The Draig's Wife

by Lisa Dawn Wadler

  William’s hazel gaze fixed on her, and she looked down in shame. She had treated him horribly. “I’m sorry, William. I didn’t mean anything I said to you. Can you forgive me?”

  “I can handle your sharp tongue, Emma.” Strong arms wrapped around her, and Emma whimpered in his hold. Pain shot through her ribs, and stars filled her vision. William pulled back and stared at the bruising on her neck even as her hand lifted to cover it.

  “My ribs are a bit bruised,” she tried to explain to his paled face.

  “What else?” William asked, pushing her hand aside to peruse her visible injuries.

  “I’m alive,” she answered, borrowing Cortland’s appropriate phrase and ignoring William’s look of disgust. “So is Da. Don’t hug him either. He has stitches on his left side.” Not wanting to discuss her injuries, she gave him an imitation of a smile because she didn’t own any real ones. Staring at his neck, she asked the question that haunted her mind. “How is Mary?”

  “She is still in the care of Aalish and is doing fine. I see her daily and do my part to watch over her as always.” William lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “On the morrow, I will be able to brighten her spirit by telling her you still live.”

  “What do you mean?” Cortland asked, pushing William away from Emma.

  The men exchanged awkward glances, and Cortland demanded answers. “‘Tis been told that you and Emma stole from Declan a great deal of silver and were then hunted into the woods. Glenn tells all that his men killed you both, and as thieves deserve, your bodies were left to rot. He leaves out why he is missing five men, including Keir. We doubted the tale for many reasons, and I rode here to see if you survived.”

  “We live, so you may leave,” Cortland said gruffly.

  “You would send me back to serve a man who would see his finest man and wife slaughtered?” William asked, staring at her neck. His gaze locked on the bruising shaped like a hand.

  “I would send you back to serve the man to whom you are sworn. It seems safe to assume that after I left, Declan would have demanded your oath,” Cortland replied.

  “An oath to such a foul creature has no honor and is nay binding. I only found out about your fleeing after I made my pledge.” William turned to spit on the ground.

  “An oath means all, William. ‘Tis the first lesson I ever taught any of you. But serve him or nay, it means naught to us. ‘Tis your life to live but dinna seek my service,” Cortland said coolly.

  “Mary thinks I’m dead,” Emma whispered as she fell to the ground. It had taken her far too long to process what was being said. Fresh pain lanced her heart at what must be going through the child’s mind.

  “Aalish believes you live and whispers such to the lasses,” William said, kneeling by her side. “While upset and worried, she carries hope in her heart, hope I will make strong on the morrow.” His hand reached out to cup her face, but she shied away from his touch. She wasn’t in a place to accept warmth from anyone.

  Emma shook her head. “Let her think me gone. It’s better than her wondering why I never came back.” She knew the wondering about why a mother never came was the worst of all pains. Her hand rested on her flat stomach as she wondered if she would also fail the child, the one she didn’t want. The dark pit in her belly grew because she already knew the answer.

  William held out his hands and gently helped her to her feet. When she tottered, he held her elbow and leaned in to ask, “What happened?”

  Flashes of the nightmare in the hall burned her mind, trees melted into blurs of green, and she heard the echo of swords clashing while feeling the cold, wet ground against her back. Emma gasped and squeezed her eyes closed to banish the images that haunted her dreams. William turned to Cortland to ask the same question. The narration of the events of the evening in question filled in some of the gaps in her head, but not enough; it would never be enough.

  “I found Emma on the ground next to my stallion, and at first thought her gone from this life,” Cortland said to end his nightmarish tale. He left out how battered and bloody they were, details he had shared with her. No one heard about her tattered silks and the question none could answer. What had happened to me once I lost consciousness? How did I survive?

  Afraid that William would dissect the chase and fight for hours, she knew she couldn’t relive it again. After as deep a breath as she could manage, she said, “I’m going to hobble to the loch and will then get dinner ready. We eat right before sunset, and you are welcome.”

  “Fine choice, daughter. Have your bath, and more pleasant conversation will fill the evening,” Cortland said, glaring at William, who nodded in agreement.

  “One moment, Emma.” William lifted the flap on his saddlebag and held out a small wrapped item. “Aalish thinks you breathe, and she mentioned something about you having traveled too far for such a meaningless death. She asked me to give you a gift if I were to see you.”

  The smell gave the item away. Emma’s hand reached for the wrapped soap, and she struggled to keep her composure. Visions of afternoons spent scrubbing hair and laughter filled her hollow heart. “Tell her, tell her . . . give her my thanks and my love. Please tell her I will miss her every day of my life.”

  Unable to bear the farewell message she had delivered, Emma turned from the men and, using her crutch, limped down the path that led to the lake. She’d cry alone for everything and everyone she had lost and curse the day Declan had been born, one more time.

  Chapter 25

  Day nine faded to night while Cortland and Emma sat in silence on the bench outside the cottage. She had left earlier in the day when William had ridden in again. It was too painful to hear about Mary and Aalish. He reminded her of happy times, and she wasn’t ready to remember.

  “Are you ready to listen?” Cortland asked.

  Emma sighed despite the pain that shot through her ribs with the deep breath. She still wasn’t sure she was ready to hear more about the life she left behind. Finally, she answered, “I thought we were no longer part of any of it. What happens there doesn’t concern us, and I don’t need to hear about any of it.”

  “‘Tis what we agreed. However, there is news that may change our future,” Cortland said, taking her hand in his. “We decide all together.”

  Avoiding his statement, she teased, “Considering we both need help to stand up, healing should be our only concern.”

  Cortland chuckled, “And the bairn, we must do all to keep you safe and hale.”

  Will my child have the same brilliant green eyes as Declan and Mary? she wondered. How will I ever face that color and not think of them?

  “I need to speak of William’s visit. So you ken, he left to head back to the keep. The news he brings is foul, and you should hear it.”

  Emma lifted her head to face him. She didn’t care what he had to say; her heart was dead, and she doubted any news could make that worse.

  “Declan has been missing for over two days. Never before has he left without informing someone as to where he rides and when he will return. William would have been told if he left for business or other matters. The clan fears the worst, and Glenn has sent riders to the crown asking for Declan to be declared dead.”

  “So Glenn won,” Emma stated flatly. Her mind couldn’t process Declan being dead, not when she still wanted answers and to know why.

  “Here is what I have kept from you. After we left, Declan spent his days and nights with the hard drink. Never in my life has he done such.” Cortland paused to give her a moment to process the information. “William also said that the day before he disappeared, the first day he rode to see us, Declan spent that night ranting and storming through the keep bellowing for his wife, angered beyond belief that she hid from him. To all, it was strange and unusual, even for a drunk man. When Meggie went to check on him the next morn, he was gone.”


  Forcing her mind to concentrate, the pieces clicked readily into place. “You think he was poisoned and that he wandered away to mostly likely die somewhere.”

  “Mayhap,” Cortland agreed. “Mayhap there was nay enough to kill him or mayhap there was, I dinna ken. My men are fine trackers and will learn the truth. ‘Tis also possible that he left to raise forces to defeat his uncle.” Leading her gaze to his with a gentle hand, he said, “We now have a reason and a responsibility to take Mary.”

  For the first time in nine days something close to emotion rose in her heart. The idea that Mary was unprotected filled her with dread, and then need coursed her veins, a need to claim the child she loved more than life. On her feet, despite the pain in her ankle, Emma demanded, “Then let’s go.”

  “Sit down before you fall, daughter,” Cortland chastised, pulling her gently back to the bench. “The village is still patrolled by Glenn’s men. William believes they seek signs of us. Glenn is nay a fool. The man kens we live despite his boasting to others.”

  “But then how do we get her?” Emma asked.

  “William is working on it. He studies their movements and who watches when. The moment there is a chance to take her from the village, he will. I need you to trust me.” Cortland’s eyes bore into hers in the dark night.

  While it went against every instinct she had, Emma nodded in consent. She knew there was no way she could ride a horse with her ribs aching from simple chores, and running was far out of the question. “Okay, I’ll wait for William.”

  “Good lass,” Cortland said. His gaze shifted to the darkened tree line. “Do you wish to speak of Declan?”

  “No,” she said. Cortland already knew every detail of her last argument with him. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of him dead, a missing beat that left her hollow. She’d never know why, and she’d never have the chance to speak her mind, not that it would ever change anything. Her hand covered her belly, and she again cursed her stupidity at everything she had done, but mostly for the sin of loving him.

  “The child will be another rightful heir of the Draig clan. If you bear a son, we will leave this place and let him grow far from danger,” Cortland said. “One day he may seek to avenge his father’s death and claim his birthright.”

  “Never,” Emma quickly replied. “I’d like to stay here, and if I have this child, he will never know. Promise me, you will never tell him what could have been his.”

  Cortland growled into the night’s cool air. “I swore to myself to stay out of it, but I dinna have the strength. I ken of the questions you asked Kathryn. She will nay provide you with the herbs to end the child. The risk is too great to your life.”

  Emma winced and let the air leave her body. She wasn’t sure if she had really asked with the intention to follow through. The child was a reminder of what never truly was, and only grief remained in her battered soul. “I only wanted to know if it were possible. I don’t think I really could, you know?”

  “I dinna ken what you are capable of any more. There is no joy in your eyes when I speak of the bairn, only hurt. And I ken why.” He turned to face her and held her face in his hands. “When Mary is here, you may think differently. That one will adore the bairn, and we will have two wee ones to care for all our days. Allow your heart time to heal, and I swear there will come a day when you look forward to meeting the life you carry. Even with Declan’s betrayal, the child has never wronged you.”

  “Really? Have you noticed I throw up every day at noon?” Emma sneered at him.

  “As the one who shovels the remains into the woods, I am aware. Heed me, Emma. One day you will only feel love for the child. ‘Tis in your nature to love. Let go of the past and look forward to the new day with me.”

  Emma closed her eyes, not wanting to see his passionate claims. “I promise not to ask again if you don’t speak of the baby for a while. I need to get used to the idea and come to terms with now. I need to learn how to remember without falling apart.”

  Cortland placed a kiss to her forehead and dropped his hands. “Fine, no more talk of wee ones. First, we settle Mary into our home.” Cortland stared at the distance as he asked, “Do you wish to ken Declan’s fate?”

  I don’t want to care about what happened to him. Then reality set in with the memory of contracts. “Mary should know what happened, and I will tell her even if the truth hurts. But if he is alive, Declan will eventually want Mary back.”

  “Aye, but nay when danger still plagues his lands. When and if he is victorious, Declan will ken where to seek his daughter,” Cortland admitted.

  Sitting straighter than she had in days, Emma leaned close to her father. “Then he’d better come armed. No one will ever take my children away.”

  She gasped as she realized what she had just said: her children, as in more than one. Settling her eyes on her lap, she let the notion sit. Maybe I can handle the idea of a baby. Staring up into the canopy of twinkling stars that blanketed the night sky, she whispered, “Promise me that even if I have to give Mary back to him that he will never know about the baby.” Despite her bold threat to keep Mary no matter what, she knew Declan would never let that happen.

  Instead of quickly agreeing as she had hoped, Cortland countered, “If you have no love for the bairn, Declan would see to his needs.”

  “Over my dead body,” Emma snarled. “Swear to me that he never learns about him. I mean it, Da, swear to me on your life.”

  “There is the Emma I recall, one full of passion and life. Welcome back, daughter,” Cortland said, placing his hand over her stomach. “You have my solemn pledge to honor your wishes. If Declan lives, he will never hear of the child from me.”

  It was the “if” that made her blink back unwelcome tears.

  Chapter 26

  The task was simple enough and one she had done countless times as an adolescent, a teenager, and with Aalish. Wet sheets were supposed to land on the drying line, not the dirty ground. Emma groaned as she bent to pick up another one from the ground and shook the grass away, the linen snapping in the afternoon’s bright sun. Her grandmother had always said no fabric softener could do the same as fresh air and sunshine.

  Her ribs still ached from her midday vomit-fest, and her ankle was none too happy about her weight on it. It was too awkward to lean on the crutch as she attempted to hang the bedding to dry. Kathryn was right, as usual, and she should have asked for help. Instead, she had been stubborn and sent her and Cortland to the small village to see to whatever matters needed attention. While she had decided to live again, there was no interest in being involved. She bid her time and waited for William and the child she missed until her arms ached for a hug. Then she pretended not to care about the fate of a missing laird.

  With a glance at the mid-afternoon sky, it was late for laundry. She and Aalish had always washed in the morning and had dry goods by late in the day. The leaves rustled with the breeze of the day, and Emma heard the ghosts of laughter that should have accompanied the chore; Aalish’s gossip, the girls playing in the field, and Thomas’ babbles and giggles haunted her mind.

  Emma pushed away the past and looked to the future. Soon Mary will be here, safe and secure, and once again my day will be bright with love. Watching the tall grass sway, she could picture Mary giggling with the discovery of the new place and someday helping to keep an eye on the baby Emma could no longer avoid. Though it brought up too many memories of heartache, the following summer would be filled with a new love.

  A snapping twig to her left ended the fantasy. Blood raced in her ears while she waited for another sound. When nothing came, she laughed at her nerves and realized it was the first time she had been alone at Cortland’s. It would be normal for her to be jumpy she rationalized, despite the hair rising on her neck and her stomach churning uneasily.

  Her head shook away t
he paranoia when no other sound came. Too focused on listening for William’s horse and Cortland’s approach, she was practically jumping at every bird chirp like a silly girl.

  The next snap was followed by a thud too loud to be dismissed as a squirrel. With no sound, she bent to retrieve the crutch from the ground and cursed herself for not bringing her sword with her to the yard behind the cottage. The needed weapon was in her bedroom leaning against the corner. Testing her weight on her sprained ankle, she knew she would never be able to sprint for it. Besides, the noise had come from the woods on the side of the cottage between her and the front door.

  Straining to hear more, she waited. If it were someone from the small village, they would have called out a greeting. William would have ridden in with shouts and calls. Cortland would have announced his presence, as would Kathryn.

  Bracing her hands on the sturdy stick, she took a deep breath despite the protest from her bruised ribs. The crutch would serve for defense if needed; she had taken down half a dozen men with a laundry pole before, and the stick in her hands was thicker. The rustling grew louder. She thought she saw the outline of a large man crouched low in the dense brush.

  “Come out now!” she challenged. Despite her foreboding at being caught alone, she knew she had enough skill to take down one man who may pose a threat. Having lived to day fourteen, she was done giving up. As on the day the village had been attacked, she had a child to protect.

  The shadow morphed into a man who stumbled out of the trees and into the tall grass. His long raven hair was matted with dirt and leaves. What had been a white shirt was smeared with blood and filth. Several days’ growth covered his face in dark stubble along with scratches and dried blood. Crazed, bloodshot green eyes fixed on hers, and Emma whimpered despite her internal determination to be strong.