by Anne Greene
“Aye, Milady. ‘Tis my kinsmen I help, as well.” He grinned, showing a gap where he missed a tooth. “But an increase in pay will suit me verra well.”
“Who is there, Mikey?” Elspeth, Mikey’s tall, muscular wife stood at the top of the stairs. Where Mikey was red and ruddy, she was darker. With her brown hair feathered around her face, she looked like a large brown owl, big eyes shining wide in her face and her dark dress disappearing into shadows.
“The Ladies, Cailin and Fiona, be down here, Ellie. Come to see the bairns, I suspect.”
“Good morning, Elspeth. Are the bairns still settling in well?” Cailin followed Fiona more slowly as the lass fairly flew up the winding staircase.
“Aye, Milady. They’re roosted in like a nestling of bluebirds.”
Cailin turned sideways, her back to the cold stone wall, gathered her long skirts in one hand, and side-stepped up the narrow staircase. The lack of banister always made her leery and peeking down into the shadowy entry hall where torches cast strange shadows didn’t make navigating the stairs any easier. When she reached the top, she squeezed her servant’s rough hand. “Thank you so much for your labor. You and Mikey are a God-send.”
“Nay, Milady. ‘Tis ye be a God-send to us. We canna bear to see our Scots, howbeit they are Highlanders, mistreated so. We’ll hide these men and these precious bairns with our lives. Ye can trust us.”
“I know. But, still I am in your debt.”
“Think naught of it. The bairns are all sleeping again. They’ve had hard days, they have. And they be all but starved to skin and bones. They ate well and we’ve bathed them. They sleep on husk mattresses on the floor. They are that round-eyed with wonder at the grandeur of this old place.”
“I can barely wait until they move into the castle.” Cailin peeked into the first floor room, dark except for few rays of sun that glowed in one of the small arrow arches the ancients had cut into the tower for defense.
Elspeth held her torch high.
Cailin tiptoed in and knelt beside each sleeping child.
The baby, toddler really, cuddled a hand-made doll Elspeth had found somewhere. The doll’s head rested just beneath the child’s chin. Baby Fiona’s long pale lashes lay in half-moons on her rounded cheek, and one thumb still half-poked into her rosebud mouth.
Something twisted inside Cailin’s breast. She touched the pale hair, fine as a lacy spider web, shining in the candlelight. Her fingers travelled down the silky warm cheek.
How could anyone hurt a little one like this? Her chest stirred. She would fight to keep these little ones safe so they could grow up in peace. Suddenly her mind cleared.
That’s what haunted Avondale. Inside his stern façade, the man carried a soft heart. His failure to protect these people was driving him over the edge of sanity. She would again invite him to share her efforts to rescue the Highlanders. Surely, that would help set his mind at ease.
She stroked the baby’s silky hair, letting the soft curls twine around her finger. Baby Fiona’s tresses shone lighter than the gold overlay on Cailin’s wedding dress.
She smiled deep inside the most secret place in her heart. She’d love Avondale’s baby even if he was born with his father’s malady. She’d love the child as she did the father, and she’d do everything in her power to protect them both.
But her love might not be enough. Avondale might be beyond her help. Still, at last, she knew the name of his demons. Regret. Helplessness. And fear. He feared his blackouts. He feared Cumberland. He feared his own great strength.
The baby murmured in her sleep.
Gently Cailin pulled her hand away, bent, and kissed the smooth, silky hair. The child’s clean baby scent caused a new, curious stirring inside her breast. She stuck her finger into the small curled hand which closed around her finger.
Oh, she couldn’t wait for her own precious baby to be born. Not a boy so Papa would have a son to inherit the castle and wield the mighty weapons inside the armory. Not a son so Avondale would have an heir to his title and lands.
But a son, or a tiny lass like this that she could cradle in her arms and love. No matter what happened with Avondale, she’d have a living person who shared the traits and looks of both of them.
She wiggled her finger, clasped with such trust inside the toddler’s still bony hand. “This baby is my niece-in-law,” she whispered. “She shall have every advantage I can give her.” She smiled. “And she shall play with my own child as an equal in every way.”
“Aye, Milady.”
Cailin slid her finger free, stood, and tiptoed around the room, looking into each lad’s sleeping face. How alike they looked. Though painfully thin, they were sturdy built and had the same white hair and long lashes. The cousins could be brothers. The ones close in age could be twins, they looked so alike. They were sturdy lads with open, engaging faces, children that anyone would be proud to call their own.
And they were blood kin to Brody, her dear brother-in-law. She swallowed a lump lodged in her throat. Indeed, as far as she knew, these bairns comprised all that remained of his family.
Surely, Avondale would be comforted when he discovered how he could help these little ones. Raising the children might assuage some of his guilt. Guilt he should not have shouldered. Had he been one of Duke Cumberland’s commanders, he could have done nothing to stop the man in his murderous rampage.
“Our nephews.” Perhaps a son as first born might be best. A sturdy lad like Avondale. One who would inherit his title and lands. But please God, not his malady.
Sharp darts pierced her heart. How many months had she spent wanting her husband to love her?
Before Brody had been wounded, she’d spent too much time with him. They sang together and played their instruments together.
She shook her head, hunched her shoulders and pulled her elbows into her sides. Time she should have spent seeking out her husband. Time she should have spent trying to help him. But she’d been so afraid of his haughtiness. And her dear husband had hid behind that façade perhaps all his life, hiding his differences from his peers.
Dear God, please help me erase those feelings, and help give him the self-respect he deserves. I feel so inadequate.
She’d been so very foolish. Even though she had wed a wounded man, she would help him become everything he could be.
She heaved a sigh, frowned, and gazed into the darkness surrounding the sleeping bairns.
So what was marriage? Really? Was it not being a help mate? Was that not the reason God created Eve? No one ever said marriage was a bed of roses.
“Milady?”
“Hmm?”
“I asked if ye wanted to see the wounded men?”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” She stood, smoothed her long skirts, and followed Elspeth’s motherly figure out of the big, peaceful room, silent except for the even breathing of the bairns. Then on up the wide-open, second flight of curving stairs. Again she hugged the cool stone wall on the side opposite to the empty vastness of the room far below.
She’d never liked climbing these stairs designed for men dressed in chain mail and wielding swords. Since these stairs jutted so far apart, the better to defend from an encroaching enemy, she had to step high and carefully. The ancients must have battled even more than today’s Scots. Perhaps her ancestors had fought, as the Highlanders had at Culloden, to protect wives, bairns, and their way of life.
“Here ye be, Milady.”
Cailin had no need of Elspeth’s high held torch. The wounded men squatted or lay below low lying torches that lined the round stone wall.
The three men greeted her warmly, keeping their rumbling voices low. They lay in beds of blankets and straw which could be quickly removed if they needed to flee the tower and hide in the woods.
Two men lay with bandaged arms and heads and smiled up at her.
Fiona sat cross-legged in the straw, in deep conversation with a handsome, sturdy youth lying near the curve of the stone wall. His shoulder looked
thickly bandaged and another bandage bound his temple.
“That be Grady,” Elspeth whispered. “He’s the youngest of the brothers. They all favor him. Spoiled he is.”
Cailin nodded, certain each brother heard Elspeth whisper. Here the smell was not that of clean, fresh young bodies. Nor the view that of trusting bairns sleeping peacefully. Here men lay with unsheathed weapons close to their hands. Watchful eyes looked upon her with a mixture of gratefulness and uncertainty.
She smiled. “I trust you gentlemen are comfortable and have everything you need.”
These men were precious, too. Brody had risked his life for them. Somehow he’d freed these three Highlanders from English soldiers before dragging himself to the castle. How had he done so with that great wound in his leg?
“Aye, Milady.” Even with their evident appreciation, the men kept their voices guarded. One tried to rise to his feet.
“No, please, gentlemen, remain seated. I merely called to find if you had any need.”
“We are well taken care of, Duchess Avondale.”
She started. That name had a far more pleasant ring now that she knew what plagued her husband so. She could now be proud of her title.
“Aye. And ye can be certain, we willna overstay our welcome. We’ll be leaving soon as we be fit.”
Leave? Where would they go? What did Brody have in mind for these men?
She’d keep the bairns. Somehow she’d coax Papa into keeping them. And she would return to the Highlands to find more beautiful, starving bairns. She frowned. And she was certain Avondale would want to help. Perhaps they could open an orphanage and take in more Highland bairns. Surely this work would help Avondale overcome his guilt.
Of course, he would be occupied with his place in the House of Lords and with running his other estates, but surely he would give time and energy to the care of the bairns of the men who fell at Culloden. If his spells didn’t grow worse.
She’d heard how some men lost title, estates, and wealth and had to be committed to the Tower because they exhibited signs of lunacy. She could never let that happen to Avondale. If the king sent soldiers to shackle him in the Tower, she would take speedy measures to…she could not even put the drastic deed into a thought. But she would do what was necessary to preserve her baby’s inheritance.
And Avondale would urge her not to lose everything, no matter the cost.
She glanced at Fiona, still deep in conversation. “Um, Fiona, I think we best leave these gentlemen to their rest.”
Fiona seemed reluctant to pull her hand from the young man’s grasp, but she said, “Ye are right.” She bent so her curtain of hair fell over the young man.
“Do hurry.” Cailin hustled her from the room.
The men’s whispered “Fare thee well,” echoed in her ears.
Outside in the warm sunlight, Fiona started singing, her sweet voice low and clear.
Cailin barely noticed. It was past time, and she prayed not too late, to take care of her husband. She would nurse him back to health and give meaning to his life. She would help strengthen his faith in God and be the best wife she knew how. They would have many sons and daughters, as well as protect and care for as many orphaned Highland bairns as she could gather together.
Surely, God would not expect her to take that other awful, drastic step. Though she had learned that simply because she obeyed God with all her heart, didn’t mean she would have no difficulties. Those He loved, God tested. She and Avondale had read just two nights past what King David said, “I know my God that you test the heart and are pleased with integrity.”
Avondale was her test.
She hurried back to the castle as fast as she dared, careful not to jar the precious life growing inside.
Perhaps Avondale waited for her in their chamber.
26
Avondale wasn’t in their rooms.
Cailin hurried to face her other project that couldn’t wait.
“People, no matter who they are, or where they are born, are valuable.” She thrust out her chin. Here in the brightly lit, cheerful nursery Mums would be in the best of moods, so this seemed the perfect place to approach her.
“That’s true, dear.”
She hadn’t yet caught Mums’s attention. Her absent-minded reply while her hands caressed the blue swaddling clothes indicated Mums dreamed of the yet unborn grandbaby.
She settled on the foot cushion near Mums’s rocker.
“Please listen to me. I discovered this fact about people’s value in a quite personal way.” She stroked the top of the nearby hand-carved baby cradle sending the diminutive bed into a rocking motion.
Mums lifted her head, placed the pile of soft clothes into the clothes press, and her cobalt eyes sparked interest. “Will you hold the yarn while I roll it into a ball, dear?” She freed a skein of yarn from the overflowing basket by her shiny boots.
“Yes, of course.” Cailin accepted the offered skein and rose to her feet. “When Megan and I attended Miss Hattie’s Finishing School for Young Ladies, I learned a humiliating lesson.” She placed both hands shoulder width apart through the soft blue yarn. “I never told you what scorn and disdain the snobbish English held for us Lowlanders. A few young ladies at school weren’t even titled, yet they looked down their long English noses at Megan and me.”
“Really! How dare they?” Mums sat daintily in a white rocking chair and began winding her end of the yarn into a ball.
“Quite.” She lifted her own nose imitating the discrimination she’d so often encountered during her three years at Miss Hattie’s.
“Untitled lasses snubbed you?” Mums’s clear forehead puckered, and she rocked harder.
“Absolutely.” She backed a few steps to keep the yarn between her skein and Mums’s ball in a neat drape, not quite touching the imported crimson Turkish carpet.
Mums’s pretty brows, only lightly sprinkled with gray, drew together. “Actually, that’s not so surprising.” She smiled, and her forehead effortlessly smoothed. It seemed twenty years of marriage hadn’t affected Mums’s ability to easily discard worrisome thoughts.
“My point is that people are valuable, regardless of the state in which they are born.”
A gleam of wisdom darkened Mums’s eyes. She finished rolling the yarn from the skein and dropped the soft ball into her lap. “I see you are heading this chat in a particular direction.” She sat back in the rocker, placed her tiny half-spectacles on the lower part of her nose, picked up the blue knitted baby blanket she’d begun, and peeked over her spectacles. “So?”
Cailin’s heart fluttered. “We Lowland Scots have always secretly looked down our noses at the English, though our same blood pumps through their veins. I think it’s past time we overcome our barriers of culture and prejudice towards the nobles.” She clasped her hands in a half-praying gesture in front of her blue woolen day dress.
Mums’s lips thinned. “Though Avondale’s quite odd, I’ve already accepted him into this family. I’ve treated him like the son-in-law he’s become and extended him every courtesy.”
Cailin’s hand drifted to her heart to press against the pain darting through her chest. “Courtesy, yes. Love, no.”
Mums had shown Avondale no love.
And Avondale needed love desperately. From her and from her entire family.
“No? How can you say that?” Mums concentrated on the knitting. “And what of Brody and Ian, then? Your papa and I gave Brody and Megan a lovely suite of rooms off the secondary hallway. We provided Ian and Moira a nice suite of rooms on the third floor. We thought they’d enjoy the privacy.” Mums slipped the soft blue yarn into loops over her knitting needle. “And now Ian’s gone. And taken my baby sister with him.”
“Yes, Mums. Though he’s a fugitive Highlander, you did accept Aunty Moira’s husband.” She couldn’t help adding, “After a fashion.” She frowned. “And you knew they would have to flee as soon as Ian recovered from his leg wound.”
Mums heaved a sig
h and finally met her gaze. “I do the best I can. I need time to change my ideas and my behavior.”
“That’s just what we don’t have, Mums. Time.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“I know your heart is much bigger than you let on.” Cailin smoothed her gown over the tapestry on the footstool.
“Why, thank you.” Mums’s voice had an edge Cailin seldom heard from her mild-mannered mother.
She was going about this all wrong. She grasped Mums’s hand, taking care not to unravel the loops her mother still counted under her breath. “I need your help.”
Mums squeezed her fingers. “I know you’re having marital problems. I’ve never laid eyes on a stiffer husband than Avondale. The man is a cold fish. This castle is a mausoleum since he moved in.”
Cailin swallowed and pushed the hurt her mother’s words evoked into the deep folds of her heart. She’d deal with her husband’s situation later. “Not Avondale, Mums.” Now that she’d started this discussion, she became even less sure how to continue. But she really must have permission. Something had to be done soon. “I know you love bairns.”
Mums’s eyes brightened. She dropped her knitting, and her warm, heavily jeweled hands clasped Cailin’s. “Are you expecting twins! Oh, what joy to have two babies in this nursery.” Her soft hands squeezed Cailin’s fingers again. “I’m so happy for you, darling.”
A sick feeling wafted deep inside her stomach. Would she lose her breakfast? She was long past morning sickness. “No, I don’t think I carry twins, though the baby kicks like there are two of them.”
Mums touched her cheek and gave such a tender look that Cailin’s heart warmed. “Surely you carry a son.”
“I pray so.”
Mums smile faded. “Drat, I dropped a loop!” She jiggled her knitting needles, trying to pick up the stitch.
A giggle worked up through Cailin’s tight throat. Probably her nervousness. “I’m sorry, Mums. But I am speaking of babies. Actually bairns, rather than infants.” She gazed up into Mums’s face. “But not my babies.”
Mums’s cocked head reminded Cailin of their inquisitive sheep dog. “Oh? Bairns? As in more than two?” She dropped her knitting in her lap.
