The Draig's Wife

by Lisa Dawn Wadler

  Emma laughed as she grabbed the makeshift crutch from beside the bed. “Relax, I’m armed.”

  “Emma, you have only one good foot. If one were to sneak past my guards, what little of them remain, I fear you would lose,” Declan replied with no trace of the kind man.

  With a snort, she replied, “Then get me a blade.”

  To answer the request, Cortland removed the sword strapped to his side and handed it to Emma. “There is still a man outside the chamber door. You would have warning if trouble were to come. Rest assured while many are ill or wounded, enough stand at the ready.”

  Smiling at Declan, she said, “See. Problem solved.”

  There must have been something in her face that entertained him, and she would have liked to believe it was her raw determination, but she doubted it. “You are a stubborn lass. Keep the blade at your side while I find a way to offer you a better one.” His wink made her wonder what he was leaving out. She let it pass as it was most likely something Cortland would not want to hear.

  “The men wait,” Cortland reminded Declan as he sat in the chair next to the bed. After the laird closed the chamber door, he asked, “How do you fare?”

  “I’m exhausted, but my head isn’t swimming anymore,” she said with a small smile. His concern touched her deeply. It was the fourth time since dawn he had been in to check on her.

  “In the future, keep away from the strong drink,” Cortland lightly reprimanded her. After she nodded, he asked, “How is your ankle?”

  “Black and blue.” She had let it breathe earlier in the afternoon with cool cloths draped over it. While wrapped, she could feel it pulse and knew one false step would cause her a world of hurt.

  “Have I told you how pleased I am to see you draw breath?” Cortland asked, removing the sword from her hand to take her hand in his. “Even now, I have such fear for you.”

  “Honestly, I’m fine,” she reassured him.

  “You need to rest. One of the lasses will be up shortly to take a turn by Mary’s side. She will follow your instructions. Go and sleep,” Cortland commanded her.

  “I’m staying here,” Emma said but let an idea take hold. “Mary is asleep now, and maybe I will leave but only for a bit. Whose permission do I ask to cook?”

  “None will stop you in the kitchens. If all you seek is a meal, one should be brought to you soon. If there is something specific, tell me, and I will see it done.” He gently squeezed her hand.

  “Whatever they send up is fine. But I wanted to make some chicken soup for Mary. It may hide the taste of the herbs. Grandma always said it was the best medicine,” Emma said with a smile for the memory. She quickly listed the minimal ingredients she would need.

  “Make a large pot, if you would, daughter. Too many are too weak to eat meat.” Cortland offered to let the kitchens know what to have at the ready.

  Emma nodded mutely at the fact he called her daughter and not by name. She felt the love in his grip and saw it reflected in his eyes. Blinking back tears, she said, “Thanks, Da.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Emma refused to wonder if a third day of fever was worthy of extra concern, but then day three had just become night number four. Nestling against the small overly warm body, Emma attempted to focus on how lovely the cool cloths felt against her ankle, a positive thought for a mind consumed with negativity. She knew she should close her eyes and sleep while she could. Declan normally came to sit them at night; given the late hour, she expected him shortly. She hated to admit that she missed him.

  Sleep wasn’t going to come anytime soon. Her thoughts drifted to Aalish and wee Thomas who were both ill. In a weak effort to do anything to help, she had had some soup sent down to the cottage, along with fresh bread. At the minimum, Brina and big Thomas would have something to eat.

  Her eyes went back to the door, and she prayed Declan would show up soon. She was desperate for news, even if it came with his threats of marriage and brushed kisses to her lips and cheeks. Closing her eyes at the disturbing thoughts, she considered asking him how long he was going to keep the whole joke alive. What will I do if he’s serious?

  The light knock on the door brought her hand to the sword at her side. Cortland, Declan, and Meggie never knocked, and the occasional woman who stepped in to give her a moment to run to the garderobe usually entered at will. I doubt danger will actually knock.

  “Who is it?” Emma called out, removing the cloths from her foot. If needed, she would jump out of the bed.

  “I was looking for you,” Merrick said, stepping into the room.

  Relief flooded her at the friendly face, but her hand stayed on the weapon. The attack on the village had been too perfectly timed to be random, and Merrick’s father had to be to blame. The only question was where Merrick stood in all of it. Emma cocked her brow. “You didn’t look very hard. I’ve been in here for the better part of three days.”

  Merrick strode to the end of the bed and stared at her bruised ankle. “We both had wounds to tend. Only in the last hour or so have I been deemed hale enough to leave the care of women.” When he lifted his shirt, Emma winced at the bandage wrapped around his middle.

  His gaze settled on the scratches on her chest. “How do you fare, Emma?” he asked with concern.

  “I’ll live,” she said.

  “I should have been at your side. Can you forgive me?” Merrick’s voice reeked of regret.

  Staring into his soft brown eyes, it all came flooding back to her—the reason he wasn’t with her the day of the battle. He’s damn lucky he’s still wounded. “Why did you tell everyone that I spent the night with you? Do you have any idea how hard I worked to overcome false stories about me? In one lie, my reputation was shot to hell. They all believe you and think the worst of me.”

  Sitting on the bed by her feet, Merrick exhaled a heavy sigh. “I have no excuse worthy of such a tale. A few of the men asked for details of our walk, and my mouth spewed lies to save my pride. If I had kenned they would make a tale of it . . . forgive me, Emma.” Merrick’s gaze fell to the sword she gripped on the bed. “Are you so angry you would strike an unarmed man?”

  Instead of an answer, she gripped tighter to the pommel. The rational part of her wasn’t quite sure how Merrick’s pride became her dishonor. Time passed, and the world hadn’t seemed to change. It would have been the same in her time. It was a lesson her grandfather had given her—boys brag and girls are looked at as trash. It was a lesson she had always taken to heart. Though apparently once drunk, Emma had forgotten.

  “Thank you for the apology. Please leave,” Emma said briskly. She was too tired to deal with him. She already knew there would be no more walks or anything else with Merrick. If her drunken night with Declan had taught her anything, it was what passion and want tasted like. Her walk with Merrick didn’t come anywhere close to making her want more.

  Mary stirred and coughed as her eyes fluttered open. Helping the child to sit, Emma rubbed her back until the coughing fit finally ended. Grabbing the cup from the table, she said, “Take a sip, sweet girl. The broth will do you good.” Again, only a small amount passed the child’s lips.

  “Listen to Emma, my wee cousin,” Merrick crooned to the girl. “I would see you run in the fields before the week is finished.”

  Mary gave him a weak smile before her eyes closed and she fell back against the pillows. Emma wiped her brow and face with the cool damp cloth and swallowed back the fear that ran cold down her spine.

  “It has been many years since I have heard such a sound,” Merrick muttered, seemingly to himself.

  Emma sat forward and snapped with a hushed voice, “Don’t you dare compare this to whatever killed so many almost a decade ago. I’ve already heard it, and nothing is going to happen to this child. Do you hear me?”

  Merrick nodded and stepped to st
and next to her. Taking her face in his hand, he titled her gaze to meet his. “No illness would be so foolish as to anger you so, Emma. I had no desire to upset you. Care for my wee cousin and tend her as best as you can. My only wish is that you could vanquish the illness with your sword as easily as you brought death to those who threatened the child three days ago.”

  Emma flinched as his lips brushed her forehead before he released her cheek. It was all wrong. Merrick wasn’t supposed to know she could fight, and it could ruin her chances of helping Mary if the need came from his father’s plots.

  “Merrick, you aren’t supposed to know I can hold a sword,” Emma said with panic racing through her. Maybe even this is a mistake. Should I even be having this conversation? “Will you keep this our secret? If you have any decency, please don’t tell your father.”

  Merrick’s smile faded at the comment, and Emma feared she had said the wrong thing to the wrong man. “Emma, do you honestly think I would do anything to hurt wee Mary? My love for her is true and always has been. I fought alongside your father to protect these people.”

  While that was true, she also knew he had been one of the last men to join the battle, jumping in when the tide was turning to favor the clan. “I need you word of honor, Merrick. Swear it to me, and I will forget about the rest.”

  “I swear it, Emma,” Merrick vowed and then bowed before her. “I would do naught to endanger your life.” With a glimmer in his gaze, he asked, “Why did you only slap my face when you could have done so much more?”

  “Count your blessings. My first instinct was to break your arms.” Emma settled back against the headboard.

  Merrick chuckled softly. “Mayhap another day we will sit and talk. My actions were far too bold, and I regret asking you for more than I should have.”

  She knew the apology was sincere, but it did nothing to erase the sting of his lies. Still, it was more than she ever expected. Emma pointed to the door. “You should go. Thank you for the apology and your promise. But I’d keep an eye out for Cortland. He wasn’t pleased with what I told him about our walk.”

  The color drained slightly from Merrick’s suntanned face. “You told your da?”

  “Everything, just like I always do.” Given the way his eyes widened at the statement, she smiled at the uncertainty he faced. It was exactly what he deserved.

  “For the warning, I am grateful. Mayhap I will see to what aid I can lend in the village while Cortland tends the wounded men,” Merrick said as he walked to the door.

  “Good luck, Merrick.” Emma wiped Mary’s arms and neck with cool water. A sigh of relief left her lips when he was gone. She only had to wait for Cortland and Declan to come for their evening vigil. She was certain her father would love to hear about how he struck fear into Merrick’s heart.

  ~ ~ ~

  Declan studied the worn, engraved pattern on his dagger’s handle. The dragon with no tail, a beast with a head on each end, wrapped around it and gave the illusion that it had no end. The laird in him knew it was the symbol of his clan, the mark of his forefathers, and he wore it proudly on his skin. The beast on the dagger was not a weapon in the truest sense of the word. Old legends spoke of the dagger coming with the man who conquered his lands so many centuries ago.

  The dagger had been placed by the first Draig into the hands of the woman he loved and claimed to mark her as his. For generations untold, each laird had given the dagger to the woman who captured his heart. Declan had been the first Draig to marry without making the dagger a bridal gift. The man in him wanted a wife worthy of such a gift.

  For several days, he had lived with the illusion that he had found such a lass. He had believed the door of time had opened not only to heal Cortland, but to also offer him a woman worthy of all he had to give, a woman who would understand all of him. So many tales spoke of women traveling through time destined for the laird and a powerful love. He had believed such true of Emma.

  With no other woman had he shared the truths of his heart. While he had made a habit of tasting the passions of many, none had even felt so right in his arms, and none had ever been in his bed. He cast a glance to the empty chair where she had sat and remembered the simple joy of her companionship. I wish I still believed.

  At first, he refused to listen to the whispers in the village; he knew the old women could make a tale of nothing. However, when the same whispers came from his men who gathered for the evening meal, his hope had died hard.

  She had lied to him in his bed. Emma had dared to lie to him. Making him think she had saved herself for him, he was a fool of the greatest caliber to fall for such an old trick. Does she think I am some naïve fool who would not know the difference? Even with a head full of whiskey, I would have known.

  Worst of all, she bedded Merrick, whose loyalty waxes and wanes more often than the moon. Are they together in their plot? Is Cortland the visionary who created the plan to bring my ruin?

  Declan let go of the dream of a wife who would fill his life with joy and sighed at the plans he had set into motion. Messengers loaded with silver were headed toward the small keep of old Malcolm. Not that he wanted the lass, but he knew his duties, and time was growing short to have a wife in place. His messengers were instructed to offer the greedy man coin and that he would agree to Malcolm’s demands. They had been given the authority to negotiate and cast aside the bride’s dowry. No man would turn away such an offer even if his wife objected to the match.

  He knew Cortland should have been consulted on the matter, but for the first time, he had no faith in the man. Mayhap he instructed Emma in her ploy. After a lifetime of faithful service, mayhap Cortland wants a larger share of the wealth of the Draig. While his heart could not quite believe Cortland capable of such deeds, he had no time to take chances. If nothing else, his Uncle Glenn would be denied his victory.

  Rubbing the sides of his head, Declan wished the ache would fade as quickly as his dreams. He wanted to check on Mary but could not stomach the notion of facing Emma. When the child was healed, he would speak his mind and send her from his lands.

  Guilt weighed heavily at the future. It was his duty to offer Emma a home as she had traveled the path created by his ancestor. He waved away the guilt, and he decided the duty fell to Cortland. He found the lass, and he could care for her far away. He would banish them both to Cortland’s land and never have to set eyes on either one again.

  Chapter 11

  Emma entered Mary’s chamber to join Cortland, who sat in the chair by the child’s bed. Meggie had forced her from the chamber to bathe and change her clothing. The leather pants and linen shirt felt like heaven covering a clean body. Her shopping list from the drug store was growing by the minute. In her mind’s eye, she saw aisle four with oodles of feminine hygiene products to choose from, each one a fantasy never to be fulfilled. She had no idea how the women properly used the rags she had been given and wore gowns.

  “I expected to find Meggie,” Emma said, limping to the edge of the bed to sit. Cortland winced with every step she made in the flip flops.

  “She had other matters,” Cortland said. “I can stay the night. Go to your bed, Emma.” As if deciding she had agreed, he settled back in the oversized chair.

  “I only left because . . .” She paused, not quite willing to explain why she needed a bath. “I’m here to stay,” Emma stated. It was day five, and she wasn’t leaving again any time soon.

  Cortland sighed wearily. “There have been several deaths in the village and two within the walls. All from this illness.”

  Emma listened to the names of the dead and sagged in relief that Aalish and her family had so far been spared.

  “She is still ill,” Cortland said, as if reading her mind. “So is the wee one. I had hoped for better news to bring you. I pray for time for you two to make peace.”

  “I’ll send m
ore soup.” Emma knew it wasn’t the same as seeing her friend, but needed to do something. “Thank you for telling me.”

  With a glance to the small pot that sat in the embers of the fire, Cortland asked, “Has Mary had any?”

  “Only a few sips, but she liked it, I think. Grandma always said nothing heals a body like soup.” Emma tried to smile but remembered that soup was the woman’s last meal. Emma’s sob broke free with the painful memory. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  “You have done all you can. All ken it.” Cortland reached forward to grip her hands.

  The sound of coughing had Emma pulling her hands free to comfort Mary. “Shhh, sunshine. I’m right here.” Her hand reached out to soothe the child’s forehead, and tears rolled down Emma’s face. A sigh left her lips. “She’s cool.”

  Cortland jumped to his feet with his hands on the child’s neck before she could blink. With a chuckle of relief, he said, “Aye, Emma. The fever is gone.” He pulled Emma into his grip as her tears fell without restraint. As she sobbed, he whispered, “You have saved this one’s life.”

  Sniffling and wiping her face on her sleeves, she asked, “Do you think it’s over?”

  He stroked Mary’s damp hair. “I have never heard of one to suffer once the fever is broken. The cough may last a few more days, but the danger is past.”

  “I want a drink,” Mary croaked with her eyes closed.

  “Anything you want, Mary, anything you want.” Emma laughed as tears again filled her eyes. Cortland hurried to fill the cup with soup and enough water to cool it for the child. Placing the cup against her lips, she said, “I have some soup right here for you.”

  “I will find Declan and tell him our blessed news. Every man should start his day with such fine tidings,” Cortland said and placed a kiss to Emma’s forehead.