by Carol Arens
‘How did he take the loss?’ she asked, smoothing the bedcovers over her lap and pushing her long sleep braid over her shoulder. Isobel’s mother sat on the edge of the bed and listened.
‘He complimented me on my playing.’
The two older women exchanged some glance she could not read. Then they looked back to her.
‘’Tis now the middle of the night, child,’ her mother said softly. ‘Seek your bed.’
When she had expected a reprimand for ignoring the lady’s words and for sneaking out of her chamber in the dark of night to meet with Athdar alone, all she received instead was an enigmatic expression. Isobel sensed that both women supported her exploring the possibility of a relationship with Lady Jocelyn’s brother. Though separated in age by almost a score of years and though her parents must have some other marriage plans in mind, her mother did nothing to warn her off. And the lady had specifically invited her along on this visit. Knowing they would both speak their minds when they wished to, Isobel undressed and slid back under the bedcovers on her cot.
Try as she might, sleep would not come to her. She tossed and turned, reliving each moment spent with Athdar, replaying the games in her thoughts. And watching the way his mouth curved when he laughed...and the way his eyebrows gathered tight when she’d made an unexpected move. But mostly she thought about the way they’d simply been together and how comfortable it felt to be in his company.
* * *
If they’d played through half the night, then she had spent the other half going back over every minute of it. Sooner than she thought possible, the faint light of the rising sun pierced the darkness of the chamber with thin beams around the edges of the window shutters. Isobel turned for the final time and listened as the sounds of the keep’s inhabitants waking and beginning their day also crept into the room.
She waited for her mother and Lady Jocelyn to stir before sitting up on the cot and loosening the tangles in her hair, which had come undone from its braid during the restless hours. Stretching her arms over her head, she settled at the side of the cot and watched as a serving woman brought in a bucket of steaming water to them, then it took little time to wash and dress and prepare for the day.
* * *
Planning on breaking her fast and then seeking out Laria for her first lesson, Isobel was surprised to find Laria in the hall.
‘Good morrow,’ she said to the older woman as she walked towards the table in the front of the room. ‘I did not expect you to come for me.’
‘I need to finish harvesting some plants to the south of here, so it seemed the practical thing to do,’ Laria replied before turning to Lady Jocelyn and Isobel’s mother. ‘Lady. Margriet,’ she said with a nod. ‘The air has turned colder. Bring a sturdy cloak.’
Lady Jocelyn smiled at her, letting her know that this brusque approach was the custom for the healer. Isobel rushed back to their chamber to get her heavy cloak and leather gloves. Knowing she would be working alongside Laria this morn, she’d already pulled on her short boots which would protect her feet from the damp grass and mud. Within minutes she was ready and back in the hall, listening to Jocelyn talking with Laria. Her mother held out a small parcel to her as Laria turned to leave.
‘You did not eat. Some bread and cheese.’
In many other noble houses, great store was placed in the conducting of meals with formality, but as long as she could remember the laird and lady ate among their kith and kin. If tasks were to be done, a simple meal like this one was enough. So, it might seem unusual to many others of the same rank as Lady Jocelyn to dispense with a meal with little comment, yet it was not for them. If Laria thought it strange, she did not say. A nod to the others was the only signal that they were leaving and would be about their day’s work.
* * *
She spent the chilly, cloudy morning following Laria across fields and into forests as she collected the last fresh leaves and cuttings from many different plants. The healer spoke about each one as she cut, wrapped and placed it into the large basket she gave Isobel to carry. There seemed to be none of the reticence that Isobel had first felt from the older woman. Indeed, she now seemed pleased to have an assistant as she carried out this important task in preparing for the coming winter.
They spoke little other than Laria’s instructions about how each plant would be preserved and prepared, all the time walking across MacCallum lands. Though the air warmed a bit as the sun rose higher in the sky, it lost only the coldest bit of chill and never grew to the point that she could remove her cloak completely.
* * *
After several hours, they neared the keep and Laria dismissed her until the next morn.
Isobel had never thought herself pampered or lazy. That is until Laria dragged her to and fro for these last hours, leaving her exhausted. She drew nearer to the gates of the keep, watching villagers on the way back to their cottages, and found a place where the sun’s rays warmed a section of the low wall of a narrow bridge. She sat, gathering the cloak around her and leaning her face back to feel the sun’s warmth on her cheeks for a few moments before going inside.
Some quiet seconds passed and Isobel thought she might doze, tired as she was, so she leaned back against the trunk of a tree that grew next to the wall. Sitting still for the first time since getting out of her bed this morn just past dawn felt good. She knew people passed her by, but the sounds faded away as sleep overtook her.
‘Isobel?’
She heard someone saying her name. Sleep held her firmly and she just could not open her eyes.
‘Lass?’
Then she felt a large hand on her shoulder, squeezing it as her name was spoken again in that deep, appealing voice.
‘Isobel? Are you well, lass?’
He watched as her eyes fluttered open and, as she recognised him, Athdar began to reach out to steady her, placing his other hand on her shoulder and waiting for her to wake completely before letting go. There was going to be hell to pay from her mother already from last night’s infraction of manners, but if Margriet saw her daughter asleep on the bridge because he’d kept her up half the night, body parts might be maimed or removed. His body parts.
‘Athdar,’ she whispered as she straightened up and stretched her neck and shoulders a few times. Then she smiled at him and stood. ‘The sun felt so good when I sat down, I must have drifted off to sleep.’ A wonderful blush crept up into her cheeks, showing her embarrassment about being caught.
‘It was a cruel thing I did to you, Isobel. Kept you up most of the night. Then I allowed Laria to find you just as you left your chamber. And now, puir wee lass, you’ve had to find sleep sitting on the bridge. I am a terrible host.’
Isobel stood and he moved back so she could. He wanted to touch the dark shadows that marred the creamy colour of her cheeks and make them go away. As he lifted his hand towards her, he heard people nearby. People walking across the bridge. People who could see everything he did and hear everything he said.
He took another step back and then another and then waited for her to step away from the place on the wall where she’d been sitting. After she shook out her cloak, he held his arm out to her.
‘Come, let me see you back to the hall.’
Isobel glanced around them and nodded to the men he’d left sitting on their horses waiting for him.
He’d forgotten them when he noticed her asleep on the wall.
‘You have duties, Laird MacCallum, and I must not keep you from them,’ she said, loudly enough for them to hear. ‘But I thank you for your kindness.’
Athdar wanted to thank her for saving his dignity in this. He’d, again, lost his mind at the sight of her and forgotten the tasks he was in the middle of doing.
‘We go to check on the repairs to the mill.’
From the sly glances from Padruig and the others, he wou
ld suffer for this. So, after she bid him farewell, he nodded and watched as she turned and walked towards the gates. He’d only just climbed up on his horse when the whispered taunts began. He listened in silence, for responding to them would make it worse and draw attention he did not want. Then as they reached the road that led to the mill, his destination, he realised what he must say.
‘I was showing her the hospitality of my home,’ he said to them. ‘But what excuse do you have for not paying attention to a young, attractive woman who is of marriageable age?’
He rode off then, while kenning two things. He knew that the young bachelors among his men, especially Fergus and Niall, and even the recently widowed Connal would look a bit differently at Isobel at supper. And he knew that he had made a grievous error in dealing with his own attraction to the lass. If he did not strengthen his resolve never to marry again, a lass like Isobel could make him change his mind.
Chapter Six
Warmth surrounded her and Isobel did not wish to move. She pulled and tucked the bedcovers high around her neck and dipped her face down to stay warm in the cooler air of the chamber. Dawn must have come and gone some time ago from the brightness of the room. Still, considering that yesterday had been busier than she’d thought possible when she accepted the lady’s invitation to visit her, a sense of guilt filled her as she realised how late it must be.
She’d expected to be a guest, possibly working on embroidery—which she had—or making the acquaintance of some of the lady’s other kith and kin—which she had. Instead she’d worked more and harder than she did at home, mending clothes and linens, cutting and cooking vegetables for preserving, cleaning two storerooms and visiting most, if not all, of the villagers.
And she’d spent most of each morning working with Laria and learning about the healing arts and herbs. She now kenned the difference between an intinction, a tincture, an infusion and a tea, a poultice, a posset and a rub, and how to grind the dried leaves of many plants to make a passable paste to treat all sorts of ailments and complaint.
The most disappointing part of all this work was that she had not been able to challenge Athdar to another match—because each night she’d barely made it through supper awake. And try as she might, she could not rouse herself once she’d got into bed to see if he’d waited for her in the hall.
Now, on her fourth morning, she decided she was going to have a lazy day and remain abed until the sun. No more climbing through bushes and marshes. No more crawling along the streambed searching for certain grasses and flowers.
No more.
Mayhap she would read, selecting a book from the MacCallums’ collection, which Jocelyn had described to her, and finding a sunny place in the hall to enjoy it. Then, after a day of leisure, she would be rested enough to stay awake and try to sneak back and play chess with Athdar.
Or...
The knock surprised her. The second, louder knock forced her from her cocoon. The third, more relentless knock told her clearly that lazy day was at an end.
‘Come in,’ she called out, still lying abed.
The maid called Glenna entered and closed the door behind her. She waited until Isobel had climbed from the cot and faced her before speaking.
‘Lady Jocelyn said to tell you she is waiting at table for you, mistress,’ Glenna said.
‘At table? Has she not broken her fast?’ she asked as she dug into her travelling trunk and found a clean shift, gown and stockings. No matter the place or time or reason, she did not want Lady Jocelyn waiting for her.
‘Aye, lady. She called for a small meal for you since you...’ The words drifted off when the girl could not come up with a polite way of saying ‘since you have been lying in your bed like a lazy twit’, no doubt.
‘Tell her I will be there,’ she said, tugging the shift she’d worn to sleep in off and pulling the clean one on.
She was struggling with her gown when she felt Glenna’s hands make fast work of the laces. Isobel sat down and pulled the stockings on, tying them to keep them in place, as Glenna began untangling her hair. Within a few minutes, she was dressed and ready to find Lady Jocelyn. Glenna handed her a shawl before they left the room.
‘The weather has turned colder, lady. You may need that,’ Glenna said, walking just behind her to the front of the hall.
Isobel looked up to find that it was not only the lady waiting for her at table. Her mother smiled at her as she approached...as did the five young men and one older man who sat there. All of them stood as she grew nearer. If expressions could tell tales, her mother’s would be an endless one filled with laughter. Isobel paused and offered a slight curtsy to Lady Jocelyn.
‘My lady,’ she said as she sat in the empty chair, ‘forgive my tardiness.’
‘Isobel, Athdar asked that we introduce his kin to you,’ her mother said. ‘He thought you might like to meet Tomas, Dougal, Angus, Connor and James.’
Each man nodded when introduced to her. Once they were all named, and at her mother’s behest, they sat on the stools that now surrounded the table. Isobel understood her duty in this and engaged each man in conversation, eating the stew that appeared before her in between questions. Though she doubted any of these men could lay claim to a title, she suspected that they were among the wealthier landowners or craftsmen of the village.
The meal progressed and her mother and the lady joined in to keep it moving if she slowed. Soon, a reasonable time had passed and Isobel thanked them for visiting with her. The men each nodded, but no one moved until all the others did, apparently not willing to give any of them an advantage the others did not get. They walked away as a group and Isobel was so tempted to laugh at their boyish antics.
‘Your father would never approve of any of them, I fear,’ Lady Jocelyn said.
‘I wonder why your brother suggested they meet Isobel?’ her mother said.
That was exactly her own question. She waited for the lady’s answer, but none came. If she had not glanced up at just the right moment, she would have missed the look shared between the other two women. Now, she was more puzzled by their reaction than even to Athdar’s decision.
‘I told Laria I would come later today if I was able,’ she said, standing. ‘If neither of you needs me for anything, I will go there now.’
‘Do not exhaust yourself, Isobel,’ Lady Jocelyn warned. ‘I think this turn in the weather is a bad sign and we may have to leave sooner than we’d planned.’
‘Very well,’ she replied. In her mind, she made plans to work with Laria for a short time and return well before it grew dark. As the winter drew nearer, that happened sooner each day.
‘And take your heavier riding cloak. The day grows colder,’ her mother advised.
Isobel sent Glenna to bring her cloak and left through the kitchens, checking with the cook and the steward to see if they needed anything from Laria before making her way through the yard and gates and village to the woman’s cottage.
* * *
‘So, you came,’ Laria said, greeting her in the same brusque manner as was her custom. ‘I am nearly done my chores for today.’
‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ Isobel asked. She’d learned the first day not to try to assume that Laria meant anything more than she said. And it seemed that no one was addressed any differently by her—whether man or woman, visitor or villager, laird or servant.
Lady Jocelyn’s words ran through her thoughts about Laria’s past and her manners now, but she hesitated to ask anything of a personal nature. Isobel was a guest and had no place to ask such things. She would ask Lady Jocelyn or her mother instead.
The cottage filled with the smell of some concoction cooking in the hearth. The aromatic puffs of steam that rose from the bubbling pot scented the entire room with something very appealing and soothing. Isobel paced around the work table, lo
oking at the various piles and bowls.
‘The winds have changed. Winter will be upon us sooner than we thought.’ Laria pointed to two sacks on the end of the table. ‘I must get these to the miller.’
‘Is there someone to take you there?’ she asked, uncertain of what arrangements were made for this.
‘Nay, not now. The mill is not a far walk.’
The mill. Athdar was overseeing some work on the mill. He’d arrived back at the keep late each day because of it.
‘Should we go now?’ The words were out before she could stop them.
‘Aye. Let me move the pot,’ Laria said. She wrapped her apron around her hand and pushed the pot over into the corner and away from the flames. ‘That will keep.’
Though she’d not walked to the mill, Isobel knew the direction of it and estimated it would take about an hour or so to reach it.
‘Is this to be milled?’ she asked once they were on the road that led along the stream to where it grew wider and where the mill sat. ‘Athdar has been overseeing repairs to it these last few days.’
Isobel felt that same shift between them that she’d noticed the first time they’d met—and at the mention of Athdar. Mayhap Laria was offended by her casual way of speaking about the laird? Glancing over at the woman, she thought it might be something more than that. But as quickly as the chilliness came, it left Laria’s voice and face, making Isobel question whether it had happened or not.
The rest of their journey was accomplished in silence, only occasionally interrupted when Laria pointed out something of interest. A scurrying animal moving in the bushes. A different plant or tree she’d not seen before. A villager passing by on their way to their chores. Although the day was colder than the previous one, Isobel hardly noticed it as they walked away from the village.
And as they walked, the anticipation grew within her at the expectation that she would see Athdar. They had not really spoken since they met on the bridge the day after her arrival. Now she would have a chance to watch him in his duties as laird. Familiar with him more as kin or family of kin, she’d had little experience with him in his position over his clan.
