By God's Grace (17 page)

****

The midwife hurried from the keep. Unsure where Rab's daughter was headed or how long the lass would be gone; she put a spring in her step. The babe, wrapped in a fresh covering, pursed her lips and suckled at the air. The child was a pretty little thing. A curl of strawberry blonde hair lay across a pale forehead. Eyelids opened, revealing orbs the color of the sky as the innocent babe stared at her rescuer. A smile graced the midwife's lips as she studied the tiny lass. The babe didn't have a fighting chance with Lyall, the wolf, as her mother. As a midwife, she had a duty to protect the child. And this meant getting the babe as far away from Lyall as possible.

A young lady from the keep had delivered a son a little over a month ago. The lass should have enough milk for another child. The lady in mind was staying just outside the keep walls. In the midwife's mind, she presumed the distance would keep Lyall from finding the babe. Taking the babe to the young mother was the only hope the tiny lass would have.

The midwife arrived at the cabin. The young mother opened the door and greeted her with a smile and a look of curiosity. “If ye've come to check on us, we are doing well.”

“Nay, lass, a woman in the village d-died,” the midwife stuttered through the lie as it left her lips, “while she birthed this little babe, and the lass has no family to speak of. Would ye be willing to take the child and love her as yer own?”

The young mother studied the tiny newborn as a small fist shoved in its rosy mouth. It was in the process of sucking the skin right off its wee little hand. A brief moment passed, and the babe released a piercing wail.

“It's hungry?” asked the new mother.

“Aye,” answered the midwife.

The mother placed her newborn son in a cradle and returned to the door. When she reached the opening, the midwife was gone, and on the doorstep was left the wailing babe. As the child lay there, a sprig of wisteria floated through the air and landed on the child.

“We shall call ye Wysteria,” said the young mother, as she picked up the babe and stuck her to the waiting breast.

****

When Lyall awoke, she dressed and went in search of the midwife. All the household servants were questioned, but no one had seen the midwife either enter or exit the keep. Asking around outside brought no new answers. Where had the woman gone with her child?

In the middle of the open yard, she stood. Words of agony poured forth. “Sori, the woman stole my babe.”

“Nay!”screamed Sori.

Lyall buried her face against the ground as she screamed like a person who had lost a limb.

At top speed Grant ran, falling in front of her. “Mistress Lyall, Mistress Lyall, what has happened?”

Lyall peered at Grant, eyes flooded with tears. “She stole my babe.”

Grant's response wasn't immediate. Lyall knew the Sinclair second had been suspicious of her condition, but now she'd given him proof. He asked, “Who stole yer babe?”

“Stop telling him about the babe.”

“But, Sori, he will help us, his honor demands it.”

“Shut up, Lyall, and listen to me. Forget the babe. It is lost to us now. It wouldn't have helped us anyway.”

Lyall pulled up off the ground and staggered in a slow gait toward the keep.

Grant called, “Lyall?”

A sorrowful look was sent his way. “It is all right. I need to find my father and tell him I'm going back to the Sinclair keep. There is nothing for me here.”

Confusion knitted Grant's brow as he replied, “Verra well. Let us know when ye are prepared to depart.”

****

Arbella took a long hot bath in front of a roaring fire. Three times she hid in Tamara's room while the tepid water was removed and hot water put in its place. The second bath was spent washing hair and body. The third time was purely to wash away shame and embarrassment. She had no idea how much the villagers had seen, but however much it was had been enough. Would she ever be able to look at Duncan's subjects again? Probably not.

The only option was to ask Jamus to return her to the farm. For a time, being in the presence of so many people had been comforting. It had been wonderful to spend time with Duncan and receive all the male attention. Even Boyd's attentions were entertaining to a certain extent. But it was all over. She would miss Tamara. It had been like having a sister. The word ”missing” didn't begin to express how she would feel upon leaving Duncan. To leave him would be like leaving a piece of herself behind. But she was too embarrassed to contemplate any other alternative.

Out of the water for the third and final time, purple bruises could be seen on most of her body. Muscles ached and throbbed from lifting heavy containers of water. Bum and legs were bruised from the many slips in the slimy mud. Tamara was sent away while Arbella wallowed alone in misery.

Unable to lift her weak arms over her head, she struggled to get into a clean shift and realized her mistake. She should have waited to send the maid away until she'd dressed. Muscles trembled with each step. Back bowed in pain, Arbella stumbled around the room like an old woman. The reflection of the looking glass showed black bruises under her eyes and a deep purple spot on her cheekbones and forehead. Could that be her?

A finger poked and prodded at the sensitive areas. Insistent pounding came from the door. Presuming it was Tamara, she yelled, “You may enter.”

Still staring at the looking glass, she saw not Tamara, but a haggard Duncan. Brown hair was dotted with water droplets. A tunic hung to his knees, covering a clean kilt. Purple spots dotted his tanned visage. Breath rushed from her as she ran to him exclaiming, “What happened to you?”

Duncan grimaced as a smile pulled at a split lip. “Boyd happened to me.”

“Oh,” said Arbella, turning away.

“Arbella, face me.”

“Nay, I cannot. I have brought myself and you nothing but shame. Look at you. Boyd has beat you as you tried to defend me, a-a shameless woman.”

Duncan laughed. “Ye are hardly shameless my dear.”

The laughter devastated her remaining resolve. “I will leave as soon as I make arrangements with Jamus.”

Duncan's brows knitted together in confusion. “Leave?”

“But, of course. I cannot remain here. I have brought shame upon you and your people. I must leave so you may regain your honor.”

“Ah, lass, ye have not shamed me or dishonored me.”

“Aye, but I have done both.” Leaning in and whispering, her face the color of a beet she added, “The villagers saw my underclothes!”

For a moment Duncan appeared to study her person. Then he asked, “Arbella, what happened to yer face?”

She sighed. “It was either your or Boyd's attempt at rescuing me. One of you landed on my head. And you are one to talk. Your face is covered in bruises.”

“Aye, it is. Can ye marry a man covered in bruises?”

Arbella's lips parted in protest, but a finger fell across them, demanding silence. With suddenness, the trembling began. Duncan pulled her into a rough embrace. “Arbella, I love ye. Please don't leave me.”

Tears streamed down her face. “You love me?”

“Aye, I do. I have loved ye for a long time. First as a sister, then as a woman.”

“Oh, Duncan,” Arbella said, throwing her arms around Duncan's neck and burying her face into his chest. “I love you as well.”

“Shall we wait until tomorrow to get married?”

“Why should we wait? Let's get married today.”

Duncan snickered under his breath before asking, “Why are ye so impatient, lass?”

“I have lost so many people. I wish to enjoy my life with you for as long a time as I'm given to do so.” Tragedy and lost loved ones had followed her wherever she went.

With a hug, Duncan answered, “Arbella we will have a long life together. Ye have no need to worry.”

The thin shift Arbella wore did nothing to cover the racing of her heart. “Go get the priest.”

****

The priest was summoned. Duncan stood erect beside him, arrayed in his finest wedding attire. Boyd, Filib, Tamara, and a few other Sinclairs were in attendance.

Arbella took a long time to arrive, causing Duncan to worry she might have changed her mind. Suddenly the lass appeared at the top step, swathed in a deep purple gown that blended with the multitude of bruises.

Jamus took the lass's arm and walked with her down the stairs to him. The twins and a few Kincade clansmen stood at the back of the room. Tavis dabbed his eyes as Arbella sent him a heart-stopping smile. Jamus handed her over. “Arbella, yer father would be proud of the woman ye have become.”

Arbella choked with emotion and nodded. Duncan grasped her hand quickly lest she disappear. Surely such loveliness could not be real. His eyes took in the beauty of his bride. Skin was pink and fresh-scrubbed. Only the bruises marred her flesh. The gown gracing her body was one befitting a princess. Rich in color and fabric, the material shimmered in the afternoon light. While Duncan stared upon the lass, the priest began the proceedings.

It was a lovely ceremony using the
Book of Common Prayer
, the same ceremony that Duncan had been a witness to for Cedric and Sarra. This made the service extra-special. Arbella and Duncan repeated after the priest and swore to stay together until death parted them.

Duncan kissed his bride, swooped her into his arms, and bounded up the stairs two at a time. When the top was reached, he faced the wedding spectators and commented in a humorous tone. “Eat, drink, and be merry. This day my wife,” he stopped and looked down at Arbella, smiling, “and I have some business to attend to.”

****

The crowd snickered as Arbella buried her head in embarrassment. Could this day get any worse? Then suddenly she realized it had. Because for all her forwardness in Duncan's presence, such as grabbing certain parts of him or kissing him out of turn, she honestly hadn't the faintest idea what happened on a wedding night.

****

They rushed into the keep's study and saw Lyall on the floor, her father's still dead body unyielding in a nearby chair. Frustrated at the rotten luck, Grant picked up Lyall and asked for directions to her room.

With gentleness he laid Lyall on the bed. Curling into a ball upon the bare mattress, a hand fluttered to her brow. Grant looked away, studying the room. The room was sparsely furnished. A bed, a desk, and a wardrobe filled the moderate space. Every surface was free of debris and dust. No pretties or baubles sat about. The only odd thing in the room was the looking glass attached to the wardrobe. In front of the pane sat a chair.

The bed had been stripped. Could the linens have been removed in anticipation of replacement?

Leaving the sleeping mistress, Grant went to stoke the fire. A piece of burnt fabric caught his eye. With a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure he wasn't being watched, Grant leaned down and inspected the cloth. It was the same color and fabric as the dress Lyall had worn while traveling. Why was it in the fire? A shadow of what looked like dried blood rested on the cloth. The piece of material was held in his hand as he prepared to confirm or deny his suspicions of the dried liquid. But when he heard Lyall ask, “What are ye doing?” the material dropped back into the flames, going up in smoke.

“Only stoking yer fire, mistress,” he answered, standing and facing the bed. Alarm stunned him when he turned and found Lyall within inches of his person.

“Grant, what are ye doing?”

Grant averted his gaze to the ceiling, refusing to stare into the black depths of his accuser. “I brought ye to yer room after ye found yer father's body and fainted.”

Lyall broke down with the reminder, tears pouring from the corner of her eyes. “My poor father, what happened to him?”

The disingenuous feel of the comment was ignored. Grant said, “I haven't had time to discover the details.”

“Leave me and return only when ye have answers.”

“Aye, Mistress Lyall.”

With great pleasure, Grant left the room. The door was left slightly ajar. Lyall's behavior had been strange of late. First, the rush to reach the Burns's keep, then the incident in the yard where she screamed in two voices about a lost child, and now fainting over her father's demise. If there was something to be learned, it might be now. He waited patiently outside. Would Lyall start acting odd again?

Instead of witnessing what he expected, Grant saw the mistress pace, general worry over her father's demise etched her face. With a shake of his head, Grant left the open door in search of answers.