CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DISCOVERIES
DISCOVERIES
The next morning dawned, cold and frost-crisp, the sky low and gray.
Blaine woke after a night with almost no sleep. He rinsed his face, pulled on clothes, and went directly up to the main bedchambers. He had to see her.
At the door, Ambeal turned him away. She seemed angry with him, too, and he went, feeling helpless.
He spent the next hours walking in the corridors. He went down to the practice ground mid-morning, and Fergall threw him out when he broke a guardsman's shield, beating on it with his wooden sword.
When he returned to the castle, he resumed his walking in the hallways. He could not find calm. All he could see was Chrissie's face -- pinched, haunted, and afraid. She was like an animal in a trap, terrified and angry. So very, very angry. An anger born of pain, humiliation, and hurt. He had no idea if she would ever forgive him for witnessing that. For being there.
I wish I could reach her.
What had happened did not matter to him. Nevertheless it mattered to her. She was suffering from it, and more from the fact that he had seen it. This would sit between them forever if he did not think of some way of reaching across it. She would never trust him again, never want to look at him again, because every time she did she would remember.
He sighed, covering his face with his hands. He wanted to cry. He had found her, but he had also lost her.
“Blaine!”
Blaine whipped round as his name was called. It was the beginnings of evening, the upper hallway gray and icy, the light fast fading and dust drifting in the last rays of sun.
“Theodor,” he said bitterly “What?”
Theodor blinked. “Blaine. You'd think I was Satan himself, the way you're looking at me. I was just wondering if you're coming to supper? I'd save something for you, but the boys'd thump it out of me.”
Blaine gave a mirthless laugh. “They would. Bloody animals at feeding time down there, they are.”
They both laughed. Side by side in the hallway, they contemplated the view over the evening fields from the high window.
“What is it, Blaine?” Theodor asked at length. “What happened earlier? You're not being yourself.”
Blaine snorted. “No. I guess not. It's...complicated. I don't want to talk.”
“Very well,” Theodor sighed. He put his skinny elbows on the parapet and together they leaned out, looking out over the scene. The sun set lilac on winter fields, the last rays of it glinting like soft fire in the pools from yesterday's rains.
“I don't know what's happened,” Theodor said slowly after a long moment of silence stretched out between them. “But what I do know is moping about isn't going to help anyone.”
“Thanks for the insight,” Blaine said sarcastically. Theodor looked hurt.
“I mean it,” he said after a moment. “You've got to go past whatever it is. Or it'll just stay there. Forget about it. That's my advice. Live today like yesterday didn't exist. That kind of thing.”
Blaine looked sideways at him. “You think so?”
Theodor sighed. “I know so. Look, I forgot about the time Colla skelped me with a griddle pan. It hurt sore, but I probably deserved it. We're still friends. I just acted like it never happened, like, and she did, too. Things happen in couples. You dinnae have tae let yesterday rule you. You're not going that way. You're going into the future, not into the past.”
Blaine raised a brow at him, surprised. His friend was actually talking some sense. “This...isn't like that,” Blaine said quietly. He wished Chrissie had done something like hit him on the head. His own pain would have been so much easier to bear.
“Let her decide if you forget,” Theodor said quietly. “If she wants to remember, listen to her. If she wants to forget, forget. You don't have a right to keep memories alive. Not when someone else owns half of them.”
Blaine stared at his friend. “Theodor...” he said slowly. “I don't know who you are or where you come from when you talk like this. But thank you. Really. Thank you.”
Theodor blushed, his lean face turning a spectacular shade of red. “It's nothing,” he said, looking firmly out of the window before them. Out there, the sun had set, leaving the field in inked darkness, the puddles on fire with the last of the day's light.
Blaine chuckled and cuffed his head. “Thanks,” he said again. “Coming for dinner?”
“Hurrah!” Theodor exclaimed cheerfully. “Let's see what's left. If Fergal has gone and taken the best bits again, we'll skelp his lug, so we will! See if we won't. I'll beat you to the porridge...”
Blaine laughed as together, running like boys, they raced down flights of stairs and to the hall.
After dinner – of which there was more left than Blaine expected – he went up to the turret and walked along the wall. He had decided to take Theodor's words to heart. These memories were Chrissie's, not his. He had no right to keep them alive if she chose not to. In which case, what would he do tomorrow?
I'd wait and see if I could catch sight of her in the gardens. Then I'd suggest we take a walk together. As if nothing had ever happened.
Blaine gave a long sigh. That was what he would do. If he forgot, perhaps it would make it easier for her to do so.
Blaine leaned back on the cold stone of the wall. Beyond the edge, the day had turned to night and in the inky sky appeared the first stars. He watched their procession as, in frosted majesty, they came out one by one. When the sky was spangled like an altar cloth, he turned away and went slowly inside. He would rest, and sleep and tomorrow would be another day.
Tomorrow dawned cold, but sunny. That was good. Blaine splashed his face in the pottery ewer, and went downstairs to breakfast.
Waiting for Chrissie to appear proved harder than he might have thought. As chief guardsman, he was not, strictly speaking, permitted in the solar, but he decided that desperate times called for it. He found a piece of wood to carve, and settled by the fire in the solar to wait.
He had to wait for a week. Every day, he followed this ritual. It was only a week later that he heard it. A woman, walking softly to the solar.
Light footsteps crossed the hall. Blaine, startled out of the place his mind went when shaping wood, looked up. It was Chrissie!
She was wearing a long brocaded gown he had not seen before, tight-waisted and long skirted, sweeping the floor in patterns of orange and blue. Her hair was arranged impeccably in little knots and her face was taut. She did not seem to know there was someone there. She turned aridly in the center of the room, looking about, and then floated to the door again.
Blaine stood up. “Chrissie?”
She halted in the doorway as if she had been shot, jerking to a sudden stop. She whipped round, then, and gave him a look that was part fear, part anger. Then she turned and walked briskly out of the room.
“Chrissie!” he called, walking after her. “Wait. Please?” He knew it was wrong to follow her, knew Theodor would probably tell him off if he knew. He wasn't exactly following his friend's advice to just forget, not exactly. However, he couldn't help it; he had to talk to her.
“What?” she asked, turning round to face him, blue eyes blazing. The orange of the dress – a color she never wore – brought out the blue of her eyes startlingly. She looked brittle and angry. She had transformed from the carefree girl they knew and loved to a hard, cold woman, full of tight-leashed rage and hurt.
“I just wanted to ask if you wanted to go for a walk with me sometime.” Blaine said, giving her a soft smile. “It was good fun the other day and...”
“You,” she hissed, clearly annoyed. She put her hands to her temples, seeming in a quandary. “Very well,” she said at last. “I'll see you in one hour. We can walk for an hour only. No more. And any funny business and I'll scream.”
Blaine blinked. He felt hurt. She didn't trust him anymore. Not that he blamed her. In the same position, he probably wouldn't trust anyone anymore either; esp
ecially not any men.
“Yes. I promise,” he said sadly.
Chrissie looked at him with a cold smile. “Good. In an hour, then. By the herb garden. Don't keep me waiting.” She turned then and walked away from him.
Blaine stayed where he was for a long while. He blinked, trying to understand the sudden transformation of the lighthearted, playful girl into the cold pillar of frozen rage. He shook himself, realizing he had an hour, and hurried to his bedchamber to wait. The men had practice later. He would ask Fergall, the armorer, to take over for him for that round. He would probably be happy to do it, given Blaine's temper yesterday.
He sat down on his bed, trying to understand. He did, in part, understand something of it.
When I was whipped, I was a bit like this.
He remembered the humiliation, the sense of powerlessness, the pain and the inability to stop it. He remembered being vulnerable in front of his own men and how it had made him hate them, for witnessing his shame. He had felt foolish, like he deserved it. For about a month after, he had been jumpy, snapping at everyone. And so careful! He had not put a foot wrong, lest they saw it and said: “Oh, look at Blaine! He really is a mess.”
He sighed. If he remembered that, he understood. He knew how to be. Distant, but present. Quiet, but not deferential. Consistent. If someone had been like that with him, it would have helped. He could only hope that it would help her.
He stood and went outside, rolling his shoulders in the frosty air of the corridor.
The herb garden was cold, and a slight breeze blew there, carrying with it the scent of rosemary and the chill of winter. Standing there in his long cloak, stamping in the cold, he waited.
“Now you'll be angry with me for making you wait, I suppose,” a thin voice said. Chrissie. She appeared wearing the same orange brocade, her face tight and strained.
“No. I was avoiding Fergus,” Blaine said with a broad grin. “The man's been on at me about his six pennies I owe him.”
Chrissie laughed. It was a brittle laugh, but it made his heart sing to hear it.
“Come on, then,” she said, taking his elbow. “Let's walk, then.”
Walking with her felt a little like a march, Blaine admitted. She was stiff and quick, and didn't want to get too close or take too long. While they walked, she told him how Ambeal had spilled wax on one of her best dresses and how furious she had been. Blaine nodded.
“She had no right to be so careless with your things,” he agreed.
Chrissie nodded. “Exactly!”
Blaine knew how little infringements, which one would once have overlooked, became huge violations after something like that. He understood, at least a little. That was not odd, it was understandable.
“...so our guests leave today, I understand?” Chrissie was saying. “We have room in the solar again. I didn't know you went there.”
“Not usually,” Blaine admitted. She narrowed her eyes and he explained. “I like the warmth. And, well...it is a mite prettier than the barracks, you'll grant me.”
She laughed. “Much prettier.”
Blaine felt his heart soar. It was a hard sort of laugh, but it was one, and anything besides brittle anger was wonderful. As they walked, the day darkened. The wind, which had been a breeze, had stiffened during the time they were out. Now it wailed past them and chilled all the parts of him that protruded from his cloak. He glanced at Chrissie, who had no cloak.
“Let me lend you this,” he said, unclasping the cloak and wrapping it round her. It was an unconscious gesture, one he would have made at any other time without thinking about how his hands caressed her body.
“How dare you?” she said, her eyes wide with surprise and horror.
Blaine felt his heart break. He had forgotten. He was a complete idiot! What was he thinking of..?
“Go away!” Chrissie said thinly. She pushed him away from her and then ran, out across the dark green of the lawns. At that moment, the thunder broke out and the first rain, big icy drops, began to fall.
“Chrissie? Wait..!” Blaine called after her, mournful. He hesitated, and then ran after her.
Chrissie ran in the other direction, gown clasped in her hand, running to the shelter of the arbor. The rain was pelting down now, and Blaine shook his head. She would be soaked. Not knowing what else to do, he ran after her.
“Chrissie!” he called out. “Chrissie. Whist!”
They collided in the arbor. She whipped round. The rain fell on the leaves but did not touch them here. The torrent drenched the leaves, making a roar like thunder. They faced each other.
“Chrissie...”
She flew at him. She looked furious, and she was. She slapped him hard, her fingers claws to scratch, rake, and take back the dignity he had seen broken. Left with nowhere to run, she chose to fight. He stood still, eyes closed, and let her strike at him. Let the fury pour out of her as she clawed at him and as she sobbed. And sobbed.
He found himself holding her wrist, then holding her, as she collapsed against him, tears streaming down her face.
“Oh, Blaine,” she sobbed. “Oh! Oh.”
He held her, rocking with her as he had done that day in the attic, her body pressed to his, heart pounding against his chest.
“I...I've been so horrible,” she cried. “Can you forgive me? I'm so...I'm such a terrible person! I'm a mess. I'm useless. Worthless. I'm so, so sorry.”
“Lass,” Blaine said gently. “Lass.”
He could think of nothing else to say. He could not believe she had just said that! How could she say such things about herself? She was a jewel, a wonder. She was the light of his world.
He swallowed, trying to control the feelings that surged in him as he held her. She was crying and he held her close. What had happened was not her fault. He couldn't care whether she was a virgin or anything like that. All he cared about was that she was herself. The beautiful, happy spirit who had captured his soul.
“Chrissie,” he said gently, his arms enfolding her as, around them, the rain fell. “Chrissie. My love.”
She stopped then, looking up at him.
“You don't mean that. You don't?”
“I do,” he whispered gently. “I do. So much.”
They kissed, then. Her lips on his were hard and urgent, and his lips, below their touch, were gentle, waiting, passive. He let her kiss him, his tongue gentle as it stroked the line of her lips, waiting, letting her be the one who led, knowing it was important.
The kiss was tender and passionate, and Blaine felt tears on his own cheeks, mingling with the rain. Chrissie's face was wet with tears and raindrops, and they mingled on their lips, a sweet salt.
When they moved apart, Blaine rested his head on hers. His arms enfolded her and held her close and he whispered into her hair.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you. Chrissie, my dearest. I love you.”
The silence stretched out between them, broken only by the dripping of rain off a leaf somewhere, the shower stopped and the arbor fell strangely silent.
“Oh, Blaine,” Chrissie said after a long moment. “You cannot mean that.”
“I can,” he said quietly, “and I do. Chrissie?”
“Yes?”
He paused. Looked into her eyes. “Would you honor me with your hand in marriage?”
“What?” Chrissie stared at him. Her mouth fell open and then she shut it. “You mean that? You mean...”
“I mean I want you to be my wife. My love. Forever.”
Chrissie started crying, then. This time, it seemed, she cried with relief.
She rested her head on him and sobbed. Blaine looked up at the sky, showing between the leaves. If water streaked his face, he could not tell if it was from the heavy, driving rain, or the fluid of his own tears. All he knew was, at that moment, his life could not have been more perfect had he been in paradise. Here, now, with his beloved in his arms, he already was.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. I will marry you.
”
Blaine closed his eyes and this time, he knew it was tears that wet his face, and he did not care. He was, indeed, in paradise. His life had just become wonderful forever.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ASKING A QUESTION
ASKING A QUESTION
“No.”
Blaine stood where he was, opposite his lordship's heavy wooden desk. He met his angry gaze. Inside he was trembling with a kind of silent fury.
“I will not accept that answer.”
His lordship, Lord Brien, earl of Lochlann, jerked as he said that. Turned to glare at him. He looked, to Blaine, as if he was about to have a seizure. His eyes were wide and bulging, and he looked as if he was struggling to breathe.
Blaine waited tranquilly for the tirade. It came.
“You think to refute me! I am the earl of Lochlann! Who, pray, are you? You are a man in my employ! A mere guardsman!” He snapped the words at Blaine, voice hard in the quiet.
Between the two men, the cold stone office settled to silence. All Blaine could hear was the whistle of wind as it hissed across the turret windows, cold and hushed.
“I am a mere guardsman, yes,” Blaine replied evenly. “One who has won several decisive victories for your men. If you would prefer it, I will leave your service. But I will not be leaving without Chrissie.” His voice was quiet, but firm. It cut through the navy darkness of the room and made his lordship pause.
“You bastard,” his lordship said, a harsh laugh stopping his words. “You think you'll have her dowry to live on, don't you. Well, you won't. You won't see a penny of it. Now what will you do?”
“I never intended to live on her dowry,” Blaine said placidly. “I will find some other means. I would not exploit my wife. That money is hers, or yours. Not mine.”
Lord Brien glared at him. Then he laughed, lips raised in a razor like smile.
“You really think to convince me, don't you?”
The Highland Hero (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 12
