Harlequin Historical November 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2

by Carol Arens

  Athdar looked at Isobel and she nodded, still shaking.

  ‘I am awake now,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘You can go now.’

  Broc looked at Isobel and waited for her nod before bowing to both of them and leaving.

  ‘Here. Come. Sit.’ He held out his hand to her and she took it with one of her trembling hands. She walked to one of the chairs and sat down. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

  ‘You do not remember?’ she asked, narrowing her gaze as she searched his face. ‘None of it?’

  He glanced over at the bed, at the bedcovers twisted and pulled loose, and back at her. He poured a cup of ale from the pitcher and drank it down. Then he filled it again and pressed it into her hands and waited for her to drink of it.

  ‘None of it, truly. Tell me, please?’

  ‘You had just fallen asleep when you began thrashing. I moved aside and tried to wake you. You opened your eyes and looked at me, but Athdar, you did not see me.’ She shivered, then shook her head. ‘You looked right through me.’

  He did not remember any of this. Pushing the hair out of his face, he stared at the bed, willing himself to remember.

  ‘Then it seemed like you were running and falling and screaming all the while. No words. Sounds. Like...like the screams of a wounded animal.’

  ‘I...’ He could think of no explanation, nothing, to say to her. But the worst thought did come then. ‘Did I hurt you, Isobel?’

  ‘Oh, nay, Athdar. You would never do that,’ she said as she put the cup down and came to his side where he sat. She stroked his hair and put her hand on his shoulder now. ‘It was difficult to watch and not be able to help you in some way.’

  He was at a loss for words, for an explanation, of any of this. One thing was clear—he had terrified Isobel. How could he not remember?

  ‘Here now, go back to bed,’ he said. He stood and guided her to the bed. ‘I want to go talk to Broc.’

  ‘Why not wait until morn?’ she asked. ‘Let it go for now.’

  He was going to ignore her suggestion, but the exhaustion struck him then. Waiting until morning would not hurt anything. Mayhap by then he would remember something about it?

  She moved over and he climbed on the bed next to her. Though he suspected she would not sleep, she did and did it quickly. The touching thing was that she slipped her hand into his before doing so.

  * * *

  The hours had passed slowly then. He watched as the first rays of the sun began to bring light back to the chamber. When the sound of the servants going about their duties trickled in, Athdar slid from the bed, leaving her there asleep and sought out Broc...and some answers, he hoped.

  He received some strange glances all through the morning, some bold and direct, others more surreptitiously given, as he carried out his duties. After having kept Isobel up most of the night, he gave orders to let her sleep this morn. He was sure there would be hell to pay, but she needed some rest. Instead of remaining in the hall to break his fast, he took some bread and cheese and a skin of ale and walked to the village to survey the work being done.

  While in the village, he sought out one of his father’s kin, an old cousin who had lived there all his life. Athdar had a strange feeling that what had happened last night, had happened before. Something about it seemed familiar and yet he could not draw it to his mind. Old Iain lived with his granddaughter and still had the biting sense of humour Athdar always remembered of him.

  ‘Iain, you lived in the keep when I was a child, did you not?’ he asked, once they were alone. Iain’s granddaughter seemed to know he wanted a private talk with her father, so she’d taken her bairn and gone to visit a friend.

  ‘Aye. I was in charge of the stables then.’ Iain laughed loudly then at some memory only he knew. ‘Taught ye to ride yer first horse, I did. Ye were a canny lad when it came to horses. Aye, ye were.’ The old man reached inside his tunic and pulled out a flask. After taking a swig, he offered it to Athdar. He took a mouthful and handed it back.

  ‘Do you remember any stories about...well, about me having night terrors?’ He was embarrassed to ask, but could think of no other way to bring up the subject.

  ‘Yer sister was a terror,’ he said. ‘Drove yer maither nigh to madness, but lasses can be like that, ye ken?’ He laughed again. ‘My own Jessie there—’ he nodded in the direction where his granddaughter had gone ‘—she gave me a fair run as weel.’

  ‘Do you remember stories about me?’ Athdar asked once more, hoping he could guide the man’s wandering mind back to the topic. ‘When I was a boy?’

  Iain closed his eyes and for a moment Athdar thought him sleeping. Then he opened them and stared right at him.

  ‘After that summer, ye did. Sometimes in the night. Sometimes in the day. Ye would lose yer way and wake someplace else wi’oot remembering how ye got there. Yer da would say the nights were the worst time. They sent ye to yer uncle’s until it passed.’

  ‘Which summer, Iain?’ he asked. The old man ignored him or forgot to answer, Athdar did not know which. ‘How many years did I have then, Iain?’

  ‘The sad summer,’ he finally said. ‘Sad days, those.’ Iain seemed to drift off into his thoughts then.

  Shocked, but at the same time not, he knew now that last night was not the first time something like that had happened. But in all these years, he did not remember it. ‘Since then, Iain? Do you know of any other times since then?’

  ‘Did ye ken I taught ye to ride yer first horse? Aye, I did indeed. A big, black one. Yer maither, God rest her soul, feared ye would be killed, but yer da was proud of ye.’

  Iain looked off in the distance and began telling his granddaughter, who had not yet returned, of Athdar’s skills on a horse. The man’s lucid moments gone, Athdar thanked him and left. Jessie waited a short distance from the cottage and passed him as he walked back to the main part of the village.

  Troubled and puzzled by the man’s words, he wondered if some illness he’d suffered as a child had returned now. But what was it and why now? Surely Jocelyn would have spoken to him about such a thing? She was older by a couple of years and would have remembered. It made no sense that she would keep such a thing from him.

  The only thing he could do was to see if it subsided or worsened over the coming days. With little more information than what he knew before, Athdar returned to the village and worked alongside the men to complete the repairs they’d begun the day before. They had been lucky and the clear skies held for them. As the month of November moved on, there would be fewer and fewer of these days in which to do this kind of work.

  They pushed on, later than they usually would have, claiming every moment they could before ending for the day. Satisfied with what they’d accomplished, Athdar, Broc and the others headed back for the keep.

  And once more water and clean clothing awaited him and the meal was served when he arrived at the table. But this night there was no sign of Isobel. He asked and was told she had eaten already. No one seemed alarmed by her absence, so he ate along with the others and waited until everyone was finished before letting his curiosity overwhelm him. Leaving the table first, he pulled Nessa aside and discovered that Isobel rested in her old chamber, feeling a bit ill.

  He climbed the stairs two at a time and went to her room. Knocking and saying her name softly, he lifted the latch and opened the door. But for a huddled pile in the middle of the bed, he could see nothing but the top of her head peeking out from under the massive pile of bedcovers. Laria sat by the bed and watched him as he entered.

  ‘Does she sleep?’ he whispered.

  ‘Nay, she does not’ came a muffled reply from the bed, instead of one from Laria. He tried not to laugh over the absolute misery in her voice. She pushed the covers down and began to sit up when Laria ordered her not to move. Even he knew not to disobey the heale
r’s words when given in that tone.

  ‘My thanks for tending to my wife,’ he said, glimpsing for a moment the strange expression on the woman’s face before it became a tolerant smile. ‘I will sit here until she sleeps.’

  He expected her to argue—she always did—but instead she rose and held out a small bottle to him.

  ‘Three drops in her ale and she will sleep.’

  With that, she turned and left the chamber without another word spoken. As soon as she had, Isobel pushed the covers back and sat up just as she had tried before. She did not look ill, but if she was abed...

  ‘Here now,’ he said. ‘You should be lying down.’ When she gave no sign of listening to him, he warned her, ‘Must I get Laria back in here to make you obey?’

  ‘I pray you, no, please.’ Isobel sat now, pushing herself back against the headboard of the bed. ‘I need to sit up for a bit.’ He held out the cup of ale to her. She shook her head and waved it off.

  ‘So what ails you?’ he asked. Her bright blush told him not to pursue it, but he did. ‘Are you ill? A fever?’

  ‘It will pass, Athdar. By morning I will be fine,’ she said, with a peevish tone in her voice. That irritable inflection told him exactly what malady had her abed and it was one most women did not wish to discuss with men. He should have known that.

  ‘Your courses, then?’ he asked. She nodded and would not meet his gaze. This was possibly the first time a man other than her father, and he would never have done so, asked her about such a personal matter. No wonder she was peevish. ‘So, if you are not contagious, why did you come back here?’ Neither Mairi nor Seonag had ever moved out of their chamber for such a thing.

  She sighed loudly then and shrugged. For once, the bright, intelligent, fluent-in-several-languages Isobel seemed lost for words. Then she whispered her reply.

  ‘I did not wish to disturb you in your bed,’ she said.

  ‘After last night, you mean?’ At first he did not think she would answer, but then she nodded.

  ‘I was thinking about you and last night and wondered if I was the cause of the disturbance. After all, you did not want a wife and you were forced into marrying me. I thought mayhap the condition was brought about by that?’

  Although he had not thought Old Iain’s information very helpful, he decided to share it with her to make her understand that she was not the reason for his sleep disturbances.

  ‘Isobel, I have discovered that I experienced such a condition as a child. Though no one seems to remember how or when it occurred, I was told by an old friend of my father’s that it happened for a while in my childhood and then disappeared. Thinking about it, I wonder if Robbie’s passing and the grief over that brought it back?’

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked.

  ‘I believe it might be so. I cannot know until or unless it happens again, but I suspect that whether you sleep next to me or not will not make a difference in it.’ He walked around the chamber, putting out the candles and then motioned for her to slide under the bedcovers. ‘But, if it is up to me, I would rather have you in bed with me than to sleep alone...again.’

  ‘But I am...’ She could not say more.

  ‘Disobedient? Wilful?’ he asked, climbing in with her, this time under the covers. ‘Beautiful? Lovely? Warm?’ he continued describing her as he pulled her down next to him, turned her on her side and moved up against her. Even with his garments in place, he knew she would feel his hardness, but it mattered not. ‘Rest now. I will be here if you need me.’

  He felt her body relax into his, curling against him, as her breathing became deeper and slower. With her there, he felt safe somehow and he let sleep overtake him.

  Upon waking on the fourth morning of their marriage, Athdar found his wife next to him, no screaming, no chaos, and decided he liked it more than he thought he would.

  * * *

  She felt much better this morn, better in fact than she expected to, but not so well that she did not take advantage of a few extra minutes of dozing comfortably in the warmth of Athdar’s embrace. Isobel felt the moment when his body awakened and then when his mind did. It would be difficult not to notice such a thing when lying like this. When she was certain he no longer slept, she spoke.

  ‘You slept?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Aye,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘And you? How do you fare this morn?’

  She turned on her back then and looked at him. The terrible, haunted expression was gone and, though he’d slept for some hours, he still looked exhausted. With too many tasks left undone, she knew he would never remain abed.

  ‘Were the repairs finished?’ she asked, sliding to the side of the bed and regretting it immediately as the cold air in the chamber surrounded her instead of Athdar’s warmth. She went to the trunk that remained in this room and took another borrowed gown from it. She really must see to her own wardrobe soon. ‘And the barns?’

  ‘Connal is an excellent carpenter. He directed the building of the framework so the others could add work on the walls. The cottages will stand another winter’s assault and we now have more space for the additional crops harvested.’

  He got out of bed and stretched to his full height. They’d awoken in the same position as they’d slept, so he was, no doubt, stiff from being in one position. She rolled her neck a few times, working out the spasms there. A soft knock on the door was followed by Glenna’s voice.

  ‘Lady?’ she asked. ‘I’ve laid out water to wash in the laird’s chamber. Do you have need of anything else?’

  Isobel opened the door a crack. ‘Nay, Glenna. My thanks for remembering. I will see you in the hall.’

  ‘You already have retrained my servants?’ She met his gaze and did not see anger or irritation in his eyes. ‘That did not take long.’

  ‘I have found that, with few exceptions, your people would have seen to your care if you had let them.’

  He winced.

  ‘And that they have been well trained, but not allowed to perform their duties.’

  Another wince as the truth struck home. He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

  ‘I am gladdened then that my lady wife has freed them from the oppression of their laird and allowed them to work,’ he said. His mouth curved into a smile, not the terribly wicked one that made her want to touch her mouth to his and taste it. Nay, this one was genuine and it warmed her heart.

  She decided she liked marriage if it meant moments like this between them.

  ‘I am going to dress and will see you in the hall?’ she asked.

  At his nod, she left and went to his chamber to wash and dress. The first day of her courses were always the worst and she felt better now knowing that was past. Just as Athdar and the men had things to accomplish, so did she...and the women of the village and keep.

  It was time to make her first significant change and she hoped he would support her in it.

  * * *

  Is he finally remembering?

  Could he be?

  ’Tis too late now to save the others....

  Or himself.

  The last death was not pleasing.

  The next one will protect the secret.

  And the last one?

  Him...

  Or her?

  Chapter Eighteen

  He’d seen her in the village as she approached each of the women involved, but she avoided speaking to him while she was planning this change. She’d discovered that the four weavers, all widows with children, each worked separately in their own cottages. During the winters, they could be isolated for weeks at a time due to the storms.

  That did not sit well with her.

  So, after speaking to Nessa and Jean, her plan was to move them to live in the keep, at least during the winter, and to build a weaving
corner in the hall where they could work together. Their children would be kept close, the older ones given chores, and it would benefit everyone. After Athdar’s comments about Connal’s skill, she approached him to build some screens that could be used to separate the area off from the rest of the hall, making it like a separate room. If this all worked, she would ask Athdar about building a place for them within the walls.

  Her dowry, once settled on him, could pay for that and more.

  Like another tower where they could have their own chambers, leaving the rooms on the second storey to others and other uses.

  Maybe even to build a keep big enough to be named.

  But, the dowry was dependent on her father’s approval and she did not want to think about that just yet. For now, she wanted to concentrate on what she could change and that was the weaving.

  Connal promised to send his assistant to measure for the screens and Isobel planned to use some of the tapestries she’d found that could not be completely saved or repaired. Cutting them down, she could use the pieces on wooden frames for screens.

  Her plans now in place, all she had to do was convince Athdar to permit the changes. As she waited for him to arrive for supper, she decided to use his sister’s approach—beg forgiveness rather than ask permission. It would take several more days before it could be accomplished, so she kept it to herself and engaged the servants and others involved to keep her surprise.

  * * *

  Athdar sat next to her at table and studied her face.

  She was up to something. Just as he knew when Jocelyn had some plot underway, so did he know with his wife now. He could demand the truth, even force the servants—who wore the very same expression—to reveal it, but Athdar sensed that she, and they, were trying to please him.

  How could he be mean-spirited and not allow them that?

  Uneasy, he glanced around the hall to see if there was anything different there. Her loom had been moved aside. The tables used for supper moved forwards. Nothing else.