by Amy Jarecki
With a gasp, Gyllis slapped both hands over her heart. “Oh dear God in heaven, ’tis that grave?”
“I’m afraid so,” Helen said, blinking to allay her urge to cry. She stood and rested the bairn in the cradle. “I’ve been forced to flee my home with nothing but the rags I am wearing and my child.”
After Helen returned to her seat, Gyllis quietly listened while Helen divulged every sordid detail of her twisted marriage. It wasn’t usually like Gyllis to keep silent. Helen was the sister who always listened and consoled the others. But this time, Helen needed an impartial ear, and her dear sister rose to the occasion.
She omitted nothing. The disdain, the violence, her decision to send Eoin to Iona with her missive, her wrongful incarceration in that abominable dungeon, and further vile treatment whilst she remained locked in complete darkness.
When Helen finished, she pressed her face against her palms. “If it weren’t for Mr. Keith and Glenda, I’d still be rotting in the dungeon.”
Eyes wide, Gyllis looked completely stunned. “Your suffering is inconceivable. I cannot believe you endured his hostility for so long.”
“’Tis like I’m floating in a dream right now. I cannot believe I am finally free from him.”
“We must assure we remain discreet. Have you received word from the Pope?”
Helen rubbed her aching eyes. “Nay, and I’ve not heard from Sir Eoin since he sailed for Iona. He promised to bring me word, and now that I have run away, he’ll never find me even if the Pope does grant my annulment.”
“Oh, my heavens, you poor dear.” Gyllis crossed the floor and took Helen’s hands between her palms. “Your plight is far worse than anything I could have imagined.”
“I need a place to hide and, somehow, I must send word to Eoin MacGregor without anyone the wiser, especially anyone connected with the MacIain Clan.”
“Of course, of course. We shall see to everything.” Gyllis rubbed her fingers atop the back of Helen’s hand. “And what about the elderly guard who accompanied you here? Mr. Keith, is it?”
“Aye.” Helen nodded. “He can never return to Mingary. I owe him my life.”
“Rowing all that way? God bless him. He is a loyal soul, indeed.”
“There is none more so—he’s been incredibly kind. I promised him the protection of the Campbell Clan.”
“He’ll have the protection of the MacDougalls as well.”
“You are a jewel.” Though she wanted to sink into the overstuffed chair and close her eyes, another thing needed to be said. “I did not tell the guard my given name. I think ’tis best your servants remain unaware of which sister has come to call.”
“On that you needn’t worry. I shall ensure everyone thinks you to be Alice.” Gyllis laughed. “With our sister living in Perthshire, no one will have a clue as to her identity.”
“You are so clever. I still cannot believe I am here.” Allowing herself to smile, Helen peered into her sister’s caring blue eyes. “Oh, Gyllis I knew it was right to come to you.”
Reaching out, the Lady of Dunollie patted Helen’s shoulder. “We shall see you’re fed, bathed and have a good night’s rest. But I think we must hide you away from a Campbell keep.”
Helen didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Do you think it necessary?”
“I do. When Sir Aleck discovers you’re missing, there will be hell to pay, and the first place he’ll look is here and Kilchurn.”
“I hate this.” Wringing her hands, Helen clenched her teeth. “Where will I go?”
“I have just the place.” Gyllis held up a finger and waggled her brows. “On the morrow, I shall spirit you and Maggie to Sean’s hunting cottage in Fearnoch Forest. No one will ever find you there—and ’tis well provisioned for the season. There you can stay and await word from the Pope.”
“A hunting cottage?” Helen allowed herself to hope. “It sounds ideal.”
“’Tis a tad rustic, but you should want for nothing. And I can visit you often.” Gyllis chuckled. “When Sean first became chieftain, the forest was riddled with outlaws, but no longer.”
For the first time in years, the tightness in Helen’s chest eased. It was hard to believe that she and Maggie would be free at last. “I’d like to pen a missive to Sir Eoin. Are they still stationed at Dunstaffnage?”
“Unfortunately, nay. The king is amassing his army at Tabert.” Gyllis covered her mouth with a sharp inhale. “’Tis a big secret. My husband would be very upset to know I’d told you so freely.”
Helen’s heart sank—Dunstaffnage was only four miles north of Dunollie where it would be ever so easy to dispatch a message. If only Eoin were there. “Curses, if I didn’t have rotten luck, I’d have no luck at all. Tabert is quite far.” She knew of it only because the castle lay on Clan Campbell lands.
“But not for a galley.” Gyllis grinned, the same mischievous smile she’d had as a child. “A small crew could set sail in the morning.”
Helen gasped. “Honestly? Would they be able to take Mr. Keith with them? I would entrust a verbal message only to his care. I will not even venture to put quill to parchment.”
Gyllis patted her hand with a reassuring glint in her eyes. “Then we shall make it so.”
In the guest chamber, a wooden tub filled with warm water had been placed in front of the hearth, which already crackled with a hearty fire. Helen pulled the lace on her kirtle, untying the bow. “I cannot wait to be rid of this gown. It smells worse than a swine’s bog.”
“I shall have the maids clean it and bring you a fresh change of clothes.” Gyllis stood back and eyed her. “I’ve a kirtle that’s a wee bit too short. It ought to fit.”
“Thank you ever so much. I hope that one day I will be able to repay your kindness.”
“No my dearest.” Gyllis cupped Helen’s face with her palm. “We are family. Campbells take care of their own.”
“’Tis music to a lady’s ears.”
“Shall I ask Jinny to assist you?”
Helen glanced at the tub. It looked so inviting. “Honestly, I’d prefer to be left alone. I am ever so tired.”
“Very well,” Gyllis agreed. “I shall send up a tray later—and worry not about the bairn. The nursemaid will take good care of her until the morrow.”
“Are you sure?” A tightness gripped Helen’s chest. Though tired to her bones, she didn’t like being separated from Maggie all night. “Perhaps we should bring a cradle in here.”
“Let me help you this once.” Gyllis pulled Helen’s cloak from her shoulders and draped it over a chair. “You need a good rest before we head for the cottage. I’ll see to it plenty of stores are loaded on a pack mule and we shall haste away after we break our fast. Does that meet with your approval?”
“I don’t know what to say.” Helen clasped her hands together. “Thank you ever so much for your gracious generosity.”
“You are my dearest sister. If someone asked me to give you my right arm, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
Helen let out a lightheaded chuckle. “I hope we never have to go to such extremes.”
Stepping in, Gyllis grasped her elbow. “Are you certain you do not need assistance? You’re looking a bit pale.”
That didn’t surprise Helen in the slightest. “I’m sure my head will stop swooning just as soon as I can immerse myself in the tub.”
“Very well.” Her sister pointed. “If you should want for anything, my chamber is straight down the passageway.”
“Thank you.”
Helen waited until Gyllis left, then peeled off her dirty clothes and piled them in a heap in the privy closet. As far as she was concerned, that’s the only place where they belonged.
Stepping into the basin, the warm water instantly soothed her. Gradually, she lowered herself in the heavenly tub until she sat with her knees tucked under her chin. The chambermaid had left a cake of soap, a comb and a drying cloth on a small table, and across the room, a dressing gown had been laid out on the bed.
Holding the soap to her nose, Helen inhaled. “Sugared lavender.” Mother’s concoction, the scent would always remind her of home. Home. Such a comforting thought.
With languid strokes, she washed every inch of her body and lathered soap in her hair. Once clean, Helen closed her eyes and leaned back. Oh, how the warmth buoyed her woes and took them floating away. How long had it been since she’d allowed herself to be at ease? Peaceful, she cleared her mind and focused on sunshine. The sun’s rays started inside her midriff and radiated out through her limbs. She stretched her fingers and toes and the radiance of the sun shot through the tips of each, until the sense of complete weightlessness flooded her entire body.
Helen rested there, suspended in complete tranquility. Only when the water grew cold did she open her eyes.
“With all due respect, I do not like the idea of abandoning Lady Helen in a hunting cottage in the midst of the forest,” Mr. Keith said, riding a grey gelding alongside Helen’s bay and pulling a pack mule behind.
“I agree. I would not allow it if the forest were not entirely safe,” Gyllis replied as she led the way, sitting sidesaddle atop a sorrel Galloway. “Dunollie guards patrol Fearnoch daily. Make no bones about it, I assure you my sister will be secure.”
“I’m sure I will be fine,” Helen agreed. Maggie rode in a sling suspended around her neck, and seemed to be quite enjoying the horse’s movement. “If Lady Gyllis is confident, then so am I.”
After a good night’s sleep and a morning meal of oats, bacon and eggs, Helen felt like a new woman. With two borrowed kirtles, and a pack mule loaded with enough stores to see her through Yule, she was excited about this new adventure. How a modicum of independence enlivens one’s soul.
“There it is.” Gyllis pointed through the trees.
Helen leaned aside to look around her. Sure enough, a stone cottage was practically hidden by the dense forest. She instantly adored it. “Oh, ’tis quaint.”
“’Tis a hovel,” Mr. Keith groused. “A lady of your stature should be in a grand castle.”
“Hogwash,” Helen said. “This is exactly what I need whilst awaiting word from His Holiness.”
They rode into the clearing and dismounted. “There is a burn about fifty paces to the south,” Gyllis said. “And the water is pure and sweet.”
“Lovely.” Helen inhaled the scent of pine and wildflowers with a smile.
Mr. Keith tied the horses. “I’ll set to unpacking the mule.”
“My thanks.” Helen looked to Gyllis. “Shall we?”
“It isn’t a keep, but you and Maggie will want for nothing.” Gyllis pulled down the latch and opened the door.
As soon as Helen stepped inside the cottage, she was rapt. Though Gyllis hadn’t exaggerated about it being rustic, the hideaway had distinct charm. A large stone hearth consumed much of the far end wall with a brushed sheepskin rug before it. Cast iron cooking utensils hung from iron pegs and a grill had been installed over the fire for easy use. In front of the hearth were two wooden chairs—one was a delightful rocker with a cushioned seat.
Helen pointed. “I intend to spend my evenings rocking Maggie in that chair, singing lullabies until the bairn falls asleep.”
“You do have a beautiful voice for ballads.” Gyllis grinned. “Maggie will slip into slumber in no time.”
With a smile, Helen looked to the center of the chamber. A long table consumed the space, with benches on either side. Helen imagined Sir Sean and his men would roast venison and eat like kings whilst embellishing tales of their hunting expeditions. And being a hunting cottage, bows and quivers of arrows hung near the threshold.
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.
21
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 witho
ut 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.”
