had he not allowed his half-brother to live. Laiden would have lived. Aishlinn would have grown up in the loving bosom of her clan and not suffered as she had, raised by the selfish and cruel Broc and the three idiots he called sons.

  The room had gone quiet as Angus and Wee William stood facing one another. Fergus finally pushed himself away from the table and stood, his old bones creaking in the process. He had been watching Wee William rather closely for the past half hour. The young man was determined to keep the young woman and her siblings safe from the man named Horace. Though Fergus had never met Horace, he knew his kind all too well. He could not say that he blamed Wee William or the others for wanting to do what they knew in their hearts to be the right thing.

  “There ye have it then.” Fergus said, as if it all made perfectly good sense.

  Angus looked at him as though he’d become feeble in his old age. “What does that mean, Fergus?”

  Fergus chuckled again as he grabbed his walking stick from where it rested against the table. “It means what it means. The lass and her wee sister and brother need our help. And ye ken we will give it to them, just as we would anyone else who came to us fer aid. Bein’ angry over it serves no purpose. Ye best decide what to do if ever this Horace Crawford shows up.”

  “Have ye any suggestions, Fergus?” It was Thomas Gainer that spoke. He was nearly as auld as Fergus, but where Fergus was lanky and gnarled with rheumatism, Thomas Gainer was short and squat, resembling a pickle barrel with arms and legs.

  “Aye. Decide where to hide the bloody Sassenach’s body. I recommend burying him on Bowie lands. Can’t stand the Bowies, ye ken. I doubt anyone will miss the whoreson called Horace Crawford.”

  All eyes followed Fergus as he left the room, whistling a lively tune.

  Mayhap the man had grown feeble, Angus supposed, but his words held some merit. Angus looked at the remaining members of his council. None of them argued Fergus’ point. They all sat stoic, eyes focused on Angus. Had they objected to Fergus’ advice they would have said so. Believing the men agreed with Fergus, Angus turned once again to the young men who stood against the wall.

  “I suppose his plan does have some merit,” Angus began. The more he thought on it, the less angry he became, and soon, a rather devious smile grew and his eyes lit up. He could not deny the fact that he would enjoy meeting the men who had nearly destroyed his daughter’s life.

  “Mayhap, if Horace Crawford does decide to do somethin’ stupid and come to Scotland, we’ll be able to show him a little Highland justice, aye?”

  The men at the table burst into laughter. The young men lining the wall -- looking as though they were awaiting their own executions -- let out sighs of relief. Wee William was relieved as well, for he wouldn’t have to admit openly that he was developing some very strong feelings toward Nora.

  He was quite glad that none of his men had mentioned the fact that he had claimed Nora as his own. Being forced to explain that to the council would have embarrassed him to no end. He would, he supposed, have explained it away as a means of bringing his men under control.

  Wee William wondered what he would have done if his men had mentioned what had happened the day before. Would he have been able to renounce his claim on Nora? Taking in a deep breath, he let it out slowly. Nay, he couldn’t have done that, at least not with a straight face.

  The men in the room broke into smaller groups, discussing everything from suggested improvements to the keep to the weather, and crops they would be planting in a few weeks. They were also excited about the upcoming festival. In a few weeks, hundreds upon hundreds of people would be descending upon Castle Gregor for a summer festival. There was much to prepare for in advance of the arrival of the six clans that would gather in friendship and with the hope of forging more peace between them.

  Leaving the men to their discussions, Wee William quit the room and headed up the stairs, telling himself he was going to check on Elise and not her older sister, Nora.

  Nora had, at first, declined seeing to her own need of a bath, clean clothes and a good meal. Her primary concerns were Elise’s health and making certain John was settled in. However, Mary and Isobel had refused to allow Nora to sit with Elise until she had bathed and donned a clean gown. They were quite insistent.

  “Lass, ye’ve been riding with Highlanders for days now and I fear ye’ve begun to smell like ‘em!” Mary had kindly explained. “Now, worry no’ over yer sister or yer brother! John is in good care, getting a bath of his own. He’s in the men’s solar below stairs and I promise as soon as he’s clean, we’ll feed the lad.”

  “And ye’ll be no use to yer sister in yer current state,” Isobel told her as she offered Nora a warm smile. Nora was taken aback by Isobel’s expression and kindness. Earlier, she had been convinced that Isobel did not want them here. Seeing her smile so warmly as she fussed over Elise caused her to rethink her previous impression of the woman.

  Deciding it would do no good to argue further, for she knew she did smell of earth, smoke, sweat, horses, and heaven only knew what else, she accepted their offer. Confident that her sister was in good hands, Nora gave Elise a kiss on her forehead and promised that she would soon return.

  Elise’s skin was still quite hot to the touch, her eyes still glassy, but she managed a smile before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep. Isobel promised not to leave her side until Nora returned.

  Mary took Nora to the women’s solar on the opposite side of the castle. Behind a dressing screen, a tub filled with hot water awaited. Peeling off her dirty clothes and setting them in a pile near the fireplace, Nora stretched her arms and neck for a moment before testing the water with her toe.

  She hadn’t realized how much she ached or how cold she was until stepped into the tub. The hot water stung, a momentary assault that brought prickly sensations from her toes to her fingers. As she relaxed fully into the water, the heat wrapped her in a cocoon of blissful warmth. It took only a few moments before she began to relax and feel quite sleepy.

  Just as she began to doze off, a woman appeared with the offer to help Nora bathe. Nora’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, for no one, not even Horace, had ever seen her completely naked before.

  The woman, who introduced herself as Eilean, clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes at Nora’s enflamed face. “Lass, we all have the same parts! Ye’ve nothing I’ve no’ seen before.”

  Nora knew they might well possess the same ‘parts’ as Eilean had put it, but that didn’t mean she found any comfort in exposing hers to a complete stranger. Nora kept her arms folded across her chest as Eilean scrubbed her hair with lilac scented soap.

  Nora was glad that the bruises Horace had left on her more than a week ago had faded and were now barely noticeable. The scars on her wrists, however, were quite obvious. She did her best to keep them hidden. Hopefully Eilean would not notice, and if she did, she would inquire as to how she obtained them.

  Eilean chatted away about one thing or another while she scrubbed Nora clean. Nora was too flummoxed to pay attention to what the woman was talking about. Besides, she spoke in a combination of English and Gaelic and Nora could understand less than half of what she was saying.

  When Eilean was done with the first round of washing, she called for the tub to be emptied and refilled. Nora had been covered with so much muck and grime that she left a murkiness in the bathwater that made her burn with further embarrassment. With so much dirt and grime, she required two tubs of hot water to get clean.

  Once Eilean was satisfied with Nora’s cleanliness, she hel
ped her don a luxuriously soft white chemise. It had long, full sleeves, and it felt sumptuous against her skin. Over that, Eilean pulled a full skirt made of a beautiful green, blue and yellow woolen plaid. Next, she tugged an overdress of a fine gray fabric, split up the middle so that one could see the lovely underskirt. The overdress was trimmed with a heavy yellow thread that glistened in the candlelight.

  Eilean giggled as she laced up the bodice. “Aye, we’ve the same parts, lass. But ye seem to have been blessed with more on top than I have!”

  Nora gulped, burning red yet again and was left feeling stunned and speechless by Eilean’s bluntness. Nora knew she was well endowed, but no one had ever commented on that fact before. Nora’s embarrassment brought another round of giggles from Eilean.

  “Do no’ tell me ye never noticed before, lass! Och! I’m sorry I made ye blush, lass. ’Tis me own envy over what the good Lord has given ye, that makes me talk so!”

  Envious? Of me? Nora couldn’t fathom anyone envying her anything. There wasn’t much about herself that she would think anyone would covet or envy. It wasn’t until she caught a glimpse of Eilean’s own bosom that Nora understood. While Eilean did in fact have what one could consider a healthy bosom, Nora’s was healthier. She stood a bit straighter and stifled a smile before chastising herself. Pride was one of the seven deadly sins, wasn’t it?

  Apparently, Eilean was not yet finished dressing Nora. Once she had the bodice tied, she took a large length of the same blue, yellow and green plaid fabric and folded it in half. “Raise yer arms, lass,” Eilean directed. Nora dutifully complied, recollecting the fact that she had never worn so many layers of clothing at once. And neither had she worn a gown that showed so much of her bosom!

  Eilean draped the plaid over a dark brown leather belt before tying the ensemble around Nora’s waist. “’Tis called an arisaid,” Eilean explained as she tucked and pulled on the fabric until she was satisfied. “Now, if ye get cold, lass, ye just grab this part of the arisaid and pull it up and over yer shoulders like this.”