By God's Grace

by Felicia Rogers

  Lyall, who had been stationary so long her muscles should have frozen in place, turned in a half-circle upon the physician’s last word. A slow-moving grin split her visage from ear to ear. The physician trembled from head to toe, the light in the room glistened off the sweat beading upon the balding cranium.

  “Duff, how nice to see ye again,” a dark sinister voice said from Lyall’s rigidly held body.

  The physician fell to the side, leaning heavily on Grant. Was the physician going to swoon? Grant pushed the physician up saying, “Get ahold of yerself.”

  Duff stuttered and stammered but couldn’t string two coherent words together. Alan looked to Grant for assistance. “Now what?”

  Lyall reanimated. “Ye won’t get any help out of him.” The three men now stood huddled together. Lyall approached, walking about them in a circling type motion. “Ye need to give Lyall a combination of this herb,” a green weed was retrieved from Lyall’s gown, and the voice continued, “and hot tea. Grind the herb with the pestle on the table and mix it with the tea. It will help her to sleep. She will be better by morning.”

  The whole time Lyall spoke in the third person, she walked around and around, tightening the circle. The physician’s face took on a deathly pale shade before he collapsed in a heap at Alan’s feet. At any moment, Alan might follow suit; the gray shade of the lad’s skin worried Grant.

  Then Lyall went to a chair resting in the middle of the room and sat down. Back ramrod straight, forearms resting on the armrests, her hands gripping the chair, her mouth moved while her eyes remained locked in place. “Grant Cameron, leave the useless trash on the floor, get the herb I laid on the table, and grind it.” Next, the eyes flickered to Alan, “Ye there, go to the kitchen and bring back some tea.”

  Grant glanced at the physician resting on the floor. Alan seemed afraid to leave the physician in Lyall’s presence. Was Duff in danger? Could Lyall truly harm the physician in her current state?

  Spotted staring at the physician, Grant heard the deep unearthly voice pour from Lyall’s body once more. “Don’t worry about him. Do as ye are told.”

  Alan looked to Grant one more time before heading to the kitchen. Grant didn’t look at Lyall as he stepped over Duff and proceeded to do as the disembodied voice had commanded.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The next couple of days for Duncan and Arbella continued in happily wedded bliss. The only time they left their room was to relieve themselves. The kitchen staff brought three meals a day to their door, knocked, and then left. An overly large bath was delivered to the room on several occasions. Not only did they stay in their room, but they also stayed in bed.

  When they weren’t making love, they were talking. Arbella was determined to know every detail in regards to her husband, as well as imparting every detail about herself.

  One afternoon while she relaxed in Duncan’s arms, Arbella thought about their past. Stroking his well-defined torso, she leaned up and asked, “What was I like when I was young?”

  “Small and loud.”

  Arbella punched him in the arm. “Duncan, I’m serious. I asked Father, but he went silent and wouldn’t say anything. It was as though my first five years of life didn’t exist.”

  Duncan’s voice was angry. “Oh, they existed.” He pulled away and walked to the fireplace. With his hands clasped behind his back, he paced. Body covered from the waist down with the Sinclair plaid, the firelight caused the exposed parts to take on a bronze glow.

  Arbella folded her knees under her, her eyes following every pacing movement. “Duncan, why are you so angry? Did I say something wrong?”

  “Why am I so angry?” was said, a mocking laugh in his voice. “Yer father is why I’m so angry.”

  Arbella frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course ye don’t understand. Ye have spent yer whole life making up excuses for those that have failed ye.”

  Tears laced her voice, words trembling as they fell from her lips. “Duncan, that isn’t fair.”

  Duncan continued, “Let’s start with yer mother dying on ye.”

  Arbella interrupted, “She could hardly help that Duncan.”

  “See, excuses. Then yer father leaves ye here, only coming to see ye for a sennight each year.”

  “Duncan, he was grieving.”

  “Then yer father takes ye away from a family that loved ye for five years.”

  “His grieving was over.”

  “Then he dies with no preparation for yer future.”

  “But—”

  “And yer own clan won’t take ye in.”

  “They were afraid,” Arbella said shakily.

  “So ye leave Scotland, yer homeland, and go to England to live with an aunt and uncle who don’t even know ye! They didn’t even have children for ye to play with!”

  There was no time to respond. Duncan trembled, rage flowing through his body. Arbella thought perhaps they’d been cooped up in the room to long. Lip quivering between clenched teeth, Arbella watched as her husband grabbed a shirt off the back of a chair, picked up a sword, tested its weight, and walked out the door without even saying good-bye.

  ****

  Arbella stared at Duncan’s retreating form. When, alas, the door clicked shut behind him, she leaned back against the headboard and relived their conversation.

  Everything Duncan said was true, but it didn’t make it any easier to listen to. Arbella had suffered great loss in her twenty-three years, but she strived to look at it in a brighter light, preferring to look at what was gained rather than lost. Even though she’d never physically met her mother, she knew they shared the same features, the same brown eyes, and the same singing voice. Because their visages favored, God had provided a brief glimpse of her mother each time Arbella looked into a looking glass.

  In the eight years Arbella had the privilege of knowing her father, she’d learned how to run a house, plant a garden, take care of animals, and how to put someone else’s needs above her own. She had learned how to love and had been told about God’s love through the sacrifice of His son.

  Her father, Jameson, wasn’t demanding. The two of them worked side by side — Arbella the student, and he the teacher. Rather than lord things over his daughter because of her gender, Jameson had taken the time to teach her. When he became ill, she learned what it was like to do all the chores and take care of the ailing at the same time.

  Unlike Jonas and Martha, Jameson Kincade survived his illness only to perish when a mule kicked him in the head a week later. This was when she realized that God’s timing would always prevail, regardless of what a human might try to do. Her own hands had buried her father.

  Due to previous instructions on traveling, Arbella was able to make her way alone to the Kincade keep. It had been a perilous journey that she survived only because of God’s guidance. When she arrived alone, haggard, and half-starved, Jamus was furious.

  ****

  “A thirteen-year-old girl traveling for weeks on the highways, completely alone — child, what were ye thinking!” Jamus yelled, his tone sent a shudder to her neck and shoulders.

  Arbella straightened her spine, attempting to act older than her thirteen years. Shoulders shrugged, and with accented English she answered, “I saw no other choice. You only visit every few years, and since you visited only six months past, I feared you would be a while returning. In truth, I feared being alone on the farm more than I feared any highwaymen on the road.”

  Jamus admitted he was impressed with the young lass’s courage. Although unspoken, he knew the owner of the land would never have allowed the girl to stay on the property anyway. It rankled that his brother, one of the Kincade three, had been required to become a mere crofter on someone else’s land, just because he’d chosen to marry a purebred Englishwoman. The Kincade elders might have overlooked her English roots, but the idea that she had a profession that made money disturbed them greatly. Jamus argued if they moved to the Kincade keep, Marie wouldn’t re
tain the singing profession. But Jameson’s wife, and Arbella’s mother, couldn’t let it go. The lass demanded to know why a woman couldn’t sing for Scottish nobles as well as English, at which she burst out in song. Jamus remembered the beautiful, solemn, melodious voice filling the great hall, and the looks that had passed over the elders’ visages.

  Jameson had seen the looks of fury directed his way. He’d grasped Marie and pulled her from the room, taking the harmonious noise with her. As Jamus stared at Arbella and listened to her speech, he knew she would never be accepted in the clan any more than her mother had been.

  Knowing in his heart an attempt must still be made, he settled the girl in a room and went to converse with the elders. As predicted, they were adamant that Arbella had to leave. Jamus reminded them his wife was English, much more so than Arbella, and the clan had accepted her. Why not this child as well? But Jamus knew it was one thing for his wife to be English, but if they ever learned his wife, Mary, was Marie’s sister, their affection might change. It had taken many years for the clan to look on Mary as one of the family. With hope, it wouldn’t take as long for them to fall in love with the child. After much pleading, Jamus convinced the elders to meet Arbella.

  The lass was dressed in Scottish garb all the way down to the Kincade plaid. Tiny feet stepped in front of the council with her head held high, her chocolate brown eyes stared at them. She didn’t move or speak as Jamus had instructed.

  Then one of them asked, “Where is yer father, lass?”

  Arbella frowned. Jamus had hoped they would fall in love with the sweet child and allow her to continue to stay without question. He hadn’t expected the council to ask about her father, so he hadn’t prepared her with an answer. Being an honest child, who had been taught by her father and the Good Book not to lie, she answered truthfully. “Didn’t Jamus tell you? My father has passed on, and I have nowhere to go.”

  The council was angry. The one who spoke at the beginning peered at Arbella, telling her to return to her room. Not knowing proper etiquette toward a council of Scottish elders, the child curtseyed before exiting.

  Jamus was chastised and told to get rid of ”the curse.” Arbella stayed one week, residing with Jamus’s family. Mary, Jamus’s wife and Arbella’s aunt on two sides, begged and pleaded to find a way for the lass to stay.

  “You are laird. Overrule them.”

  “Aye, I could.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  “Because doing so will only bring hatred upon her as well as our own daughters. The child would live in a clan with people who don’t love her and don’t want to protect her.”

  The subject was dropped. No way could be seen out of the plight. That night at dinner Arbella broached an interesting subject. “Uncle Jamus, I keep hearing tales about the Kincade three. Who are they?”

  Jamus’s oldest daughter groaned. “Not that old story again.”

  Jamus laughed. “If ye don’t wish to hear it, then ye may leave, but Arbella asked, and I think she should know.”

  With that, Jamus began a tale of three brothers who were mighty warriors and lucky with English women. Winking at Mary, he began, “Together the three of them could conquer any foe. The oldest was Jamus, the middle was Jonas, and the youngest was Jameson.” Arbella had surely heard most of the tales before, but she listened attentively, hanging onto Jamus’s every word. When there was a break in Jamus’s speech, Arbella asked, “I know about my father, and I know about your fate. How you married three English sisters, and how my father was ostracized from the clan, and you were made laird. But what happened to the youngest brother, Jonas?”

  Mary and Jamus looked at one another. Arbella was a clever girl. Could the lass be trying to find somewhere to live?

  Jamus replied, “He lives as a crofter with his wife, and yer aunt, Martha, not verra far from where yer old land lies.”

  Arbella asked, “Do they have any children?”

  “Sadly my sister was never able to have children,” said Mary.

  “Nor my brother.”

  “Truly?” asked Arbella, a tad astonished.

  “Aye. My brother had the fever when he was young.”

  Arbella frowned in concentration. “Did Martha have the same fever? And if they neither one could have children, how could you be sure which one had the problem?”

  “Well, she never — that is a discussion for when ye get older.” Jamus noted Mary’s embarrassment at discussing her sister’s personal lack of monthly courses.

  Arbella gave up questioning and asked, “How did the six of you meet?”

  Jamus glanced at Mary, a loving look passing between them. “Ye best go get the girls for this part.” Once all the girls returned, Jamus began, “My father was laird of the clan, and he had sent my brothers and me south to purchase supplies. We stopped in an English town and visited a rundown pub full of Scots. We ordered our ale and settled down for a bit of relaxing, but it wasn’t to be. Yer father, Jameson, bumped into the only besotted Englishman in the whole place. The Englishman challenged him to a fight.

  “Just to let ye know, the Kincade three never back down from a challenge. Yer father broke the man’s nose with the first punch. All the Scots in the pub had been waiting a long time to see this human refuse get his comeuppance, and they began making bets and cheering Jameson on. The magistrate and some of his men happened by and heard the commotion. The Scots in the pub told us to run, because ye see, the man yer father had just beaten to a pulp was the magistrate’s son. Being unfamiliar with the lay of the land, we weren’t sure where was the best place to hide and wait it out. It is kinda hard to hide three men who stand two heads taller than everyone else and wear a skirt.” Jamus stopped to laugh and slapped his thigh. “Anyway, we wound up in a theater. Jameson purchased tickets, and we went in and slunk down in a seat. We spent all the money Papa had given us, but we didn’t care, for on the stage was the three most beautiful women we’d ever seen. Yer mother, Marie, was in the middle, tall and slender, belting out the most beautiful tune, and Jameson called her immediately.”

  “Called her, Da?”

  “Aye, little one. He said he would break our arms and legs if we got near her. He called her.”

  “I see.”

  “Then I noticed yer mother. She was shorter and fuller figured, just the way I liked them, and so I called her.”

  “Arms and legs?” asked Arbella.

  “Arms and legs,” smiled Jamus. “Which left Martha for Jonas. He claimed he was going to pick her anyway, because she had a shy, earthy beauty. We agreed, because, well, we had gotten what we wanted, so why not let him believe he got what he wanted, right?”

  Arbella enjoyed the stories and blurted, “Do you think they would want me?”

  Unable to stand the pleading tone, Mary pushed out of the chair and went to her room to weep. Jamus knew his wife would accept another daughter into the fold. He also knew if the council was forced to let Arbella stay, then they would make sure she suffered.

  Jamus watched his wife leave the room, aware of her torment. Looking back at Arbella, he answered, “Aye, we will leave tomorrow.”

  ****

  That day long ago, Arbella, Jamus, and a few Kincade men had left the keep. No one had come to see them off. She convinced herself the council was afraid of the loss and death that seemed to follow everywhere she went. Head held high, back straight and erect, she passed through the keep gate. If any inhabitant saw her leave, she wanted it to be in triumph, not disgrace. There would be no doubt God was watching out for her.

  Jonas and Martha Kincade took her in and raised her as their daughter, but in the beginning they weren’t happy about it.

  “I don’t want her,” Jonas said.

  The window in the main room had been open when Arbella walked by. Upon hearing her name, she went to the window and crouched down to listen. Jamus and Jonas had already had this discussion several times. Jonas’s constant argument had been having Martha to himself.

  �
��What about Martha? This is Marie’s daughter as well as Jameson’s.”

  “Martha and I discussed it, and Martha doesn’t want the girl either.”

  Jamus’s hands flew up in exasperation. “Then where is the lass to go?”

  “Take her home to be with yer brood.”

  “Jonas, I have told ye I already tried. I would accept the lass in a heartbeat, but if I do, the clan will ostracize her, and what kind of life will that be?”

  Jonas’s rotating arms gestured in a wild fashion. “And what kind of life will she have here? Two middle-aged people, no children to mention, just barely eking by. Last year the landlord took so many of the crops Martha and I thought we would starve. How am I supposed to feed the child?”

  Arbella had listened to every word. Jamus kept hammering at Jonas’s excuses until finally he accepted. With an exasperated sigh, they would take the lass and trust that the Lord would find a way to feed them.

  The next day Jamus took his leave. Before riding away he gave her the last affectionate hug she remembered getting for the next ten years.

  Although Jonas and Martha weren’t sure what to do with her, they eventually learned to accept her presence. Arbella remained quiet most of the time, endeavoring to become a good helper around the farm. Arbella believed they loved her in due time. Thinking back on it, she realized she’d never really faulted Jonas for his hesitation in taking her in. The aging man had never been a father, and overnight he became the father of a thirteen-year-old girl. It was no wonder he hesitated.

  Fortunately for Arbella, she and Martha became friends. They never talked about her mother, Marie, or about anything in the past; everything revolved around surviving the present, but that was all right. Arbella assumed the past was too sad for Martha.

  She could understand. Now walking around the room and dressing, she realized maybe Duncan was right. Maybe she had made excuses for all her loved ones. But what Duncan might not realize is that included him as well.

  Why hadn’t Duncan come to check on her? In her heart she knew the answer. The mighty warrior, breaker of woman’s hearts, had continued to see Arbella as a child, and he assumed someone else was caring for her needs.