The Draig's Wife

by Lisa Dawn Wadler

  Winds and heavy rain slowed the horse’s run. Over the din of thunder, Cortland spoke more about fleeing for their lives, but none of it mattered. Her heart had ceased to feel and beat back in the hall.

  Yet when Cortland placed a sword in her hand, something sparked in her cold, dead heart. She saw the trees surrounding them and wondered how far they had traveled. Over her sobs, she heard shouts and beating hooves. When did I start crying? Time had lost all meaning.

  Somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, she knew leaving wasn’t a choice. The lack of option flared to a different awareness when she gripped the pommel. Emma clung to the weapon and wanted to charge back into the keep to kick the shit out of Declan for lying to her, for using her, and for making her feel like a sack of humiliated garbage.

  Then an image of Mary floated before her. “We need Mary,” she cried. For an instant, she struggled against Cortland’s hold and almost fell from the running beast.

  “She is no longer yours,” he called over the storm. He held her like a steel vise on the horse that galloped mindless of the raging weather.

  The shouted statement pierced her heart and brought a gasping sob to her lips. How can Mary no longer be mine? She loved the girl as much as any real mother ever could. If there had ever been a reason to fight Cortland, she had found it. “No. Turn around or let me off now. I am going back for her.”

  When she leaned forward to loosen his grip on her waist, lightning flashed, and she saw the rider at their side. Cortland pushed her low over the beast’s neck but couldn’t outpace their lead pursuer, the man who seconds later leapt from his racing horse to knock her and Cortland to the ground.

  For seconds that lasted a small eternity, she floated in the air only to land hard on her hip and side with both men falling on top of her. Breath left her lungs in a numbing whoosh, and they rolled off the path in a tangle of limbs.

  Pain shot through her body as she struggled to her feet, void of the weapon. Lightning flashed, and Cortland rose before her to face the man who had knocked them to the ground. Metal rang against metal while both men fought for purchase on the slick ground.

  Emma doubled over to attempt a breath when she was yanked off her feet from behind to the sound of ripping fabric. With no air, her scream was silent, and she was again thrown to the ground several feet from Cortland. The man she called father screamed at her while still fighting, though now fighting two men.

  In seeking to push her battered and breathless body up from the mud, her hand landed on her fallen sword. Emma forced her body to her knees and plunged the blade into the stomach of the man in front of her before he could blink. He fell, but another stood to take his place.

  She fought against the pain to stand, only to twist her ankle on the forest floor and then slip on the torn hem of her skirt. Pushed violently onto her back, what little air she had managed to suck in evaporated as a hand closed over her throat, and stars danced before her eyes. Emma only saw the shadow of a man loom over her before hearing more fabric rip and the sensation of cold rain falling on her chilled skin. Her sword stabbed and caught someone, but she had no idea who or where as her vision darkened.

  Thunder crashed, weapons clanged, and the horrors of the world slipped from her sight with the hand tightening over her throat.

  Chapter 23

  Getting up seemed to be the hardest part. Emma groaned and forced her body to sit back on her haunches, away from the vomit she had spewed into the tall green grass.

  “Rinse your mouth and take wee sips,” the gentle feminine voice commanded.

  Without opening her eyes, she knew the cup would be to her left. Kathryn always approached from the left with the cup of hot water steeped with fresh mint. Emma nodded obediently and rinsed the nasty taste of bile away and then took two small sips, waiting to see if her stomach would settle or heave again.

  Emma had woken to Kathryn’s concerned hazel gaze four days earlier, a gaze that was identical to her son’s. William had his mother’s eyes. Lost in a blur of pain and loss, the woman had been their guardian angel. She shared with Emma that they had made it to Cortland’s land before dawn, though she didn’t remember anything of the journey. Cortland had found Emma next to their horse after killing the men who chased them from Draig lands.

  Cortland had lit a fire in the cottage moments before he lost consciousness, and Kathryn had seen the smoke. She had come to tend Cortland’s wounds and hers.

  “Mayhap you should return to your bed,” Kathryn suggested, helping Emma to stand. Placing in her hand the walking stick Cortland had fashioned, Kathryn stepped back to give Emma space.

  She couldn’t put any weight on her ankle. While not broken, it was severely sprained and the size of her thigh. Her black and blue ribs still protested the vomiting but seemed to be only extremely bruised. The rest was minor: small cuts and small bruises, and her voice was getting stronger as the hand-shaped discoloration around her neck changed from black to purple.

  “No more sleeping,” Emma whispered. “I need to do something.”

  “Talk to your da,” Kathryn said.

  The woman might as well suggest I walk to the moon. On day one, Emma had woken to Cortland’s concerned gaze, and she had blasted him for setting her up, for his part in her marrying Declan. She might have called him the devil or a monster or something equally awful. Given the shape she had been in, her memory was a bit blurry.

  The next day she had demanded they go back for Mary. It didn’t matter to her if her marriage was over; her love for the child was still there. In her mind, that was all that mattered. Again, Cortland had faced the nasty brunt of her wrath when he refused her demands. Kathryn had finally pushed him from her bedroom, and she had cried herself to sleep, again.

  The previous day Emma wouldn’t look at him. She was too embarrassed to face him and had hid in her room like the coward she had become. Lying on the bed, she had replayed every moment from her arrival in the past to the final moment in the hall. Even in retrospect, she had no idea where it went wrong, or why Declan had thrown her away.

  Pain faded to a blessed numbness when she decided it didn’t matter. It was over. He had ended their marriage and been with another woman. All his promises meant nothing. I’ve been a fool. Belatedly, she realized it had nothing to do with Cortland. He too had been thrown away after a lifetime of service, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine his pain.

  “You’re right,” Emma said, limping toward the cottage. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “‘Tis about time,” Kathryn said as she shoveled Emma’s breakfast into the woods. “You ken there is an outhouse, aye?”

  The thought of throwing up in the outhouse made her stomach roll, and she couldn’t even answer. Focusing on the stone dwelling, Emma walked despite the numbness in her chest and her heart that had ceased to feel.

  The cottage was quaint, with its structure of stones, mortar, and thatched roof. Emma pushed away the thought that it resembled construction in the village. Small windows let in the summer breeze and gave view to the rolling countryside. The small, but comfortable, dwelling had only a central room with a fireplace and table next to the wooden counter top that served as a kitchen, two bedrooms, and a loft area.

  Somewhere close were fields for crops, livestock, and a cluster of cottages. Kathryn had said twelve families hardly made a village but enough to work the land. When Cortland had received the land as a gift from Declan, it had been void of residents. In the seven years since, strays had populated the land—people who needed a place to live. She wasn’t the first one Cortland had adopted, and she doubted she would be the last.

  Rounding the corner, Cortland sat on the bench, a split log with legs, that rested against the front of the cottage next to the only door. He smiled softly and turned his head away from her, presumably to let her pass without another confrontation. Guilt
wracked her at having been so cruel to him. He saved my life. He deserves so much better.

  “May I join you?” she asked with a raspy voice as she limped to the bench. For a moment, she was afraid he would deny her. She wouldn’t blame him in the least. Instead, he moved over and nodded.

  “How are you?” Not once in the last four days had she questioned his health, the stitches Kathryn had told her about, or the bruise on his right cheek that she was sure her elbow had inflicted.

  “I live,” Cortland said without looking at her, his rigid posture clearly braced for another verbal attack.

  Matching his visual line of sight, the leaves on the tall trees waved in the light warm breeze of the midday sun. The world smelled of green grass without a trace of sea-salted air.

  “I’m so sorry,” she blurted out. “I know none of it was your doing, that you had no part in any of what happened. Can you forgive me, please?”

  The shock on his face spoke of everything she dreaded in her heart. No apology will ever make up for each and every nasty thing I spewed at him. Because of my refusal to go with him that last day at the keep, he was injured. His blood is on my hands.

  Cortland’s head shook. “How can you ask for my forgiveness when ‘tis I who have wronged you?”

  His reply nearly knocked her from her seat. “You never . . .”

  “I kenned who Declan was and allowed you to wed him. I had thought . . . nay, it matters little what I thought. I should have denied him and told you to seek a life with a better man. You had no place being the tool he used to save his arse.”

  There was the crux of the matter. In her heart, she had believed Declan was a good man. She had been wrong. “I made the choice,” she said aloud. Her stomach rolled at his name in her mind. Pushing him away from her thoughts, she stared into pale blue eyes that held only misery. “What’s done is done. Let’s leave it in the past where it belongs.”

  She didn’t want to think about Declan or what had been. The fact remains that he used me to secure his lands. That I was a big enough fool to fall for his sweet talk can only be my fault alone.

  “‘Tis where you should ask the matter of great import,” Kathryn said as she came to stand before them.

  Cortland looked up at the woman and nodded. “If you leave us alone, I shall.”

  Kathryn laughed. “Aye, my leaving is for the best,” the woman mocked. “You two dinna have the strength between you to care for yourselves. Though, if you wish, after I make your evening meal, I shall leave.”

  Emma knew the woman brought food daily and cooked it all there. “I can make dinner,” she offered. While not able to do much, she could certainly chop vegetables and dump them in a pot. I may be a mess, but I can stir.

  “We will make our meal together,” Cortland said with a touch of a grin on his bruised face. “Go home, woman, and tend to your duties. We shall survive one night without you.”

  Kathryn studied them both and shook her head with disgust. “On the morrow, I will return with bread and what you need for the day. Be certain to change your bandages, both of you, and rest.”

  “If you bring what we need, I’ll handle making the bread,” Emma offered. The thought of simple tasks pleased her, though she pushed away an image of Mary covered in flour. Some memories were too painful to relive.

  Cortland rose and stood before Kathryn. “My thanks for all you have done for us.” He leaned down and placed a lingering kiss to the woman’s cheek. Kathryn wagged her eyebrows and then winked at him.

  “Until the morrow. Make the fire smoke if you have a need of me,” she said, turning to begin walking to the path behind the cottage.

  After she was out of sight, Emma asked, “What is the question of great import?” While maybe not what they should be talking about, she was relieved beyond belief that Cortland was talking to her.

  “‘Tis the third day you have been sick at midday.” Cortland took her hand in his, and the warmth of his touch soothed her ragged heart. Squeezing it gently, he asked, “Are you with child?”

  A heavy sigh left her lips as her stomach knotted. It was somewhere she had not been mentally prepared to go. Her gaze fell to their joined hands. She had never lied to Cortland and wasn’t going to start. “I think so.”

  Cortland nodded. “So did I.” His eyes narrowed, and she could see the wheels turning in his head. “Did Declan ken?”

  “Does it matter?” she asked with tears welling in her eyes.

  “Aye, it matters. Mayhap he did what was necessary to make you leave to protect you and the child,” Cortland replied.

  “Somehow I doubt that. Have you taken stock of all your wounds and mine? Protected is the last thing that happened to either of us. I don’t think it mattered.” Fresh pain lanced her heart with the certainty she was correct.

  “Emma, mayhap,” Cortland began.

  “Whatever you are planning to say, don’t. He threw us away, you, this baby, and me, and left us to fight for our lives. From now on, I don’t want to hear his name or Mary’s. I need to leave it all behind or lose my mind. I had no idea anything could ever hurt so much.” Gazing up at him, she asked, “Will it always hurt like this?”

  Cortland dropped her hand and placed his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, even though they both winced at the contact. He placed a kiss to her hair. “Forgive my part in your pain.”

  Leaning into his shoulder, Emma nodded, knowing he would never accept that she didn’t really blame him. Together they sat in silence and listened to the leaves rustle and insects chirp in the day’s sun. Nestling against his shoulder, she felt his love and could have wept for the moment if she had the reserves to feel anything.

  “Will the child call me grandfather?” Cortland’s quietly voiced question brought to life concerns over her future.

  Emma pulled out of his hold and stared mutely after the question before summoning the courage to ask, “Do you want him to?”

  “So, you already plan for a fine strong lad,” Cortland said with a soft chuckle. “I ask as you have neither called me by name or da since we arrived here.”

  She had called him many things, none of which should ever be repeated. “What do you want me to call you?” she asked with dread settling in her belly. “I mean, you no longer have to pretend to be my father.”

  “I thought that had ceased to be false between us. In all ways, I have treated you and loved you as my child. That love still binds me to you.”

  A lone tear trickled down her cheek, and Emma let it fall to her lap. “I love you, too.”

  “Then congratulate me. I am to become a grandfather.” Cortland laughed.

  Emma shook her head at his enthusiasm, and she wondered how in the world he could be happy. She was knocked up with no husband, no home, and only fear at the notion of being pregnant.

  Answering her silence, Cortland reassured her. “You and the bairn are home. The land provides enough bounty to offer us a fine life. We will raise the wee one together.”

  A hint of a smile crossed her lips despite her foreboding the situation. Maybe in time I’ll find the courage to look forward to the child, but not yet.

  “Thank you, Da,” she whispered, resting on his shoulder. Letting the conversation settle in her mind, she glanced up at him. “So, what’s the deal with you and Kathryn?”

  “Now you ken why I trained William to take my place.”

  Chapter 24

  “Dishes are done,” Emma said, steapping out of the cottage. She blinked in surprise to find Cortland several paces from the door with a sword in hand. With fear trickling down her spine, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

  He held up his hand for silence, and in seconds, she heard the beating of hooves on the ground. With her limp forgotten, she held her crutch out in a defensive position. They had concerns that
Glenn’s men would track them but had thought themselves safe on day six. She had never tracked the days she spent in the time or place before and only knew it was currently day six of her slow death.

  “Into the cottage and bar the door,” Cortland commanded.

  “Too late,” Emma said as a lone horse and rider came into view. No sign of weakness was evident in the man before her, despite his wounds. She knew she could never stand in an honest fight and felt no fear at the certainty. Her life had ceased to have meaning beyond the tasks of the day. Laundry, cleaning, and food preparation were hardly a reason to fight. The child she thought she carried held little motivation for her. Her heart ached for the one she refused to picture in her mind, the one with brilliant green eyes like her father’s.

  Lowering his sword, Cortland turned and relaxed. “We are fortunate. ‘Tis William.”

  William raised his hand in greeting, rode to where they stood, and leapt from the beast. “Even kenning the way, I had trouble keeping to the trail. The storm from days ago knocked many a tree onto the trails.”

  Cortland slapped William on the back and teased him for forgetting his way home, though Emma knew the trail was poorly marked.

  “Have you come to see your mother?” Cortland asked.

  “Nay, I have come to beg your forgiveness. I failed you and Emma,” William said, dropping to one knee with his eyes fixated on the man before him.

  “Get up, you fool,” Cortland reprimanded. “I am but a simple man, nay a laird to be appeased.”

  Rising to his feet, William began, “I have come to offer my service.”

  “Then seek your mother. She may have need of hands to tend the animals. My days of training are behind me.” Cortland left William and walked to Emma’s side.