The Clan MacDougall Series (116 page)

The following morn, he decided to take his frustrations out on the training fields. With a solemn promise from both Mary and Isobel, that they would send word the moment Nora woke, he quit her room and headed out of doors. He had a fortnight’s worth of frustration built up and he needed a way to release it. For Wee William, there didn’t seem a better way to release his frustration and anger than on the fields.

“Ye don’ seem yerself today, Wee William,” Duncan badgered as he brought his broadsword down hard against Wee William’s. Wee William barely had time to respond with an upward thrust of his own broadsword. Had he been paying closer attention, he could have knocked Duncan on his arse more than a half hour ago.

“Could it be yer mind is somewhere else?”

Wee William stood, out of breath, covered in sweat, and quite angry. Duncan was right, his mind was elsewhere, but he refused to admit it. “Nay, I’m just lettin’ ye
think
ye’ve bested me this morn, lad,” he panted as he swung his broadsword sideways. Duncan promptly blocked it, spun around and thrust outward. Had it been a real battle, Duncan would have run his sword clean through the arm of his opponent.

“Wee William, I think ye’ve had enough,” Duncan told him as he studied his friend. In all the years they had been training together, Duncan had never bested Wee William. The man was larger and stronger than Duncan, and he possessed an unnerving speed. If Duncan ever were to best the man, he wanted to do it because he was better, not because Wee William’s mind was elsewhere.

Wee William growled before calling a halt to the match. Nothing felt right this morning. His mail seemed too small, his sword too heavy, and his mind too muddled.
This is why ye should stay away from the women,
he told himself.
They be far too distractin’ and ye’ll end up dead.

The perceptive smile never left Duncan’s face. He’d never seen his friend so distracted before and he had a very good suspicion as to its cause. A lovely young lass with long brown hair and pale blue eyes, had stolen Wee William’s heart. Duncan recognized the symptoms of a man overwhelmed with feelings he could not understand, for Duncan had suffered the same fate a year ago. Now he was just a few weeks away from becoming a father for the first time.

Duncan slid his broadsword into its sheath and watched Wee William wipe the sweat from his face. He could not hold his laughter in.

Wee William gave him an angry glare. “What be so bloody funny?”

After a few moments, Duncan’s laughter quieted enough that he could answer. “Why don’ ye just surrender to her, William? I can assure ye, ’tis a battle ye will no’ ever win! And the surrender is verra enjoyable.”

“What the bloody hell are ye goin’ on about? Did my blow to yer head knock somethin’ loose?” He pretended not to know what Duncan was referring to. He started across the field toward the table set with tankards of ale and buckets of water. Duncan followed, laughing his way across the field.

“Och! ’Tisn’t
what
I refer to, William, but
who,
” he said as he slapped his hand on Wee William’s back as they walked side by side.

“I canna say that I blame ye. She is a fetching lass. Isobel says she has a heart of gold too. And a verra strong and loyal disposition.”

Wee William shrugged his friend’s hand away and continued to ignore him. He was angry with himself for allowing feelings for a woman to interfere with his training or to be noticeable enough that Duncan could take note of them. Nora had somehow managed to seep into his every waking thought, and even his dreams. Such images, feelings, and thoughts would surely sentence him to death if he were ever called to battle before he figured them out.

Aye, he wanted Nora, wanted her more than he could make any sense. His true worry was ending up embarrassed and with his heart broken. He was no more willing to risk being made a fool than he was of Nora learning her dead husband might not be so dead.

He was in no mood to discuss Nora with anyone, let alone Duncan. They reached the table and each man lifted a tankard and filled them with ale from the cask. Wee William tossed back two to Duncan’s one. At least he could still drink the man under the table.
Mayhap
, he thought,
that’s what I should do. Get so drunk that I canna think of anything, including Nora.

As Wee William filled his tankard a third time, one of the boys from the castle came running up to the table. “Wee William!” he called out as he approached.

Wee William’s heart seized momentarily, with an overwhelming sense of dread. In an instant, he had convinced himself that Nora had taken a turn for the worse and now fought for her life. “What is it, lad?” he growled, steeling himself for the worst possible news he could imagine.

“Mary sent me,” the skinny boy said as he reached the table. “She says to tell ye John is awake and he’s askin’ fer food!” The boy smiled up at Wee William, pleased he was to be delivering good news.

The scowl never left Wee William’s face. Aye, he was glad that John was faring well, but it was the worry over Nora’s health that consumed him.

“And what of Nora?” Duncan asked. He had no doubt in his mind now, that his friend’s primary and only concern at the moment was Nora. If he hadn’t cared about her, Wee William would have had something to say about John’s turn for the better.

“She still sleeps,” the boy said.

“Thank you, lad,” Duncan said before the boy went running back to the keep. Wee William stared off into the distance, distracted with what Duncan could only assume were thoughts of Nora.

“The lass will be fine, William,” Duncan offered as he nudged him with his shoulder.

“What?” Wee William hadn’t heard him, for his thoughts had indeed been focused on Nora. How long would the woman sleep? It couldn’t be good to sleep so long.

By now, a small crowd of men had formed at the table, each grabbing tankards of ale. They stood and watched the exchange between Wee William and Duncan.

“Nora. She’ll be fine. I spoke with Isobel earlier. The lass be simply exhausted. She’s been through much these past weeks.”

Wee William scowled. He took another pull of ale and continued to ignore the topic Duncan seemed unable to let go of.

“So will ye be needin’ help to build ye a wee cottage?” One of the men in the crowd asked before ducking behind another man so that Wee William would not know which of them asked the question. The other men chuckled at Wee William’s furious glare.

“Och! Mayhap ye could build one next to mine and Aishlinn’s!” Duncan laughed.

“Duncan, I warn ye to shut yer mouth now, lad,” Wee William ground out.

“William, it be nothin’ to be ashamed of! I ken what yer goin’ through. Yer fightin’ yer feelings fer the woman, and I tell ye it will do ye no good! When I finally admitted how I felt about Aishlinn, why, me life has done nothin’ but improve!” Duncan smiled and patted his friend on the back again.

Wee William slammed the empty tankard down and finally noticed that all eyes were on him. He stared back at all of them. His anger boiled. Finally, he could take no more. “Why are ye all starin’ at me?” he growled through gritted teeth.

Duncan tried to look serious for a moment, but it was no use. There was too much pleasure to be had from his friend’s discomfort. “Well, we’re tryin’ to imagine what ye’ll look like without yer beard.”

Everyone laughed, but Wee William. He’d had enough of the needling, the laughter at his expense. In that small moment of time he had made a decision. He wouldn’t be shaving his beard for Nora or any other woman for that matter. Aye, he was besotted with her, cared for her, and his body longed for her. But he would not succumb to the feelings no matter how strong they were. He’d done that once before, many years ago, and it had ended miserably.

His anger had reached its breaking point. A low growl began in his belly building until it escaped in a long, guttural, groan. He lifted the table with both hands and tossed it over with little effort. The casks of ale went rolling about, tankards broke, and men went scattering like leaves into the wind. Duncan’s eyes grew as wide as trenchers as he watched the rage unfurl. He took two cautious steps backward as Wee William spun, looking for him.

“Now, Wee William,” Duncan said, holding his hand up, unable to quash his smile. Aye, Wee William was very much in love, but he was having a harder time dealing with it than most men.

“I’ve had enough of yer mouth, ye little shite! I will no’ be shavin’ me beard fer
any
woman! I am merely concerned fer her health!” He took a step forward and Duncan took one back. “I’ll no’ be buildin’ a wee cottage,” Wee William said as he took another step. “I’ll no be courtin’ any woman. I’ll no be shavin’ me beard and I’ll no’ be gettin’ married!”

“Why the hell no’?” Duncan could not help but ask the question.

“It be none of yer bloody business! All ye need to ken is that I be no’ the marryin’ sort! Now leave me the bloody hell alone!”

Wee William turned away from Duncan and stomped off toward the loch. Duncan was more than confused as to why Wee William had grown so angry over the friendly needling they’d been doling out. He’d known Wee William for years and had never known him to be unable to take a little needling from time to time. There could be many reasons why Wee William was so angry, but Duncan couldn’t think of any that made sense. The woman had gotten to him, that much was certain. But why was Wee William fighting the inevitable? It made no sense.

W
ee William had done his best to stay away from Nora’s bedside.

After his argument with Duncan, he had stripped off his battle gear and jumped in the loch for a nice long bath. After that, he had taken a horse out for a very long ride across MacDougall lands and did not return until after the evening meal.

He had tried to concentrate on inane things, such as battles and politics. He recited the alphabet in Gaelic, English, Latin and French. He attempted to add large sums of numbers in his head. He tried to remember faerie tales from his childhood and poetry he’d learned when he was older.

When that didn’t work, he thought of his brief stay in France during his fifteenth year. He thought of fishing, hunting bear, and tavern fights. He tried to think of his parents, his six sisters, and his nieces and nephews.

None of it worked. No matter where he tried to focus his mind, it inevitably turned toward two women. The one who had broken his heart years ago and the one who had unknowingly stolen it days ago.

He had been just nine and ten when he’d fallen in love with a beautiful young lass named Ellen. She was a comely thing, only a year younger than he, with long blonde hair and big green eyes. Ellen had laughed at his jokes, seemed to listen intently as he spoke of the dreams he had, and occasionally she let him steal a kiss or two.

His friends had tried to warn him that Ellen was not what she seemed. But Wee William would not listen. He was completely besotted with her.

When the day arrived where he finally marshaled the courage to ask her to marry him, he shook like a leaf in the wind. He had taken her for a lovely picnic on a sunny spring day. She looked beautiful in her green dress, her hair billowing in the breeze. With trembling hands, he began to pour his heart out to her. He loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

She laughed in his face. Not at all what he had expected. “Me? Marry ye?” she asked between fits of laughter. “Are ye daft, William?” He could still hear her haughty laughter and to this very day, it still felt like a knife in his heart. “Nay, William, I will no’ marry ye. Ye’ve no money, no trade, no home of yer own!”

Ellen had made no attempt to soften the blows, offered no kind words to make him feel better. Nay, she had pulled his heart out and ground it into the hard earth. “I’ll no’ end up like me mum, married, bored, havin’ one bairn after another and never enough of anything to go around.”

He was dumbfounded and felt as though he’d just taken the worst beating of his life, but still, Ellen was not done breaking what little hope he had of recovering. “I doubt ye’ll ever find a woman dumb enough to marry ye, William! Look at ye! Yer as big as a barn and as dumb as an ox and no woman would want to have yer bairns fer fear they’d be born the size of a calf!”

She left him there, alone, on the side of the hill. Broken hearted and for the first time in his life, feeling unworthy. He was by no means dumb. Not only could he speak three languages, he could read and write in them as well. Aye, he
was
big, a bit on the skinny side back then. He had put on muscle and weight in the intervening years.

He had not shaved his beard since that day. He had promised himself he’d not shave it ever again.

It had taken time to get over the hurt. Though he no longer felt unworthy, he still carried a few deep seated doubts. He knew that most people took one look at his large stature and girth and immediately assumed he was dumb. They’d hear his thick Scottish brogue and think him uneducated. Women didn’t swoon at the sight of him, like they often did with Rowan, Black Richard, and Duncan before he was married. Nay, most women took one look at him and turned in the opposite direction.