Clara’s Vow

by Madeline Martin

  “Come, Clara,” he said gently. “I want ye in the cellar with the rest of the women to ensure ye remain safe.”

  She didn’t move from her place.

  He approached her and rubbed his hands over her sheet-clad arms, trying to block the wind as best he could. Goosebumps had risen on the visible tops of her shoulders. “Ye need to dress, lass.” The delicate curve where her neck met her shoulders was impossible to resist. He kissed her lightly there, lingering so that he could breathe in her alluring scent. “Come, my love,” he coaxed. “Ye need to dress and go where it will be safe.”

  Again, she did not move. “I don’t think they’re English, Reid.”

  He faced the bitter wind rushing into their room once more and stared at the army. The entirety of it had already passed over a distant hill and was streaming toward Dumbarton Castle, not with the haste of a storming army, but apparently with leisure.

  “Aye,” he said slowly. “I think ye’re right. ’Tis no’ the English.” He leaned farther from the windowsill, his eyes narrowing to see better in the darkness. “If ‘tis no’ the English, who is it?”

  Neither spoke for a moment as the army swept into the village and continued up to Dumbarton Castle. There were no attacks, no fires or screams of terror.

  Aye, they were most certainly not the English.

  Clara drew in a hard breath. “Reid…” She reached out and gripped his forearm.

  He regarded his wife, whose eyes were wide with surprise.

  “What is it?” he asked, his blood chilling.

  She gave an unexpected smile and blinked back tears. “’Tis my grandda.”

  17

  For a moment, Clara could not remove herself from the window despite the blast of icy air sweeping her hair back and threatening to tear the sheet from her hands.

  Was it true?

  Had her grandda really come to help?

  Aye, as unbelievable as it seemed, it was him. She recognized the large steed he rode and the red-and-black tunic of the Ross clan. “I must meet him,” she said, spinning away from the window.

  She was ready to run out into the hall when she recalled she was not properly dressed. Quickly she washed and put on her kirtle with Reid’s help. As much as she wished she could be wholly excited, apprehension twisted in her stomach.

  Reid regarded her with concern. “Ye dinna appear as overjoyed as I would have expected.”

  Clara issued a long exhale. “My grandda seldom does anything out of the kindness of his heart. Unless there is something he wants.” She plaited her hair with shaking fingers. “I worry over what he’ll ask for in return.”

  “What do ye think it will be?” Reid asked.

  “That’s the thing…” She looked at her husband without bothering to mask her concern. “One never knows when it comes to my grandda. At least I’m already wed.” She offered a reassuring smile.

  Her relief was genuinely palpable. Faye had been lucky to have a handsome husband of the same age, one she was able to connect with and find love. Clara had no desire to be married off to a man who she might never come to care for. Especially after having discovered such happiness herself.

  Reid embraced her. “No one will take ye from me, my love.” Despite his tender touch, his face was hard with determination. “And heaven help them if they try.”

  They made their way downstairs together to find the Chieftain of the Ross clan. He was easy to identify before he could even be seen. His boisterous voice rose from the Great Hall on the first floor and reverberated off the cold stone walls.

  “’Tis a fine thing ye’ve called the other clans,” Ross said. “Ye’ll have need of them. We saw the army on our way, and it wasna a small force.”

  Reid put his hand to Clara’s lower back, the movement one of love and support as they entered the open hall.

  Ross looked to Clara and then to Reid, his focus going to the intimate caress of Reid’s hand at her back. “There’s another dowry.” Though Ross muttered the statement low and more to himself, his booming voice still carried.

  “Ye owe me nothing,” Reid said. “I’ve everything I want already.”

  Ross put his attention to Clara once more. “Ye married a fool.”

  “I married a man who loves me.”

  Her grandda scoffed. “Then ye’re the fool.”

  There were so many arguments to be made against such a declaration but now was not for altering her grandda’s view on love.

  “Ye came.” Clara smiled at him.

  Her grandda rolled his eyes with an exasperated look. “Ach, ye’re too damn good, Clara,” he groused. “Ye made me feel bad.”

  “I made ye feel bad?” she asked, her words heavy with her skepticism.

  “Aye, we were on our way to raid, and I kept thinking about what ye said.” He sighed. “Yer sisters are both pains in my arse, but ye’ve always been a sweet lass. I know I upset ye…” He shrugged, a short, aggravated motion. “I dinna want to do that.”

  Clara watched her grandda, wanting desperately to believe him. But he didn’t stare at her with the same stubborn challenge as he did all others. The way he gazed cautiously at her, he appeared almost uncomfortable. As if for once, he might genuinely be sincere.

  She went to him and put her arms about his massive shoulders. His scent was unfamiliar yet pleasant, his damp clothes smoky with the smell of campfire. He stiffened when she first embraced him but then relaxed and hugged one large arm around her.

  “Ye’re a good lass, Clara,” he said, nodding. “Thank ye for giving me a chance to prove myself.”

  She looked up at him. “Thank ye for being the man I hoped ye would be.”

  He beamed at her then, a broad grin she’d never thought to see cross his weathered face. “Mayhap ye could tell yer mum I’m no’ as bad as she thinks?”

  Ah, so there it was, the ulterior motive. However, it was one of sentiment rather than greed, and Clara would not deny him such a request.

  “I can speak with Mum for ye,” she agreed. “Though, I’d like to know…what happened between the two of ye?”

  He considered Clara for a moment. “’Tis yer mum’s story to tell, I think.”

  Clara nodded. “I’ll speak with her for ye. But I need a favor from ye as well.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he released his snug hold on her, suddenly radiating distrust. “Aye?”

  “Reid, my husband—”

  “Aye, I know—a dowry.” Her grandda muttered something under his breath about expensive granddaughters.

  Clara shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, and we can discuss that later, but ’tis not the favor I need. Reid is injured and shouldn’t be going into battle. If he’s struck in the back…” She couldn’t finish the statement aloud.

  Ross scowled. “He’s a man. Of course, he should. Wounded or no’, a man doesna miss a battle.”

  “He’s of the same mind.” Clara didn’t bother to hide her exasperation. “I worry for him.”

  Her grandda smirked. “I’ll no’ tell him ye said that.”

  “Will ye look out for him?” Clara asked.

  Her grandda’s chin jutted forward as he considered her request. “Aye, I can do that.”

  She embraced him again. “Thank ye, Grandda. No’ only for yer help with Reid, but also for coming to the aid of the people of Dumbarton.”

  “They’re already in the castle as I understand it,” he said.

  “Aye,” Clara said with gratitude. “The women and children are.”

  And it was true, most of the women and children from the village were already in the cellar of the castle, where a small army guarded the stairwell leading down to them. The men of the village had traded the tools of their everyday professions in for swords. With an army the size of the one heading toward them, every man would need to fight, regardless of his training.

  But saving the people wouldn’t save all the homes that would doubtless be stripped of their goods and razed. For peasants such as those gathere
d in the cellars and awkwardly mingling among trained soldiers, those possessions were their entire life and might take years to recoup. Not to mention the livestock that would be lost in such an attack.

  And even seemingly impenetrable castles like Dumbarton could be overrun by so large an opponent—if not overrun, then laid siege to. With so many people hiding in the castle’s depths, a siege would be over quickly with the strain on food supplies.

  “Ye look worried, lass.” Her grandda put a hand to her shoulder and squeezed. “That isna necessary. I’ll ensure yer man stays safe.” He winked at her and left her side to join several of his men.

  She followed him with her gaze, hoping he was correct but not entirely able to trust he would remember to see to Reid. From what she understood of battle, it could be terribly confusing. They could become separated.

  Reid could—

  Nay. She should appeal to Reid first and ask him to reconsider going to battle. And if he declined to remain back as she suspected he would, she would stick with her original plan despite her grandda’s claim that he would keep Reid safe. She would sneak into the battle with him to ensure he did not get reinjured. Even if her grandda did make good on his promise, then Reid would have double the protection.

  And he would be guaranteed to return home to her, so they could truly begin their life together.

  A messenger ran into the room and bellowed, “Approaching army.”

  Again, it was not the English approaching, but yet another ally. Nevertheless, Reid rushed to Clara’s side. She had stayed away from the cellars for far too long, and every second that passed rankled his nerves.

  “Come, Clara,” he said. “I want ye downstairs.”

  “’Tis not the English,” she insisted.

  At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall were thrown open, and an older man wearing a mantle of bristling gray wolf hair strode in. “Ross,” he bellowed. “Where are ye, ye sour wee bastard?”

  “Montgomerie, ye auld cur,” Clara’s grandda cried back in return and rushed forward.

  Clara tensed, apparently expecting one to land a blow on the other, but instead, their forearms clasped, and the men exchanged greetings instead.

  “I dinna expect to see ye here,” Ross said, clapping the other man on the shoulder.

  Montgomerie chuckled. “I couldna let ye have all the fun. We want to kill some English too.”

  This was all wasting time. At any moment, the army could attack, and Clara would be in danger. He needed her to be safe, so Reid could set aside the fear of losing her from his mind. He put his back to the two men and curled an arm around Clara’s shoulders to guide her away. “Please, ye must go.”

  She nodded and allowed him to lead her from the Great Hall but slowed her pace once they were out in the corridor. Her hand gripped his, and she pulled him to a stop.

  “Please don’t go into battle,” she said in a whisper. “Stay here with me.”

  He gaped at her. Was she jesting? “Ye want me to go to the cellars with the women and bairns?” he asked, appalled.

  Her eyes searched his with genuine desperation. “Ye’re injured.”

  “I’m a warrior,” he corrected. “Fighting is what I do, whether I’m injured or no’.”

  She drew in a shaky inhale. “But yer back…”

  He shook his head to prevent her from saying more. He knew his back was still vulnerable, the wounds barely healed. One solid hit as he had before with the mace, and he would be laid out on the ground.

  And he was well aware of what happened to soldiers who fell in battle. If they weren’t slain by the enemy, they were crushed by the trampling feet or drowned in puddles of mud. Seldom did they survive.

  Regardless of that very likely concern, he would not cower in the cellar of the keep with the innocent lives he should be protecting.

  “Nay,” he said with finality. “I willna discuss this further. I willna hide behind lasses and bairns when I should be fighting with the men.”

  The wounded hurt in her wide blue eyes softened his rankled demeanor. “Come, I’ll walk ye downstairs.” He put his hand to the small of her back, his fingertips whispering over her wool kirtle.

  She frowned. “I want to come with ye.”

  “Nay,” he said firmly. This request was almost as bad as the one for him to hide with women and children in a time of the battle.

  She stood in place, not allowing him to lead her to safety. God’s teeth, but the lass was stubborn.

  “I can heal men who are injured.” Her tone took on a pleading note. “I can throw my daggers.”

  “Then ye can be there to help the women and children, should the English break through the line.” He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. If the English broke through the line, that would mean they were all dead. Or would be.

  The very thought of what the English would do to a room full of women and children made his blood go cold. Urgency pushed at him with a sudden need to get Clara to safety.

  He needed her in the cellars of the keep. So he could concentrate in battle. So the grip around his heart could relax.

  If he suspected she was in an area where she could be harmed, there would be no way he could focus, which would be entirely to his detriment.

  She did not move, as obdurate in her determination to stay with him as he was in his need to have her in the cellar of Dumbarton. He wanted to yell at her to get down there, not out of cruelty but out of insistent necessity. But this might be the last time he would ever speak to her, the last time he would ever have to hold her, kiss her.

  He could not end things between them with words of anger, no matter the well-meaning intentions behind them.

  In that moment of poignant understanding, he grabbed her to him and held her with everything he had. He breathed her sensual, familiar scent and ran his hand down her silky, dark braid.

  “Reid.” Her voice was a whispered exhale that echoed her overwhelming emotions.

  “I love ye, Clara,” he said in a choked voice. “If ye’re no’ safe here, I’ll worry about ye too much. I need ye to be safe. For me. For our future.”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Trust me, lass.” He rested his forehead against hers and made a vow that no mortal man could offer with certainty, “I promise to return.” He took her hand, and together they walked to the stairs leading to the cellar. The hum of voices echoed up around them, along with the cries of several dozen babies and children.

  Reid knew what they would find below. Frightened faces tipped up to watch the stairwell, to see who would be joining them in their interminable wait to find out if they would live or die. To learn if their fathers and brothers and husbands were dead.

  All at once, he understood Clara’s hesitation to join them. He couldn’t imagine the maddening helplessness of just waiting.

  He pulled her to him. “I’ll come home to ye,” he swore. “As soon as ’tis safe to come to ye, I’ll be here.”

  He caressed her cheek, burning the softness of her skin to his memory. This woman gave him such purpose, such joy.

  His wife.

  He hated that he was the source of her tears, that she had to remain in the suffocating bowels of a castle as she waited to find out her fate. And he hated that he had to leave her when he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life cherishing her and what they had together.

  Clara’s face crumpled. “Please don’t go.”

  Her request left him raw.

  A knot of tension ached at the back of his throat. “Dinna ask what ye know I canna give.” He took her hands and held them to his heart. “Please.”

  This time, she did not argue. She choked on a sob and threw her arms around him in a fierce hug. They held one another for a long moment until he knew he could postpone leaving no longer.

  “I love ye, Clara MacLeod.” He kissed her tenderly, with all the love he had for her in his soul.

  A tear ran down her cheek. “And I love ye, husband
,” she whispered.

  He turned from her then, without escorting her into the cellar. He could not bring himself to see those anxious faces peering at him. He could not stand to leave her there.

  Nay, he had to go now while he was still able to.

  He made his way back to the Great Hall, his shoulders squared. Finlay approached, his gaze filled with worry beneath a bush of his red-orange eyebrows. “Is she in the cellars?”

  Reid nodded.

  “Ye did the right thing, lad.” Finlay clapped a hand on Reid’s shoulder. “She’ll be safe. The Stirlings and Hamiltons have joined us as well. There may be a lot of English, but there will also be a bloody lot of Scots for them to contend with.” He nodded. “Best of luck to ye.”

  “And to ye as well,” Reid said in earnest to the man who had once prickled his jealousy and now had his respect.

  A guard appeared in the massive doorway to the Great Hall. “The English are here,” he cried out. Immediately following his words was the long, lone note of the horn outside.

  The hall went silent as everyone digested the news. Aye, they were five clans strong now, but would it be enough?

  Reid put his hand on the hilt of his sword, reassured by its proximity.

  This was it—the battle he had been anticipating for some time.

  Thanks be to God that he knew without a doubt Clara was safe.

  18

  Clara did not go below to the cellars. She waited for some time after Reid’s broad back disappeared from view and she was certain he wouldn’t notice that she did not stay with the others.

  The cries of the frightened occupants rose from the cellars. Men and servants ran in all directions through the corridors in preparation for battle. People shouted at one another, their voices ringing off the stonework. The whole of it was sheer chaos. And the perfect cover to locate a helm and gambeson.

  Both were easily obtained. She needed only to pretend to be a wife acquiring them for her husband, and she was readily given them without question by a harried guard. Bounty in hand, she raced up to the bedchamber she shared with Reid to change into the leine and trews Drake had them practice in, the set she’d fortunately packed.