The Draig's Wife

by Lisa Dawn Wadler

  Thomas shifted on Emma’s lap, and she held him to stand on her legs. As he wobbled for balance, she tried to find her own. The lies of her existence drove her crazy; everywhere was a partial truth, even in a place of friendship. While not what Cortland had advised, Emma made up her own mind. “So, Thomas, would you care to hear a fine tale. Maybe your mother would enjoy this as well.” She paused to pretend to listen for the child’s response. “Once upon a time, a little girl was born almost six hundred years from now . . .” She told it all, her horrid early childhood, the rescue by her grandparents, meeting Cortland, the joy of meeting Aalish and having a friend, the drunken night with Declan, the days and nights of illness, and ended with her faux marriage and plans to protect Mary.

  “And then she told her friend everything and hoped she would understand,” Emma finished and locked gazes with Aalish. Wide round eyes held hers.

  “Such truths should never be spoken. Most would doubt the tale or accuse you of worse,” Aalish whispered. She paused and a grin covered her face. “I sit in my home with a traveler of legend. ‘Tis a fine day. But ken your story stays with me alone.”

  “I appreciate that. Where do we stand?” Emma asked, unsure of what would come of everything spilling out at once.

  “Now we sit at my table when we should be preparing the evening meal. Stay and share the meal with my family,” Aalish offered with a slight nod.

  Grandma had always said sharing a home-cooked meal was like sharing a piece of your soul with those you love. With the invitation, Emma felt the love and acceptance. “I would love nothing more, but if we’re not back, Declan will have a fit and most likely send out a search party.”

  Aalish nodded in understanding. “Aye, husbands prefer to have their wives in sight.”

  “Don’t start with me,” Emma said with her index finger wagging. “It was the only way to give me legal rights to Mary.”

  “I mean no offense. You have my thanks for daring such a deed to keep my lass safe. Though it appears you will soon be released from the obligation,” Aalish said, rising from the table.

  “I think so, too. In the next few days, he needs to marry for real,” Emma said.

  “Your da was in the village speaking with the men and asking which had daughters of an age to marry. It appears the laird is desperate and will take any who can be proven a maiden.” Aalish began to chop vegetables.

  “What girls are being offered up as potential sacrifices?” Emma asked only out of mild curiosity, or so she told herself.

  “Why would it matter? You claim to have no interest in the man unless you are deep in your cups,” Aalish said with a light laugh.

  “Don’t start with me. We just made up, and I don’t want to argue again,” Emma replied as her head filled with annoying questions. Why did it matter? Sure, I enjoy his company, when we’re not arguing, but then I enjoy that too. Over the last couple of days, Declan has been pleasant company, and loaded with kindness. Sure, I’m attracted to him, but a woman would have to be dead to not see Declan as ridiculously gorgeous. He kissed me, and I had lost my precious control. Is there more to that, or is it only the booze?

  When Aalish listed the names of potential brides, Emma flinched. She quickly shook away the idea that her reaction had anything to do with jealousy. All Declan needed was a way to secure his title, and she needed to be far more than that. Her mind filled with the whispers he had made to her that promised her everything when Mary had first been ill and then shook them away.

  “Emma, do me a favor and hide your thoughts from your face. I can see your mind work,” Aalish teased. Emma hadn’t even realized the woman was watching her think.

  Emma laughed and pushed her mental ramblings aside. “Who do you think it will be? I want to make sure she knows that Mary is mine.”

  “If I had to guess, I would assume our fine laird will take the tanner’s daughter as wife.” Aalish held out her hands to pantomime a large pair of breasts. Aalish stepped away from her task and walked back to Emma. With a serious tone, she said, “Think, Emma. Whoever marries Declan will have the care of Mary. We will both be fortunate if the child is allowed occasionally in our care.”

  The urge to protest died in her throat. Aalish was correct, and Emma knew it.

  ~ ~ ~

  “And they lived happily ever after,” Mary chirped from her place at Declan’s side. Emma nodded in agreement at the girl tucked under her father’s arm in the enormous bed. They had returned to the keep in time to prevent Declan from sending men to the village, but only barely. To make amends, she and Mary had their dinner with him in his chamber. He had been reluctant to have them leave, so bedtime stories happened in the same place.

  Declan eyed her warily. “If I understand the tale, the beast turns back into a man because the magic spell was broken. One would think the lass would run screaming from such a sight.”

  While the question was intended for Emma, Mary answered. “She would never run because he saved her life and he loves her. Were you nay paying attention as Emma told the tale?”

  “I heard it, though I think you did most of the telling,” Declan said and leaned down to kiss Mary’s hair. That his child sat at his side snuggled against him filled him with such deep satisfaction.

  “‘Tis a fine tale,” Mary said as an explanation.

  “And one you have heard too many times if you can tell it. I’ll have to come up with a new one for tomorrow,” Emma said.

  “Do all of Emma’s stories involve men who behave so terribly they are turned into beasts?” Emma’s look of innocence at the chosen tale did not fool him. He assumed Emma had seen him, or at least the laird as the beast.

  “Only this story. One beast is enough for any girl.” Declan chuckled at her reply and wondered how much of his beast she could truly tolerate.

  “Tell us another,” Mary said, snuggling against him. While the evening had been delightful in so many ways, he could see Mary’s eyelids were heavy.

  “You need to go to sleep.” Emma stood to reach over him to pick up Mary, and her unbound hair tickled his face. With no thought, his hand stole a touch of her thick, dark tresses that smelled of summer flowers. When Mary was in her arms, Emma prodded, “Say goodnight.”

  Before Mary could pout, Declan said, “Dinna argue with Emma. Give your da a kiss for sweet dreams and off to your chamber.”

  Mary giggled. “What type of kiss do you want?” He didn’t miss Emma’s groan at the child’s question.

  “Surprise me.” Declan was too pleased to share the game with Mary.

  Mary pretended to contemplate her choices. “Since you have been so ill, I need to be extra careful with you,” she said with a nod. “Teensy-weensy kiss it shall be.”

  His daughter squirmed out of Emma’s hold and sat next to him on the bed with her feet dangling over the side. The face that had pronounced caution moments before could now barely keep the giggles at bay. Mary leaned over and fell against his chest with peals of laughter.

  “I can nay do it,” she laughed. In place of the kiss promised, Mary sat up and placed a simple kiss to his bearded cheek. “Your whiskers are pointy.”

  Declan ran his hand over the growth that had come during his illness and recovery. “My apologies. I was nay planning on a bonny lass offering me such sweet kisses.”

  Mary giggled while she ran her wee hands over the dark growth. “I dinna like it.”

  “Are you certain?” he asked as he held her soft cheeks and pulled her close to rub his beard gently over them. Squeals and protests filled the chamber until both of them laughed. Such a fine night he had never known.

  “I still need my, what did you call it, teensy kiss,” Declan prodded.

  “Teensy-weensy.” Again, Mary tried, but with the same results. “Do it, Emma, I can nay.” Mary looked up at the woman standing
by his bed.

  “No way. Bedtime.” In the candlelit room, Emma’s eyes held a firm rejection.

  Offering his most innocent smile, Declan asked, “Please, Emma, for Mary’s sake?” He knew it was a plea she could not refuse.

  At once, her resolve softened to defeat with her head bowed and shoulders slumped. Glancing up, she said, “You’re pushing it.”

  Declan held up his hands. “I have touched nothing.” Her comments occasionally sounded bizarre even if he could glean their meaning. Emma did her best to avoid touching him.

  Mary clapped her hands as Emma bent over him. She tilted her head to Mary. “Only one, so pay attention.” Though her gaze turned back to him, her eyes did not meet his, which disappointed him immensely.

  Emma held his face, and when she leaned over him, a wave of flowers met his nose, and the tingles that only happened when Emma was near spread from the skin touching his. The barest of touches graced the skin of his cheek above the scruff of his whiskers. Before he could blink, she again stood over him. “One teensy-weensy kiss.”

  “That was no kiss,” Declan challenged, even though Mary applauded the sight. “You barely touched me.”

  “That’s what makes it teensy,” Emma replied with a broad grin.

  “Dinna you care for it?” Mary asked with a touch of disappointment.

  “It was fine if a bit too wee for my taste,” Declan said, hoping to cheer his daughter. “What other kisses are there to ask for?” That Emma blushed only spurred him on.

  “Well, there are butterfly kisses, Eskimo kisses, hard pecks, and loud kisses, but you ken the loud kiss,” Mary reminded him with a wide grin.

  “Show me the other kisses, wife,” Declan requested while Emma sighed and Mary applauded.

  “You had your kiss, so go to bed. You still need to rest.” Emma lifted Mary off the bed.

  He was exhausted, and sleep sounded like a welcome gift, but he was not done with Emma yet. The woman had been quiet during their meal, and he wanted to know why. “Off to your chamber to prepare for bed, Mary. I need to speak with Emma before she joins you.”

  Curious eyes met his as did a frown, but she sent Mary off with a promise to be moments behind.

  “Goodnight, Da,” Mary called. The simple act of offering a causal farewell as she left the chamber filled him with joy because he knew his daughter was finally comfortable with him.

  “What do you need?” Emma asked. “Are you feeling okay?” Her concern pleased him.

  “I am fine,” Declan reassured her. “Tell me what you would nay speak in front of the child.”

  Again, she frowned. “No one caught up with Merrick.” He admired the lack of hesitation in her reply.

  “I never thought any would,” Declan replied. “The man kens all of the trails as well as any and kens how to hide his tracks.”

  “It’s my fault your uncle will arrive thinking you dead or dying,” Emma confessed.

  He had already had the conversation with Cortland, and both viewed it as good fortune. “Emma, if my uncle believes he can enter my gates with no opposition, we can count it as a blessing. No swords will be raised, and Merrick spoke true to you—less fighting men will come.” He left out that his uncle’s warriors would still come, only not in the lead.

  “Cortland said the same, but I feel extremely responsible.”

  “‘Tis one worry you need nay bear,” Declan reassured her. Emma nodded, but no relief showed on her face. “What else?”

  Instead of a reply, her brow furrowed.

  “I may be stuck in bed, yet I am still laird. If it happens on my lands, it concerns me. If it keeps my wife silent, I should ken the whole of it.” He had hoped to receive some type of response from calling her wife, but it only earned him another sigh.

  Emma sat and stared across the chamber, presumably at the window that darkened while night fell and a storm approach. In the distance, thunder rumbled, and wind could be heard gathering strength. The storm brewing was reflected in the eyes that would not look at him. His only question was whether or not she would speak of it.

  “I know that in two days you will marry for real,” Emma began. “Aalish and I want to know how much we will be allowed to see Mary after that happens.”

  Declan doubted the question came from Aalish; the woman understood how such matters worked. Emma was a different story. Declan held his tongue until she finally turned her gaze to him. No fury burned in her eyes, just the quiet question edged with sadness.

  “Should I marry one of the lasses from the village, Mary will nay be sent away. Somehow, I doubt any could keep you from the child’s side,” Declan replied. “However, it will be my wife’s right to decide Mary’s activities and companions.” The answer was correct, even if misleading. As Mary’s father, he had the ultimate control.

  “That’s what Aalish and Cortland said,” Emma mumbled.

  With practiced ease, he held in the smile that wanted to burst free from his lips. Changing the topic, he asked, “What did they say when you went to the village dressed as a warrior?”

  A small laugh left Emma’s lips. “Are you kidding? I had a sword strapped to my hips. No one said a word.”

  “Are you going back on the morrow?” Declan asked without betraying the laughter he wanted to let free.

  “Aalish is still recovering and needs the extra help, not to mention there are many others who need a hand. Today Mary and Brina carried water to those who needed it and helped with simple things like sweeping. Don’t worry, William was with them every step of the way.” He heard her pride even as he felt his bloom in his chest. His daughter was doing exactly as she should in caring for those in the village.

  “Mayhap you should remain here on the morrow. Your limp is back.” He had noted it earlier when she came into his chamber.

  “I’m fine. Today is the first day I’ve actually done anything.” Emma’s response was bland and lacked her usual passion. He would have changed the conversation, but it appeared to him that Emma’s thoughts lingered on Mary’s care and his wife-to-be, of that he would wager.

  “One last boon before you leave, wife?” Declan asked as he sat up in the bed. “I can nay sleep in the robe. Help me.” It took every ounce of willpower he had to keep the request from being laced with any additional meaning.

  “Fine,” Emma muttered, rising and stepping close enough to aid him.

  It was a simple task he could have performed on his own, yet he played weak and helpless. Color rose in her cheeks as she slid the fabric off his shoulders and he reached below the covers to loosen the strap. Soft gentle hands brushed his hair from his shoulder to rest behind him as she pulled the material with extreme care. That he did everything possible to make her touch him, leaning into her hands at every turn, only brought more heat to her face.

  She may have avoided looking him in the eyes, but he saw exactly what he wanted in hers. They widened ever so slightly as his bare torso settled back against the pillows she had fluffed for his comfort. Declan knew enough of women to know when one admired his form. The thought that Emma appreciated him pleased him greatly.

  She placed the folded robe neatly at the foot of his bed. “Is there anything else, Laird?”

  Finally, Declan chuckled. It was the laird who had delivered the news of Mary’s future care. “Come back and sit with me when Mary sleeps,” Declan requested softly with no trace of the laird.

  Her head shook in disapproval. “Do you really need me to keep an eye on you?”

  Sharing more than he believed himself capable of, he said, “I have no wish to be alone.” His brush with death had left him shaken. While he plotted and planned his future, nothing was set. He would take what limited pleasure he could in her company.

  “Fine,” Emma reluctantly agreed. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

>   Instead of answering her, Declan nodded and shooed her out of his chamber with his hands. His eyes closed, and he tried not to think about his uncertain future. Two days hence, all would be settled. He needed to keep his focus on the match.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a flash of lightning lit his chamber. The storm was still some time away. Rain had yet to begin falling, blessed rain that would wash the remains of battle from his lands. Closing his eyes, he waited for Emma to return.

  A light rustling woke him, and he smiled at the scent of her fragrant hair. Turning his head into the hand that brushed hair from his forehead, he asked, “How long have you been here?”

  “I just came back,” her tired voice answered.

  “You look as if you could sleep on your feet. Come and lay down,” he offered as he patted the empty space next to him on the bed.

  Emma’s rich laughter filled the chamber and mixed with the soft patter of rain. “So not going to happen, Laird.” Instead, she sat next to him on the bed.

  Declan chuckled until he coughed. Immediately, she leaned over and handed him the cup of lukewarm broth. Taking a large drink, he handed her back the empty cup. “My thanks.” Giving her a grin, he said, “While the thought of you in my bed is quite pleasing, I am still weak. Besides, the laird is nay in the chamber. Surely you have noted him absent as we have talked over the last few days.”

  Lightning flashed, and he caught the twinkle in her gaze. “Believe me, I’ve noticed.”

  Declan chuckled again and settled back against his pillows. “Have you missed him?”