Harlequin Historical July 2020 - Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

And he received everything she gave. And took more.

  There was disquiet, in the back of his mind, a concern that perhaps he was allowing himself to become far too consumed with her. It didn’t help that one of these trusted warriors seemed to agree. But there was something far too English and foreign about her. He was in danger of being infected by it.

  ‘I could’ve stayed in England. I have great wealth there. A thriving shipping company. But I’m Scottish. I am the clan. And I came here as quickly as I could because this is what kept me going when there was nothing else. Knowing that my responsibility lay here. An English wife should not concern the people. If I wanted to be English, I would’ve stayed there.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Graham said. ‘Your wife is your wife. It is done. There is no reason to pretend it could be otherwise. Any mutterings from the people… They will be silent once they see the prosperity that’s to come.’

  ‘They had better.’

  ‘A threat against your own people to protect a Sassenach?’ Callum asked.

  ‘To protect my wife.’

  He had vowed that the day he’d taken her from England. He had always known that, physically, he would defend her. He was a man who did not tolerate the mistreatment of the vulnerable. And to him, women and children were vulnerable.

  But that had been a vow in keeping with his sense of honour.

  This wasn’t about the vulnerable or the weak. This was about Penny.

  She was good, better than he deserved. Better, he thought, than these men deserved and that was certain.

  And as he stormed out of the great hall, he realised it was true. Protecting Penny had become important, for she had become more than a pawn. She had become more than he had ever intended.

  She was his queen.

  She was, like the rest of his clan, his.

  And that meant he would protect her. With all that he was.

  * * *

  The weather was truly vile. Rain poured down, creating boggy soup out of the mud all around the castle. Penny felt as though she was going to go insane from being cooped up as she was. But when she had suggested going out, Isla had clucked her tongue and made proclamations about all the ways in which Penny might catch her death.

  There was little movement outside. Those in the village who could hunkered down to escape the storm. Lachlan and most of his men had gone to a neighbouring clan and they weren’t expected back before morning.

  She could only hope that he was safe. It was such a strange thing, to worry about the man. He had survived years of war. Violence she couldn’t fathom. And she was concerned about rain being his undoing.

  But her worries were shoved aside when Rona came racing into Penny’s bedchamber.

  ‘There is a girl here,’ she said. ‘She said that you told her to come to you if she had a need to.’

  ‘Yes,’ Penny said, standing before she could even think of what she might be doing. She didn’t need to know who it was. She didn’t need to be told. She already knew.

  The girl whose name she didn’t even know.

  And there she was, standing in the core door, looking wild eyed and frightened. ‘It’s too soon,’ the girl said.

  And to Penny, she truly looked like a child in that moment. Pale and frightened. Not a woman ready to give birth.

  ‘How soon?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the girl said. ‘I don’t know enough about such things. But my mother… She’s had twelve children, and I have some idea of… It’s too soon.’

  ‘We need a midwife,’ Penny said.

  ‘I’ll fetch one,’ Isla said. She turned to the girl. ‘Do you want your mother?’

  ‘She said she wouldn’t help me,’ the girl said, hysteria colouring her voice. ‘She said I had to leave. She said my father would kill me and it was better if I died out in the rain than to force him to sin in such a way.’

  ‘I’ll have his head,’ Penny said. ‘I won’t need Lachlan to do it. I’ll take his sword and I’ll have his head myself.’

  Perhaps that was the influence of her brawny, Scottish husband, but she felt terribly bloodthirsty in this moment. She wanted to lay steel into all the men who had harmed this girl and into the woman who protected a man above her child.

  What a deadly weapon, this thing that took place between men and women. What a horrendous way it could be twisted.

  Penny was again stunned by all she had been protected from.

  The girl doubled over, writhing as a pain racked her small body.

  ‘You must come to my bed,’ Penny said. ‘We will make you comfortable until the midwife comes. I promise you will be cared for. And so will the babe.’

  The girl braced herself on the wall. ‘I feel as though I might die.’

  ‘You won’t die,’ Penny said.

  She vowed it. It wasn’t fair. This girl going through such a terrifying thing. And Penny’s husband didn’t want children.

  He had only made a mistake that first night they’d come back together. Every night since he had spent himself on the sheets. Penny would love a child and yet that wasn’t to be.

  This girl… This girl’s body and life was being torn away from her because she was with child.

  It was wrong. It wasn’t fair. Not to either of them.

  Most especially not to the girl.

  ‘Perhaps you’ll give me your name now,’ Penny said, helping the girl into the bed.

  ‘Mary,’ she said. She closed her eyes, a tear running down her cheek.

  All the anger and bravado that had been with her the other times Penny had met her was gone.

  Penny sat with the girl, as her pains became greater, closer together. She stepped out into the corridor with Rona as the hours advanced. ‘How early do you suppose she is?’

  Rona shook her head. ‘I don’t have bairns of my own. I don’t know. I can’t tell by looking at the girl.’

  ‘I’m worried for them both.’

  Rona looked at Penny, her expression softer than Penny had ever seen it. Things were never easy with the prickly housekeeper, but she seemed united with Penny, in this at least.

  ‘It would probably be a gift to the girl if the bairn died,’ Rona said, looking regretful as she spoke the words.

  But Penny had a feeling the woman was right. For where would this girl go back to, with a baby in her arms? How would she be able to face her family? Her father?

  It was such a terrifying thing.

  But Penny wanted the baby to live.

  Penny wanted life for them both.

  Watching another human being experience such physical distress made Penny’s stomach churn.

  * * *

  By the time the midwife arrived, the girl was in extreme pain, gripping the bedclothes and thrashing back and forth.

  Her hands gripped the sheets so tightly that Penny feared she might harm herself.

  ‘Is there anything that can be done?’ Penny asked the midwife.

  ‘It’s just the way of things. And she’s a bairn herself,’ the woman said, disdain in her tone. ‘She’s not prepared.’

  ‘No,’ Penny agreed. ‘She’s not.’

  ‘The man who did this to her should be thrashed.’

  ‘He should be killed,’ Penny said. ‘If The MacKenzie had any idea where he was his life would be forfeit.’

  She knew that. In her blood.

  For Lachlan was not an abuser of women. Far from it.

  ‘Ah, lass,’ the midwife said, shaking her head sadly. ‘Men don’t often see this as a terrible crime unless it happens to their own wife or daughter. Even then.’

  ‘He would,’ Penny said, conviction burning in her chest.

  ‘A welcome difference to the previous Laird, then,’ the woman said, her mouth in a grim line.

  ‘So I’ve heard.’

 
* * *

  The hours went by in a slow, tense fashion, until the girl’s pain seemed to be utterly unbearable.

  ‘It’s time, lass,’ the midwife said. ‘Time to push.’

  The girl was wild-eyed and it was clear she didn’t understand, but then nature seemed to take over and she grunted, her eyes wild.

  Penny grabbed hold of her face and looked at her. ‘You’re not alone,’ she said. ‘We will not let harm come to you.’

  Calling from a strength inside herself that left Penny in awe, Mary pushed with all her might.

  And then she continued like that, without making any progress for what seemed like hours.

  Penny was exhausted, she could not imagine how the girl felt.

  ‘Is it always like this?’ she whispered to the midwife.

  ‘There is sometimes more trouble than others,’ the woman said. ‘This babe doesn’t want to come. I’m going to have to try to help.’

  Penny didn’t quite understand, but she soon learned. The midwife positioned her hand in such a fashion that she tried to ease Mary’s pushing as the girl bore down with all her might.

  ‘I can feel the baby’s head,’ the woman said.

  Penny could offer no help there, but she could hold Mary. As her own mother should have done. Could be there for her. Could show compassion.

  Could offer something other than blame and scorn.

  ‘Good lass,’ the midwife said.

  Another push and Penny could see the baby’s head.

  Then it was suddenly over. The babe out in the world and Mary sagging with exhaustion.

  There was no cry and a deep sadness expanded in Penny’s chest.

  It had taken so long. And it was early.

  Penny wanted to weep for the injustice of it, but she couldn’t.

  Instead, she simply sat holding on to Mary’s hand.

  And then there was a sound. A whimper, more than a cry, but it soon grew, thin and tenuous, filling the room.

  She looked at the baby and saw that, though it was dusky, it was moving.

  ‘There we are,’ the midwife said. ‘There we are.’

  ‘Does it live?’ Mary asked.

  ‘Yes,’ the midwife said.

  Mary let her head fall back against the pillow, a tear tracking down her cheek.

  ‘I’m glad,’ she said.

  ‘Please hold the babe,’ the midwife said to Penny.

  Penny took the babe, wrapped it in her shawl. The midwife began to give care to Mary. She finished with the rest of the delivery, worry etched in her face.

  ‘What can I do?’ Penny asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ the woman said. ‘She’s bleeding. There are herbs I can give to try to slow it. But… Sometimes…’

  ‘No,’ Penny said. ‘I won’t let her die. She’s been given nothing. No help at all. No kindness. She cannot die without ever…’

  ‘These herbs should cause contractions in her womb. It helps slow the bleeding.’

  The midwife made tea on the fireplace in the room and Penny did her best to guide Mary in drinking it.

  * * *

  The bleeding lasted through the night. By the time it was slowed, Penny knew her bed could not be saved. But as long as Mary could be, it didn’t matter.

  She heard a voice out in the corridor. Her husband’s.

  He’d returned.

  Penny’s body was stiff from being held in unnatural positions for too long and her eyes were gritty.

  She stood, making sure the babe was secured in his little nest upon the bed. And then she went to the door.

  ‘The village girl, Mary McLaren. She’s had her baby.’

  Lachlan looked as though he was gazing at the horror of battle. Penny looked down at herself and realised that she bore the marks of the particularly difficult medical event.

  ‘I’m not hurt,’ Penny said. ‘It’s not… I don’t know if she will survive. Mary or the babe.’ Emotion caught hold of her chest and it heaved on a dry sob. ‘No one has slept and it’s been so many hours…the girl doesn’t deserve this.’

  She felt herself sway and then suddenly found herself being lifted up off of the ground, held close to her Highlander’s chest.

  He began to walk back towards his bedchamber, where he closed the door behind him. Then he stripped her of her dress, all her bloody garments going to the floor. She shivered. But she found that she was not embarrassed, because she was far too focused on the exhaustion of her body.

  He called for a tub to be brought in and for hot water, and wrapped her in a blanket to conceal her modesty as the staff went about doing his bidding.

  ‘But Mary…’

  ‘She will be seen to,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. You look as if you’re about to fall over dead.’

  She felt as if she were. But she also felt guilty for abandoning the girl in such an uncertain moment.

  ‘You will not be able to help if you cannot see straight,’ he said.

  When the bath and water were produced, Isla offered to stay, but Lachlan sent her away. ‘I will care for my wife,’ he said.

  He picked her up and deposited her naked body into the tub of warm water.

  His hands were gentle as they skimmed over her skin and an ache of loneliness opened up inside her.

  Sadness.

  For she had adored this man’s hands. When they gave her pleasure, she could find power in it. Could find a way to make a balance so that she wasn’t left trembling and wrecked. But today had compromised her defences in a way that frightened her. She was small and reduced. She had never felt so much fear, not even when she’d discovered she’d been sold to Lachlan in the first place.

  Now he was touching her and his hands were tender, rather than arousing, though they still created sparks over her skin. He was large and she was tempted to lean against his strength.

  ‘I just want to help,’ she said.

  ‘You may not be able to,’ he said, but there was no cruelty in his voice.

  ‘The baby is so small.’

  ‘I’ve seen what happens with small bairns. It is just the way of things.’

  ‘It’s not fair,’ Penny said. ‘That all they should know is suffering.’

  ‘Lass,’ he said, his voice tender, scraping against raw places inside her. ‘The world is harsh and cruel. It doesn’t care if bairns get a chance to live. Or if girls get a chance at happiness.’

  She knew he meant that. Down to his soul. Down to his very bones.

  ‘I don’t want to believe it,’ she said.

  She felt emotion rising up inside her. Emotion that reminded her of the day her mother had died. But there was…there was hope still. For Mary and the babe lived. And while they lived there could still be hope. Hope.

  She closed her eyes and let Lachlan’s rough hands smooth away some of the pain inside her. Let the warm water soothe the ache that had taken over her muscles, for it had been a day that was long and painful, and it was not over.

  She cared for the both of them and couldn’t simply stop because she was exhausted.

  She didn’t like it, for there was no place to put emotions like this. There was no way to stop them and Lachlan being kind was only making it worse.

  But she was too tired to fight it. She could only surrender to the warm water, surrender to his hands. Surrender to this. To them.

  ‘You are a soft thing,’ he said, his voice rolling over her, even more soothing than the water. ‘I forget that you haven’t seen quite so many hard things of the world.’

  ‘My mother died,’ she said softly. ‘I know about death.’

  ‘You’re supposed to bury your parents,’ he said, his voice rough.

  She did not normally press him. Their conversations stayed carefully around the edges of the deep, sad things that had hurt him in the past. />
  But she wanted to press now.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘Didn’t your mother’s death hurt you?’

  ‘The manner of it, aye.’

  ‘I was five. I was five when she died. It felt a lot like this. Confusing. Unfair. And I felt helpless. I didn’t know what to do. And there was nothing to do. It was such a stark and horrible thing. I couldn’t fix it. She was gone. I just wanted to save her and it was too late.’

  She thought of every little animal, of every plan she had spearheaded since. All the way down to this. To trying so hard to save Mary and the baby.

  It was the lack of hope she had never been able to accept. That she might never be able to do something to fix the situation. That she truly was helpless. That she truly was a pawn.

  And had she been fighting against that from the moment Lachlan had stood in the great hall of her father’s house? Hadn’t she been trying to find a way to be active, to fix, to repair, to do something about this yawning void inside her? The one that she had contained inside a shiny jewellery box. But that could not be.

  It could not be. And she had tried. She had tried so hard. But she was failing by inches. For her heart was bruised and battered and she knew that she must never cry.

  But Lachlan hadn’t locked her in a room by herself. He had drawn her a bath. He was here. And he was holding her.

  What would he do if she wept?

  And why did she want to see? She had found answers to her loneliness over the years. Had made friends by following people around and chattering at them. But this was something different. This desire to sit here and share silence. To allow his hands to create emotions, to soothe and to arouse. And why was it that the man who had brought her the jewellery box, that symbol of her own survival, why was it he who challenged that very way of living?

  Why did he make her wish there was more?

  This.

  This tenderness.

  Being held while her heart was sore…

  It was as if she had been waiting for this all of her life.

  And she hadn’t known that. Hadn’t wanted to know. For with the comfort came vulnerability. And with that vulnerability came fear.

  How could she trust this part of herself to a warrior? To the barbarian who had bought her for revenge?