The Draig's Wife

by Lisa Dawn Wadler

  When he lurched toward her and tumbled at her feet, Emma cried out. His strong arms wrapped around her thighs.

  When his filthy head pressed against her, Declan groaned, “Wife,” and then fell to the ground.

  Chapter 27

  Taking the fresh bread from the stone oven, Emma was extremely pleased with the result of golden brown goodness. On day sixteen, she had produced her first perfect-looking loaf of bread. Using a towel, she placed the hot pan on another scrap of linen on the table and resumed preparation of their meal. While she caught the flash of movement from the curtain to Cortland’s bedroom, she kept her eyes trained on her task. “Have you eaten yet?”

  Cortland stretched and sat across from her at the table. “No. Whatever is at hand will be appreciated.” She could feel his eyes on her as she rose to fix him a plate. “You still move with some pain.”

  Grabbing eggs from the basket, she set to work with the intent of some scrambled eggs. “So do you, but we are both getting better,” Emma answered. Feeling his eyes on her, she added, “I know you want to tell me something, so do it.”

  His chuckle came first. “And you dinna wish to hear it or you would sit and listen.” Cortland exhaled, and she had no need to look to know his hands were pulling through his cropped hair. “Declan sleeps with peace at long last though he is still tied to the bed in case the madness returns. I would never risk your safety.”

  While she had stayed away from Cortland’s room, she had been the one to fetch rope from the small stable within hours of Declan’s arrival. In a numb haze, she had brought the water and cloths Cortland had asked for over the previous two days. For two nights, she had heard Cortland’s calm voice mixed with Declan’s shouts and quiet mumblings.

  Setting a plate in front of him, she said, “Eat, Da. There is fresh bread on the table.”

  “The scent of the bread woke me from my slumber in the chair. To my surprise the sun is already creeping high into the sky. My thanks for the fine meal.” Taking several bites, he accepted the cup she offered.

  “You fetched water?” Cortland asked. “Forgive me, that task is mine.”

  Emma smiled at his concern. “I can handle one bucket at a time.” The meal finished in silence, though Emma only picked at her food. Summoning her courage, she asked, “What else did you want to say?”

  “Declan woke before dawn with a clear mind. He told me he had no recollection of when his journey began or how it was accomplished, though he remembers the day his whiskey caused his mind to blur.” Cortland ran his hand over his head once more. “He asks to see you.”

  Despite her earlier questions of why and what happened, she had no desire to talk to him. The past was gone, and she lived for the moment and tomorrow. “I have nothing to say to him.” Her short statement led her gaze to the curtain covering the door.

  “I dinna wish for you to speak with him. In some matters, I have no forgiveness. But hear me, daughter. The Draig lands have long been my concern, as are the people. I have decided to aid Declan in his battle with Glenn, if only for those who are unable to defend themselves. When William rides in with Mary, we will plan for what comes next.”

  “Well then, if this will become home base, I’ll assume more than William will eventually come. Given we have another mouth to feed today, I should head to the village to ask Kathryn for more supplies. Is there anything specific you wish me to ask for?”

  “Emma, I have no wish to chase you from your home.” Cortland’s brow furrowed when she rose from her seat. “Despite my anger, I need to care for him.”

  “Of course you do.” Emma knew that Cortland would have done the same for a stranger. “But I don’t have to be here. The walk will do me some good.”

  “Then hurry back. I would see to your needs when midday comes,” Cortland said with a raised brow.

  Emma shook her head at his quirky delivery. “I’ll hurry back. I prefer to lose my meals with you at my back and not alone on the trail.” Leaving out how weak the morning sickness left her, she hated the idea of being alone and fragile.

  Tired was written all over Cortland’s face, with dark shadows under his eyes. “Why don’t you get some sleep while I’m gone and it’s quiet. Limping to the door, she grabbed her crutch as she stared into the morning light. With her hand on her stomach, she reminded him, “You swore to keep him between us.”

  “Aye, a vow that ‘tis first in my heart. All will be done to keep you and my grandchild safe.”

  Emma nodded and turned back to smile at Cortland. “I love you, too.”

  Cortland called as she strode out into the front yard, “There is no greater gift than the love of a daughter.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Emma came back into a quiet cottage and placed the full basket on the wooden table. The midday queasy had accompanied her on the short walk back from Kathryn’s, and she knew she’d be on her knees in the yard before long. There was no sign of Cortland, and she assumed he was with Declan. That assumption died as a hoarse voice croaked out, “Old man?”

  She stilled and drew in shaky breaths waiting for more and sighed in relief when no other sounds came. Since his arrival, Declan had been irrational, confused, and mostly unconscious. The decent part of her knew she should check on him in case there was a problem, since he was tied to the bedframe. The rest of her didn’t want to know.

  Compassion and curiosity won as she took hesitant steps to the curtain blocking her view. The room was as spartan as hers with only a chest for clothing, a bed, and the chair Cortland had been sleeping in. A silent man with closed eyes remained tied to the bed.

  Cortland had cleaned most of the filth off Declan. His face was still bearded, but only clean scrapes showed on his features. His long dark hair tangled like a rat’s nest on the pillow, though missing the matting of leaves and mud. A muscled bare chest, one that she had slept against, bore scrapes and cuts and seemed relatively clean. The Draig tattoo on his arm reminded her of the many nights she had traced the pattern with her fingertips, a finger that could still feel the heat of his skin. Despite the minor wounds, he was still too handsome and managed to take her breath away.

  What pained her most was how seeing Declan in the flesh brought back all the memories, the way he had promised her everything and left with her with nothing. Once again, she flashed to the hall and the image of him walking away with Ciara, and every cruel word he had spit out ran through her thoughts. Biting her lips to stifle her sob, she stared at the man who had broken her heart with the singular purpose of saving his ass.

  Leaning on her crutch, the wood thumped softly on the wood floor. She opened her eyes to bright and clear green ones latched onto her. Stuck in place, unable to breathe, Emma waited.

  Declan shifted to no avail in the bed; the ropes kept him locked in place. His hoarse voice asked, “Would you untie me, wife?” After receiving no answer, he said, “At least sit beside me. We need to speak.”

  Emma turned away from the eyes that implored her to stay and faced the door. “Da decides when you are safe to untie.”

  “Leave, Emma,” Cortland commanded as he entered the room and cupped her cheeks in his hand. He whispered, “You are pale. Seek the yard, and I will follow with your cup of mint.”

  “Dinna leave,” Declan implored. She heard the ropes rustle with his struggle against the bindings. “We need to speak. Let me explain.”

  Emma nodded at Cortland. She could feel the bile as it burned her throat. With leaden steps, she entered into the main room of the cottage.

  “Wife!” Declan called frantically from the bed.

  Without facing the man, she called loud enough for him to hear, “I no longer answer to that.” Limping to the door, she barely made it outside before losing her stomach.

  Chapter 28

  Sitting at the table seemed like a luxury to Declan. F
or two days, he had been bound to a bed by ropes and then one more due to weakness. Cortland sat next to him, concern etched in his features.

  Declan forced his body to remain still when Cortland detailed the escape from his lands and the attack from Glenn’s men. A hard swallow burned down his throat at the tale of their wounds, of all that Emma had suffered, and how they were both still recovering. Failure sat bitterly in the pit of his stomach. While Emma lived, he had been utterly wrong that forcing her away would allow their bairn to grow in safety. His actions had led to the loss of that bairn. If the loss of the child tore at his heart, he could little imagine what his wife suffered.

  After he had heard all, he said, “Cortland, I acted with the goal of forcing Emma to leave. My intent was to have her and Mary safe from the threats in my home.” That his daughter remained on his lands echoed his failure. She was alone with neither father nor the woman who loved her as mother. Yet that was only a part of his sins. “I had no idea they would follow you, that you would be attacked . . .” His voice trailed off as he pictured both of them fighting for their lives in the midst of a violently raging storm. “I only wanted Emma safe.”

  Cortland nodded and stared out the front door into the day’s sun. “That thought had occurred to me, but it matters little. What’s done is done. Some wrongs can never be made right.” The voice that answered him held none of the warmth he was used to, only bitter acknowledgment.

  The answer struck him with the brutality of a hit to his jaw. He knew good intent could never atone for true action, such was a lesson Cortland had taught him at an early age. “Mayhap if she would speak with me?”

  Harsh laughter met his ears, though Cortland’s gaze held no mirth. “My daughter walks with a large stick at her side. You would be wise to stay far away.” Cortland stared hard at him, seeking a sign of what, Declan knew not. “I will nay interfere in the matter. Whatever your true intent, the lass I claim as my daughter has been hurt in her heart and body. I can count on one hand the number of smiles she has given since that night. While I have agreed to stand by your side, Emma is no longer your concern.”

  “Emma is nay your daughter, but she is my wife,” Declan challenged.

  Cortland left the doorway and strode to the table with raw anger burning in his eyes. Leaning across the table, Cortland spat, “You ended your marriage before a hall full of witnesses. Emma welcomes my claim and oath. ‘Tis the one that comes before all.”

  As always, Cortland was correct. What little he had seen of them, Emma was constantly with Cortland. He heard whispers of their evening meals as he lay in bed. From the moment he had risen, Emma had been absent, never once in the same room with him.

  Declan said, “She is fortunate to have you. But ken this, Father of Emma, I love your daughter, and in my heart, she is still my wife.”

  “I hear your words and believe you, though it still means naught. The one you pushed away is nay here to listen.” Cortland glared at him from across the table with the same blue fire he had seen in his wife’s eyes. “You tried to keep Emma from danger and failed. Even now, she frets for Mary and waits for William to bring her. It breaks her heart to ken Mary will be yours and she will soon be but a memory for the child. You failed your wife and child. Your actions broke my Emma, and she is wounded in a way I dinna ken how to heal.”

  “Which is why I need to speak with her. She may never forgive me, but I need to try.” Declan rose from the bench to stand before the open door of the cottage and scanned the yard for any sign of movement in the late afternoon. Speaking more to himself, he said, “I hate myself for everything, for the hurt I knowingly caused, and the actions that can never be erased. If she despises me, ‘tis no less than I deserve. The battle for my lands will happen and end one way or another, old man. I will return to take my lands or die in the attempt. It may be the only chance I have to beg her for forgiveness.”

  Cortland sighed, and Declan knew his hands would be in his hair as he debated. “My daughter will be at the loch.” There was only defeat in the man’s voice.

  After thanking Cortland, Declan walked the path to the loch, the one that would lead him to Emma, with threats about Emma’s welfare ringing loud behind him.

  The short walk had not brought the clarity of thought he had hoped. If there was an apology that could ever erase betrayal, he had not found it. If he knew one certainty, it was how little his life meant without her.

  His thoughts ceased as he stepped into the clearing and laid eyes on the vision before him. Bright sunlight flitted through the trees to sparkle on the smooth surface of the loch. Like one of the mythical fairies they had sought on a sunny day not that long ago, she rose from the water with a grace that defied her being a mere woman.

  Water dripped from her bare skin and the hair that fell down her back while his mouth recalled the taste of her skin. Once there had been a bath where he had licked a droplet of water from her breasts with his body buried within her welcoming heat. He held no expectation for such a moment.

  She strode from the loch to the drying cloth resting in the warmth of the sun on a rock. Daring a step closer, he would have sold his soul to dry her flesh as he had done in days’ past. Breath caught in his throat and lust-filled images disappeared when he saw the dark bruising on her hip and ribs, reminders of his failure, and one more reason for her to hate him.

  Cortland had spoken of injuries, but it did little to prepare him for the severity. After nearly half a moon, the bruises still held vibrant color and slowed her movements. The wind carried her gasps of pain as she softly dabbed the moisture from her body.

  A strangled groan left his throat at the horrendous discovery. Emma’s head whipped in his direction. She had her crutch in hand, ready to attack, before the shift had fallen to cover her form from his prying eyes. Her gaze lit on him for only a heartbeat before she turned away and sat on the rock to dress.

  “Go away, Laird,” her cold voice told him as a gown of gray covered her and she proceeded to wrap her swollen foot before she forced it into her boot with a barely concealed whimper.

  Daring a step closer, Declan answered, “The laird is nay here, ‘tis only me. ‘Tis the same ankle, is it nay?” The question had been meant as a reminder of better days. Once he had wrapped it for her with soft kisses on her calf while Mary battled fever. It dawned on him that a sick child and battle wounds represented one of their better days and made him wonder if Emma was truly better off without him.

  Emma said nothing as she dried her long tresses with the cloth. He stepped closer. “I wished to speak with you, wife. There is too much left unspoken between us.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Emma hissed, rising to her feet.

  Closing the short distance between them, Declan reached out to brush a lock of hair from her face only to have her back away before he could touch her. “I call you wife because of all that you are to me.”

  Cold laughter left the lips that had previously adored his skin. “I am nothing to you. You did an excellent job making that crystal clear in your hall.” She limped around him. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  Taking a hold of her arm when she staggered on the rough ground, he implored, “Then just hear my words, if only once.” He tightened his grip to hold her in place and then dropped her arm as she raised her crutch in the air.

  “Don’t ever touch me again,” Emma commanded and hesitantly lowered the weapon. Ignoring his presence, she gathered her soap and cloth and began the walk back to the cottage.

  “If you take my arm, mayhap it would ease your ankle.” She gave him nothing, no reply, not even glance back in his direction. Not willing to let her leave, he darted in front of her. “Let me explain, wife.”

  “I am not your wife!” Emma screamed into the clearing, causing birds to take flight. “Stop calling me that. You ended our sham of a marriage. The least you can do
is remember that.”

  Her eyes glowed with a brutal mix of rage and pain. Holding out his hands, he replied softly, “I destroyed a piece of parchment, nay what was in my heart. My intent was to make you leave, to keep you safe.” Even as he spoke, his gaze fell to the faint bruises on her slender neck. His failure marred her skin in the obvious shape of a hand.

  Emma snorted at him. “Yeah, great plan. It didn’t work too well in case you didn’t notice. But don’t worry, I got the part about the marriage ending and how little you ever cared.” Emma pushed past him on the narrow trail with her crutch bearing her weight.

  Speaking to her moving back, he continued, “‘Twas all designed to make you leave me. My cold behavior, my lack of attention, all of it, wife.”

  “Stop calling me that,” Emma roared as she stopped. “Congratulations, you won. I left. End of story.”

  Declan dared a step toward the woman who would not face him. “As for the rest, I kenned only one way to make you leave.” He whispered, “There was no meaning in my actions.”

  She turned to glare at him, her eyes a storm of rage. In a flash, she stepped close and pushed at his chest while her crutch struck behind his knees. Declan grunted as his backside landed with a hard crash to the ground. While struggling for balance, she spit out, “Everything you do has meaning. How can you not realize that? Maybe not to you, but to everyone else involved. You have no regard for anyone or anything. We are all just a means to your twisted end.”

  Sitting up slowly, aware of the crutch held out, Declan answered, “You were never a means to an end. You are all to me.”

  “Bullshit. You played me from the start. My wedding clothes were ready before you ever tricked me into marrying you. Even a feast was ready to go. You used me.” Her voice dripped with loathing. “Our bedding was orchestrated to leave no doubt you would retain your lands. Somehow you managed to time everything perfectly, you sick, twisted asshole.”