Rowan's Lady (50 page)

“And how do ye ken this?” Daniel asked.

“Doreen Blackthorn and me mum were verra good
friends. When Doreen found her husband in bed with another woman, she and
Garrick came to stay here fer a time. After a few months, she returned to her
husband. She carried another man’s babe.”

Frederick and Daniel stared at Rowan in utter
disbelief. “Ye canna mean yer da--”

Rowan shook his head. “Nay, ’twasn’t me da’s babe
she carried. ’Twas Thomas’.”

Frederick whistled while Daniel just stared at
Rowan, completely surprised by this bit of news.

“Doreen refused to tell who the babe belonged to.
Garrick’s da blamed mine. From that point on, Garrick blamed me da fer his
mum’s death when he should have blamed his own father.”

It was a tragedy any way one chose to look at it.
Rowan poured himself a cup of whisky and sipped it slowly.

“Did we lose any of our own?” he asked.

“Nay, a few injuries, but nothin’ the lads canna
survive.”

“And the others?”

“We’re findin’ places fer them in the barracks,
the men’s solar above stairs. Anywhere we can tuck them into. We’re watchin’
them closely. But I think they’ll work out well among us. They be verra
grateful fer a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs.”

Rowan nodded and contemplated the situation. In a
few short hours, he had married and his clan had doubled in size.

They had a rough road ahead of them. It might not
be easy for the newcomers to acclimate themselves to Clan Graham ways, but he
was hopeful that over time they would come to appreciate all that his clan had
to offer.

“I’ll speak with them on the morrow,” Rowan told
them. “After the noonin meal, assemble them in the courtyard.” He tossed back
the rest of his whisky and set the cup down.

They sat in quiet contemplation for a time, each
man mulling over the events of the past months. Daniel finally asked what was
to come of Lady Beatrice.

“While I would personally like to see her hang,
Arline will have none of it. I plan to write the sheriff in Edinburgh and I
will press charges against her. Until the sheriff comes fer her, the wench can
rot in the dungeon fer all I care.”

“Have ye asked why she done it?” Frederick asked,
curious to know what would drive a woman to such lengths.

“I dunnae, yet, but I’ve sent fer Thomas. Mayhap
he has the answer to that question.”

They enjoyed another cup of whisky and discussed
the new men. Daniel and Frederick each was of the opinion that most of the men
were of good character. A few however, would require being watched very
closely.

Thomas appeared some time later, looking rather
stunned.

“Beatrice was of no help at all,” Thomas said as
Rowan handed him a cup of whisky. “But Joan was full of verra useful
information.” He took a long drink before turning one of the chairs that sat in
front of Rowan’s desk around to face the other men.

“Beatrice is -- or was -- Garrick Blackthorn’s
sister, born on the other side of the blanket, ye ken. No’ a
real
lady
by birth.” He paused to take a glance at the three surprised faces staring back
at him. “Aye, I about fell off me stool when I learned it! Apparently, Garrick
promised that if she could get
ye,
” he pointed to Rowan with a nod and
his cup, “to marry her, Garrick would formally recognize her as his sister. The
plan was fer her to marry ye, then kill ye off. Once ye were dead, then
Beatrice would hand everything over to Garrick, take the title she’s apparently
wanted fer years, along with a good deal of coin. Takin’ Lily was a way fer
them to find out if ye had as much in gold as they hoped ye did.”

Thomas sat back and watched the men absorbing the
news. It was, in deed, a stunning bit of information.

“Apparently, Beatrice is just as ruthless as her
brother. Joan was afeared fer her life, ye ken. I saw the bruises and marks
Beatrice inflicted,” he took another drink in hopes it would wash away the
bitter taste left in his mouth from what he had witnessed.

“Well,” Rowan said, sounding both perturbed and
relieved as he stood to his feet. “I hope the sheriff can come up with a
punishment befitting
all
Beatrice’s crimes.”

Rowan had had his fill of intrigue, mysteries, and
bad news. He wanted to go back to his room, climb into his bed, and make love
to his wife again.

He tossed back the last of his whisky and placed
the cup on his desk. He turned to look at Frederick and Daniel.

“The two of ye go and bathe, get some rest. I have
a feelin’ the next few months willna be easy.”

Frederick and Daniel stood, stretched their long
arms and worked the kinks out of their backs.

“I hear congratulations be in order,” Frederick
said with a smile. “I hear the lass said aye and that ye were married last
eve.”

“Aye, she did and we were. In fact, ye be
interruptin me husbandly duties. I must hurry back to me wife, now.”

Frederick and Daniel chuckled. “Has she got ye by
the shorthairs already?”

Rowan flashed them a smile. “Nay, lads. By me
heart.”

It was well after the midnight hour when Rowan
left his contented and satisfied wife asleep in their bed. Quietly, he donned
his tunic, trews, and boots, wrapped his cloak about his shoulders and left
their room. He made his way down quietly down the stairs. Silently, he passed
by Thomas who had fallen asleep by the fire in the gathering room. He grabbed a
candle from the mantle before opening the large wooden door that led outside.

A rush of cold air swept in, bringing with it a
bit of snow. The cold night air bit at his bare face and tickled the flame of
the candle. Carefully, he closed the door behind him. He held one hand in front
of the flame so that the night air would not extinguish it.

 Stars twinkled against the midnight sky as he
crossed the courtyard and made his way to the empty kirk. His pace was quick,
purposeful. He did not want to be away from Arline for too long, but there was
something he needed to do.

He quickly stepped inside the dark and empty kirk
and made his way to the altar. He set his candle down and knelt before God. His
heart was a blended mixture of joy and sorrow, contentment and the remnants of
guilt. Much time passed as he thanked God for keeping Arline, his men, and his
people safe. He thanked Him for bringing Arline into his life and asked that
God guide him and help him to be a good husband to her.

Slowly, he raised his head and looked upward,
toward Heaven. “I’ve come to say goodbye to ye, Kate. I loved ye, with all me
heart and I do miss ye. I am keepin’ the promise I made to ye. I ken it was a
long time comin’, fer I was too much a coward to let ye memories go. I kept me
heart to ye as long as I could, Kate. I ken ye didna want me to do that, but it
was so hard lettin’ ye go.” He tried to choke back the tears, but ’twas
impossible. They fell down his cheeks, leaving trails along his neck and
dripping onto the collar of his cloak.

“Lily is a good girl, Kate, much like ye,” he
wiped his face on his arm and tried to regain some composure. “She loves
Arline. ’Tisn’t how I pictured our lives bein’, livin’ without ye in it.” He
took a deep, cleansing breath. “I ken in me heart that ’twas ye that sent
Arline to Lily and to me. Arline is like ye in many ways. She’s kind, she’s
fierce, and she’s verra good to us. I love her, Kate, verra much. She’s good
fer me.”

He wiped away more tears as he sat quietly,
breathing in deeply. He did not want to return to Arline with tears running
down his face. He doubted he would be able to explain it to her in any way that
would make sense.

“So, I’ve come to say goodbye, Kate.” He hung his
head, not knowing what else he could say. He hoped Kate was looking down at him
now, listening to him. Mayhap she could look into his heart and understand all
that he was feeling, better than he could say it.

“Ye needn’t say goodbye to her.”

The voice came from behind him, startling him out
of his quiet reverie. His heart lodged in his throat when he spun around to see
Arline standing there. She shivered in the cold, wearing only her chemise and
her cloak.

“Arline,” he exclaimed as he searched for
something intelligent to say to her.

Arline walked to him, opened her arms wide and
wrapped them around his torso. “Rowan, please, do no’ say goodbye to Kate. She
be Lily’s mum. Lily needs to ken that she was important to ye. Ye canna forget
her.”

Rowan rested his chin on the top of Arline’s head.
The love he felt for her grew by leaps and bounds as one moment passed to the
next. Until a few months ago, he would not have believed such a love could
exist.

“I do no’ intend to ferget her, or let Lily ferget
her.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It was just me way of lettin’
Kate ken that I’ve fulfilled the promises I made to her. I promised her I’d no’
keep me heart to meself, that I’d love another someday. I just wanted a moment
to let her know.”

Arline hugged him tighter. “She kens, Rowan. She
kens.”

They stayed in the kirk for a while longer, each
of them kneeling in prayer, thankful that God had brought them together. When
they were done, Rowan took his wife’s hand and led her back into the keep and
up to their room.

In the early morning hours before dawn, they
expressed their love for one another in a slow, tender and gentle joining of
their bodies, their hearts and souls. Arline fell asleep in the crook of her
husband’s arm, knowing for the first time in her life what it felt like to love
and be loved unconditionally.

For years, Aggie McLaren had been well aware that
her father was insane. Aye, that they were now on their way to see Rowan Graham
to ask for his help in finding her a husband was all the proof anyone needed.

Mermadak McLaren was dying. Aggie had known for
weeks now. She had overheard the conversation between her father and the
healer. He had a disease of the lungs and not much time left. Mayhap, a year at
best. Aggie hadn’t needed a healer to tell her what she had suspected for
weeks. His coughing fits had increased, he wheezed whenever he took a breath
and he was beginning to lose weight. Death seemed inevitable.

If her father would simply die and not worry over
finding her a husband, she might begin to see a glimmer of hope for her future.
But the arrogant, selfish man refused to die without leaving someone at the
helm of his clan.

’Twas why they were on this hopeless trek. Aggie
was his only child and being a female, she could not inherit nor could she take
over a chief of Clan McLaren. She knew it wasn’t kindness of heart or worry
over his only child’s future that motivated him. She knew it was his greed.

Her father’s selfishness, his mean streak, would
not allow him to simply appoint a successor. Nay, he wanted a young man he
could mold into his own image. He wanted someone ruthless and unhindered by
common standards of morality or decency to take over the reins. He wanted
someone who could be just as brutal as himself.

Since he did not trust anyone within his own clan
to carry on his legacy, somewhere in the twisted regions of his mind, he
concluded that a husband for Aggie was the only route to take.

As they rode across the glen, she sat behind
Donnel, her father’s first lieutenant, forced to hold on to the smelly man. A
shudder of revulsion trickled down her back. Donnel was as mean as her father.

Aggie learned long ago not to ask if her life
could possibly get any worse, for when she did, “worse” would inevitably
appear.

A husband
, she mused.

By anyone’s standards, she was an old maid, long
in the tooth at three and twenty. No one in his right mind would want to take
her as a wife.

Any man who would agree to such a union would have
to be as tetched as her da. Or just as old, mayhap older. With her luck, he’d
be just as mean and vicious as her father. Aggie knew there was no hope at
finding a decent man. Decent men simply did not exist. Her proof lay in her
encounters with harsh, callous, brutal men over the years.

There had been a time, long ago, when she had been
considered pretty. She used to laugh and sing, when her father was not around,
of course. She had possessed a free spirit then, a fondness for life, a zest
for living. That innocent, carefree little girl no longer existed. She died ten
years ago.

Now, Aggie was defective, damaged. With her scarred
face, the slight limp left from an injury inflicted years ago, she could no
longer be considered pretty. She no longer laughed, or sang. She didn’t even
speak.

It wasn’t that she
couldn’t
speak. Nay, she
was fully capable. But her father detested the sound of her voice. “Yer voice
makes me ears bleed!” He needed to tell her that only once. Self-preservation
had forced her into her false state of muteness.

They’d be at Rowan Graham’s keep very soon. If
there was a God -- for years now she had questioned His existence -- He would
open up the earth and allow it to swallow her whole. Any attempts to reason
with Mermadak, even if he would allow her to speak, would be ignored.

To speak, to voice her opinion, to share her
thoughts would mean a beating. And Mermadak McLaren had never shown any mercy
when inflicting punishments. She had the scares to prove it. Nay, it was best
to remain quiet. Aye, the beating would come later when he realized no man
would be able to look past her defects or her scars. The last man her father
had tried to betroth her to had backed out when he saw her for the first time.
History oft repeats itself and Aggie had no doubt it would again. No man would
want her.

Mayhap she could try running away again. She was
older and wiser now. She would make certain Mermadak was truly passed out from
too much drink. She would take little Ailrig -- her heart felt heavy when she
thought of the sweet child. Through no fault of his own the boy had been born a
bastard. Aggie’s mother, God rest her soul, had brought him to live amongst
their clan. Her mother could not formally adopt the babe. Mermadak would never
have allowed it. Still, she gave him a home, and, together with Aggie, lots of
love.