by Amy Jarecki
Gyllis gestured to an open door across the chamber from the hearth. “Follow me.”
Helen crossed the floor to find a small bedchamber. It held a large bed, covered by a down-filled comforter and nearly consumed the entire space. “This is simply perfect.”
The Lady of Dunollie cleared her throat. “I daresay Anna was conceived in this bed.”
“Gyllis.” Helen gaped. “That is scandalous.”
Always the most daring of the Campbell sisters, Gyllis laughed. “Aye, but it was fun.”
Helen glanced outside the doorway to ensure Mr. Keith hadn’t overheard. “I cannot believe you speak so freely of such personal matters.”
“Only to you.” Gyllis bit her bottom lip. “Though given the circumstances, I should have held my tongue.”
Heat flooded Helen’s cheeks right down to her toes. God forbid she would never utter a word about her unpleasant experiences in the bedchamber.
Thank heavens Mr. Keith stepped across the threshold with his arms laden. “All the parcels are unpacked.” He set them on the table. “Is there anything else you need, m’lady?”
Helen surveyed the abundance of stores, still unable to believe her fortune. “I think not. Thank you ever so much for your fealty. You will have a place in my employ as long as you should require it.”
He bowed. “’Tis my pleasure, m’lady.”
“And you will carry my message to Sir Eoin and let him know exactly what has happened?”
“Aye.” Mr. Keith narrowed his eyes. “You are certain we can trust him?”
“Sir Eoin is a most dear friend of the family,” Gyllis said.
Helen had to agree. “And he carried my missive to His Worship. He will help us for certain.”
“Then I shall meet with him discreetly.” The guard bowed.
“Thank you.” Helen walked them outside and bid good day, anxious to move on with a new chapter in her life.
Chapter Twenty-One
As usual, after he’d reported news of the MacDonald galleys mooring alongside Dunyveig on the Isle of Islay, things hadn’t moved fast enough for Eoin.
They’d been at Tabert Castle for a sennight, and yet their tenure wasn’t near long enough for the king. And Eoin didn’t argue in the assembly when all the nobles agreed that the longer they remained hidden, the more confident the MacDonalds would grow. Everyone seemed to be content to remain idle except Eoin.
This morn while they were breaking their fast, he’d had a gut full of listening to Aleck boast about how the MacIain Clan fended off Alexander MacDonald’s attack, and how Aleck wanted the bastard’s head served on a platter. To hear the Chieftain of Ardnamurchan tell it, he and his men were all Scotland needed to bring the isles in order.
Eoin wanted to upend the table and shove Aleck’s face in a bowl of scalding porridge. He made eye contact with Duncan sitting opposite. Though he was MacIain’s brother-in-law, the Lord of Glenorchy rolled his gaze to the ceiling and shook his head. Duncan could be an arse about some things, but the man knew when he was being fed a pile of shite—unlike the young king who appeared to be lapping up MacIain’s every word.
Well, Eoin had enough. He beckoned his men and headed to the wharf.
Fergus hurried beside him. “I thought we had orders to stay away from Islay.”
“Did I say we were sailing to Islay?” Eoin couldn’t very well tell his men he’d reached his limit of pompous nobles blowing flatulence out their arse-holes, instead he scowled and gestured for the men to follow. “We have rigging to tend and I want to inspect the hull. A sea captain is a dead man if he sails into battle with a galley that’s about to sink.”
Eoin’s boat was in top condition, but presently he’d do anything for some fresh air. God’s bones, it had only been three sennights since he’d seen John…His Worship. How the devil would Eoin be able to wait another month or more? And now that the whole goddamned Scottish army was stationed in Tabert, how would Eoin come up with an excuse to visit Lady Helen once he’d received word from the Pope?
A small birlinn tacked toward the wharf, flying the MacDougall colors. Eoin paid it no mind and started his daily inspection of the hull. “Fergus, make a note. The port side timbers need pitch.”
“Again?” The henchman sounded a tad astounded.
“If we do not—”
“Stay on top of it, the timbers will rot without us being the wiser.” Fergus looked to the skies. “I ken. You needn’t tell me.”
“Ahoy the shore,” someone yelled from the MacDougall galley.
Eoin pointed toward the castle. “Sir Sean is in the great hall with the rest of the nobles.”
After mooring the boat, sailors jumped over the side, their feet clomping on the wooden wharf. One MacDougall wore a great helm and mail and kept himself apart from the others.
Eoin watched him out of the corner of his eye. He never trusted any man who completely hid his face—especially on the battlefield.
The helmed man held back, as if waiting for the others to leave.
Eoin pretended to inspect the rigging, while fingering his dirk.
The man stepped forward. “Sir Eoin. May I have a word?” he whispered. “’Tis in regard to Lady Helen.”
***
Safely tucked away deep in the woods of Fearnoch Forest, Helen’s first two nights in the cottage had been heavenly. Though Gyllis had practically packed half the household, Helen found no cradle for Maggie, and had lined a wooden crate with soft woolen blankets, and the bairn slept soundly.
Helen couldn’t remember ever being so happy. For the first time since she’d married Aleck, she felt as though she could be herself. No affected, serene smiles, no clamping her insides taut to keep from blurting out something that might send Sir Aleck into a rage. True, she had no chambermaid in attendance, and no cook to prepare her meals, but she’d learned enough from Peter to be able to make her own food, and wearing simple kirtles with her stays tied in the front, dressing was easy too.
She had plenty of milk for Maggie, and Gyllis promised to deliver a fresh pitcher twice a week, along with other foodstuffs.
Maggie lay on her tummy atop the sheepskin rug in front of the hearth. Helen held up snipped pieces of cloth she’d found. Sitting beside the bairn, she took Maggie’s wee palm and slid it over the first piece of fabric. “This is silk.”
Maggie gave a gummy grin.
Helen picked up a coarse textured piece. “This is sackcloth worn by the pious when paying their penance. ’Tis made of goat’s fur and very uncomfortable.”
Maggie’s eyes popped wide and she gave a wee gasp, clearly enjoying the new tactile sensations. Shifting the bairn’s palm to the plush wool, Helen grinned. “But I’d wager you like sheep’s wool the best.”
Maggie squealed with delight.
Helen threw back her head and laughed. “Och aye, we two will have so much fun together. There’s no keep to run, no malignant rules to follow, no lemans shooting me hateful glares.” Helen snapped a hand over her mouth. Though Maggie did not yet understand everything she said, Helen must not speak out against the bairn’s father. She’d not err again.
Before dusk, Helen set to preparing the evening meal of boiled mutton pottage and kettle scones. Maggie entertained herself, rolling back and forth over the rug and pushing up with her arms, and, on occasion, sticking a wooden spoon in her mouth and chewing. Teeth were about to come in, no doubt.
As the kettle began a rolling boil, Helen scooped a dollop of pottage with a large ladle. She blew on the steamy liquid and sipped. A bit bland.
She’d seen some houseleek outside. Surely a few sprigs would add flavor. Stepping outside for a mere moment, she strode to the overgrown garden and broke off a handful.
A twig snapped.
An eerie silence blanketed the clearing.
Helen held her breath, but the hammering of her heart roared in her hears. Mr. Keith should be away bearing her message for Eoin and Gyllis wouldn’t approach at this hour. Had it been a deer? She
wasn’t about to wander into the woods to find out. Grasping her skirts, she ran for the door.
The unmistakable sound of horse hooves grew near—not at a gallop, but in the cadence of a fast trot.
Helen dashed inside and grabbed the bow and an arrow from its peg beside the door. Her hands trembled as she loaded the arrow. Only God knew who was out there. With luck, they’ll pass by unawares. Goodness, Gyllis told me there hadn’t been any outlaws holed up in this forest in years.
She moved to the window and cracked open the shutter, sliding the arrow through. Helen’s heart flew to her throat. At the edge of the clearing, the rider, clad in a black cloak, reined his horse to a stop.
Helen pulled back the bowstring, willing her hands to steady.
The rider dismounted. When he pushed the hood from his head, he stared straight at the cottage.
Helen’s stomach flittered all the way up to her throat.
Blessed be the saints! She tossed her weapons aside and dashed to the door. “Sir Eoin! How on earth did you find me so quickly?”
His eyes sparkled with his incredibly attractive grin. “Mr. Keith delivered your missive late this morn.”
“And you came all the way from Tabert? In one day?”
“Aye.” He gave her a wink. “We had a good wind.”
“I’ll say.” She glanced at the horse behind him. “And a young steed.”
He gestured to the gelding. “Lady Gyllis offered me the best in her stable.”
Helen could have swooned where she stood. My stars ’tis good to see him. “Did she now?”
After tying his horse, Eoin stepped up to the threshold and Helen craned her neck to gaze upon his handsome face. Lord in heaven, how on earth did he grow more beautiful in the brief time since I’ve last seen him? She stood there like a young maid and stared.
The corner of his mouth ticked up while his gaze trailed from her eyes to her lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed and he brushed the back of his knuckle along her jaw. Gooseflesh rose across her skin.
“Ah, Lady Helen,” he hoarsely whispered. “I raced here like a madman just to see you, and I have so much to tell, I’ve no idea where to start.”
Rising to her toes, she cupped his cheek with the palm of her hand. Oh yes, she could gaze into those blue eyes for an eternity. “I’m ever so glad to see you.”
He covered her hand and slid it to his lips. Closing his eyes, he kissed her fingers, plying them with full and tender lips. “To see your face is like opening a window to a valley of primrose on a spring morn.”
Och, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold on for dear life. If only it were proper. Helen stepped aside and gestured toward the hearth. “You’re in luck. I’ve put on a pottage, and once the leek has time to steep, we shall be ready to sup. I trust you will not be in such a hurry you won’t stay for the evening meal.”
“I’ve no reason to haste away.” He inhaled deeply. “It smells far too good to decline your generous invitation.”
She chuckled. “’Tis a bit bland, but I’ve a batch of kettle scones baking to liven it up.”
Eoin stepped inside and closed the door. “You never cease to amaze me, Lady Helen. Where did you learn to cook?”
“Mother made sure we learned the basics, and then Peter at Mingary taught me the rest. I may not have been the one to stir the pot, but I most certainly oversaw the ingredients and their measurement.”
Maggie chortled from her place on the sheepskin rug.
Eoin smiled in the babe’s direction. “How is the bairn settling in?”
Helen’s breast swelled with her smile. “She’s unscathed by the whole ordeal. We’ve been playing a game of touching different textures. She’s quite enjoyed it.”
Eoin sauntered over and picked up the square of silk. “Would this be her favorite?”
“Oh no, she prefers the plush wool beneath her—let out a right royal laugh when she sunk her wee fingers into it.”
He scooped Maggie into his arms. “And what say you, little one? Do you like sheepskin?”
Maggie reached up with both hands and clapped his face.
He chuckled. “Or is it a man’s stubbled chin?”
The bairn threw her head back with a gummy grin, then bobbled upright, squealing with delight.
Helen tapped her fingers to her chest. “I think she’s taken a liking to you.”
“That’s a good thing.” Eoin rubbed his nose against Maggie’s cheek. “She’s the bonniest bairn I’ve ever seen.”
Helen couldn’t disagree. Standing completely still, she watched how Eoin handled the babe, his large hands cradling her securely, but ever so gently. And Maggie stared up at him with wide eyes, as if she adored the man.
Helen broke the houseleek into bits and tossed it in the pottage. Then she held a twig in the coals and lit the tallow candle on the table. Her hands tremored a bit, anticipating he’d say something about her plight. She then picked up the spoon and stirred. Eoin hadn’t yet uttered a word about his visit to Iona either. Waiting made her fidgety and she clanged the spoon on the side of the pot. Just ask him. “Were you able to meet with my brother, John?”
When he didn’t respond right away, Helen regarded him over her shoulder.
“Forgive me. I was so enamored with Maggie, I neglected to tell you.” His expression was far kinder than a brawny man’s should be. “And that is the main reason for my visit.”
Eoin took a seat on one of the benches at the table and propped Maggie on his knee. “The bishop has already left for Rome.”
“John is carrying the missive himself?” Helen turned from the hearth and faced him, covering her mouth with her palm. “Truly?” Her eyes stung with tears. Would she finally be freed from Aleck’s oppressive yoke?
“He left for a meeting in Rome the day after I delivered your letter. I must say, the timing was ideal.”
Her throat closed. Could she finally hope? “To think at last I’ll be free.”
“Aye, lass.” Eoin bounced the bairn on his knee. “But you must remain hidden. John warned the Pope rarely approves an annulment when petitioned by the wife.”
Helen didn’t care for the sound of that. “Dear Lord. I will stay tucked away in this cottage for the rest of my life if His Holiness doesn’t grant it.” She clutched her hand around her throat. “After you left, Aleck interned me into the dungeon.”
“’Tis criminal.” He stopped rocking and his expression grew dark. “Mr. Keith mentioned as much when he met me at Tabert. I still cannot understand MacIain’s brutality toward you.”
She nodded and swiped a tear away. “For days I sat locked in the cold dark cavern. My crime? Asking Mary to tend the pigs and the chickens whilst Aleck charged to Sunart with the clansmen.”
Maggie whimpered and Eoin resumed bouncing. “First he abandons you with a handful of aging guards, and then he punishes you for taking charge?”
“I’m afraid so.” Helen nodded. “Worse, Glenda said she overheard him tell Mary that I would perish right there in the dungeon whilst birthing a bairn.”
“God’s teeth.” Eoin looked toward the window, a tic twitching in his jaw. “A-are you with child?” he whispered with cutting tension in his voice.
Her stomach twisted. How poorly I must appraise in his eyes. “That is what I cannot understand. Aleck hasn’t visited my bedchamber since I conceived Maggie.”
“Christ.” Eoin lowered his gaze and stared at Maggie for a moment. “What in God’s name was he scheming?”
“Deep in my heart, I know he was planning my death.” She drew in a stuttered breath. “He told me he’d been in love with Mary even before our wedding. She was his leman the entire time I lived at Mingary.”
He simply shook his head. “How awful for you.”
Helen’s problems came flooding back tenfold as silence cut through the cottage with the weight of five hundred stone.
Her whole sordid marriage looked like a farce performed by players at the king’s court. But still, now the
ugliness was in the open, Helen desperately needed to confess her deepest secret—the one no one knew.
Licking her lips, she wrung her hands. “He didn’t visit my bedchamber often and when he did it was insufferable.”
Eoin again looked away, his face unreadable. Helen was well aware that a lady shouldn’t speak of such matters to anyone. But Aleck’s behavior had always confused her. She’d seen couples in love before. Invariably, they acted as if they were mad for one another.
I’ll wager Sir Eoin now thinks me frigid just as Aleck did.
Helen cringed and returned her attention to the hearth. I shouldn’t have told him. Her palms moist with perspiration, she reached for a cloth and folded it over. Then she used it to lift the lid from the kettle scones. “These are ready,” she said softly.
Food was a nice diversion from their present conversation.
“Smells delicious.”
Helen kept her gaze lowered as she set the table and scooped the scones onto a trencher.
“Is Maggie eating with us?” he asked, running his palm over the sleepy bairn’s crown.
“Nay. She’s already supped.” Helen held out her arms. “I’ll put her down, she missed her afternoon nap.”
Eoin strolled in behind Helen and looked at the makeshift crate. “Now that’s clever.”
With a chuckle, she placed Maggie inside and covered her with a soft blanket. “’Tis the only thing I could find to suffice for a cradle.”
“It appears as if she hasn’t noticed the difference.”
“I daresay she hasn’t.” Helen gazed upon her daughter. The babe sighed and closed her eyes. Indeed, she was ready for sleep.
Eoin pointed to a jug on the table. “Is that wine?”
“Aye.”
“I’ll pour us some.”
Helen served up the pottage as Eoin collected two wooden cups from the shelf beside the hearth. There weren’t many dishes, but enough to make do. “What news of the rebellion?” Helen asked.
