By God's Grace Page 19

  Duncan used his finger to place her hair behind her ear. “But really, I am as mad at myself as I am yer father.”

  “But why, Duncan? As you said, you were young. What could you have possibly done?”

  Duncan’s smile displayed sadness. “True enough, I couldn’t do anything when ye left, but I could have done plenty later on. To hide my hurt that ye didn’t come back to visit me, I pretended ye didn’t exist.” Longing for understanding, he gazed into her eyes. “Can ye forgive me?”

  Arbella wrapped her arms around her husband and whispered, “I will always forgive you. And, ’Uncan, I love you.”

  Duncan grinned and gave her a light squeeze. Lying down on the bed beside his wife, his arms wrapped around to offer solace, they both fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  A few days passed before Grant made the journey to town and paid a messenger to deliver the missives: one to the Cameron keep and one to the Sinclairs. After posting the letters, he halfheartedly returned to the Burns’s land. It wasn’t the happiest place to be.

  Lyall stayed in a closed room most of the day, staring into space. The regular inhabitants were ready for her to leave, but Grant feared traveling with the frail mistress across rugged terrain.

  While the populace fretted over Lyall’s leaving, they also speculated about the babe. At night the crazed mistress would sneak from her room, head to the family graveyard, and wail in a loud anguished voice. “Where’s my babe? Where’s my babe?” Then before the night was over, she would return to bed, falling back asleep as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

  At the same time as this maddening event, the mystery of Rab Burns’s murder continued. Alan believed the murderer to be Lyall. Grant couldn’t blame the lad for his suspicions. However, the new laird couldn’t accuse Lyall without some kind of proof. If this happened, Grant would be liable. And he wouldn’t upset Duncan without having good reason.

  When the keep door was reached, Grant went straight to check on Lyall. Bryce stood guard outside the door. His hand rubbed a large protruding blue and purple circle.

  Grant knitted his brow and asked, “What happened to ye?”

  Bryce wrinkled his nose. “What?”

  “Why have ye got a knot on yer head?”

  “Chamber pot.”

  “Now lad, don’t ye know a chamber pot is for yer opposite end?” Grant said, laughing.

  Bryce grabbed his head. “Oh, don’t laugh. The noise hurts my head something fierce.”

  Grant stopped. “What really happened to ye?”

  Bryce sighed. “I went in to take Lyall some food, and she threw the chamber pot at my head! I didn’t wish to drop her food. So the pot crashed into me.”

  Grant snickered. “Was it empty?”

  “Aye, thankfully.”

  If Lyall was throwing chamber pots at people for bringing her food, she must be getting worse. With a deep breath of preparation, he placed his hand on Lyall’s door and gave a slight shove, just as the door was jerked open.

  Lyall stood on the opposite side, facing their shocked expressions. Composed, she said, “Well, good afternoon, gentlemen. Can ye tell me when they serve the afternoon meal?”

  Grant stared at Bryce in awe. The mistress was up and dressed and asking about dinner? Was this a good sign or a bad sign? They were uncertain.

  Bryce answered, “They should be serving now, Mistress Lyall.”

  “Oh, thank ye, Bryce. Sorry I hit ye earlier,” she said in passing while sauntering down the hallway.

  She rounded the corner, her head bobbing back and forth while she whistled a happy tune. They took a long moment, staring at one another, astonishment lighting their faces.

  Grant shuddered. “I believe we should follow her.”

  Bryce nodded. Grant took the first step. Behind him, Bryce followed obediently. The young man fidgeted, then blurted, “Grant, I wish to go home.”

  Grant stopped mid-stride in the abandoned hallway and shifted to face the younger man. “I wish to go home as well, but we must wait until Lyall is well enough to travel. If we are out on the road, and she runs off, then it might take us longer.”

  Bryce’s head shook. “Nay, Grant, ye don’t understand. I don’t want to return to the Sinclair keep.”

  “Ye don’t?”

  “Nay. I wish to return to Cameron lands. I want to go home to the fields and me sheep. Ye and I both know I will never be a Highland warrior.”

  “Mayhap with more training. Ye know we haven’t had much time to—” Grant trailed on, but Bryce interrupted him.

  “Grant, I don’t wish to disappoint ye, ye being the future Cameron Laird and all, but we both know I will never be a warrior of the quality ye need.”

  “But, Bryce, ye are built like a giant!”

  A tinge of red ran across Bryce’s cheeks as he laughed. “Aye, God made me big, but meek. Half the time I’m afraid of my own shadow.”

  “Is this why ye like Crissy?”

  Bryce’s face took on a brighter red. “Aye, for what the lass lacks in physical strength, she more than makes up for with her whip of a tongue.”

  Both men guffawed while remembering what a spitfire Crissy was.

  Grant clasped a hand on Bryce’s arm. “As much as I will miss yer presence, I understand yer longing to get back to Cameron lands. I am feeling a draw toward them myself.”

  “Come with me.”

  “Nay, Bryce, not yet. I must return Lyall to Duncan. Then find Duncan a suitable replacement for his guard before I can leave. I owe Cainneach that much.”

  Bryce added wistfully, “Then ye will come home?”

  “Aye, I will come home,” said Grant, spirits instantly lifting.

  ****

  Lyall had been arguing with Sori for days. The part of a grieving daughter had been played long enough. Sori, on the other hand, felt Lyall’s performance was lacking. Today Lyall was adamant. She would no longer wait around in this room. Sori, who wanted her to stay put, had thrown the chamber pot at Bryce, but Lyall wasn’t going to let the young man’s injury detour her plans.

  Walking toward the main hall and the food, the smells wafting up the stairs caused her palate to salivate. All this pretending to be an invalid had left her hungry for some decent food. The servants had been feeding her a weak, meat-flavored broth since the game began. So many pounds had been lost during these last few weeks; her dresses would all have to be taken in.

  Just passed the corner, Lyall heard voices. Grant and Bryce were talking about Bryce’s lack of skills and his desire to go home and be a sheep farmer or some such nonsense. The boy was one of the largest men Lyall had ever seen, and he wanted to waste his power on herding sheep! The fool probably also wanted a wife and some whiny, bratty children running around, pestering him constantly.

  That line of thought reminded Lyall of her own daughter. Unable to search for her babe during the day, she took to roaming outside around the countryside at night. Every night was the same, looking for the babe or the midwife who had taken her. No one had seen a midwife the day of her arrival. Even the servant, who Sori had sent to fetch the midwife, had mysteriously disappeared.

  Lyall closed her mind to the drifting thoughts and focused on Grant and Bryce’s conversation. When Bryce mentioned he wasn’t much of a warrior, Lyall felt a stirring in the pit of her stomach. This could only mean one thing — Sori was in the process of forming another plan. As she hurried to dinner, she wondered if she would ever get a break.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Weeks and then months of happily wedded bliss had passed by. Duncan’s anxiety about Grant and the others grew. A missive was sent to the Burns’s keep, in hopes of discovering the time of Grant’s return.

  Instead of worrying and waiting for information, Duncan was in the lists with the keep’s squires. Today the group was running through basic sword fighting skills. As he twirled this way and that to avoid Boyd’s sword while the young squires watched, he began to reflect on A
rbella.

  In the first couple of weeks of their marriage, Duncan had gone to the stables, saddled Damon, and went riding outside the keep walls. Doing this had always made him feel closer to the land. A big part of him enjoyed the power felt when sitting astride Damon. Damon was a horse, which in another time might have belonged to an emperor or a king. The animal was of the finest quality. Cainneach had brought the beast home after his travels and presented him to Duncan as a gift.

  On this particular day of riding he noticed a strange flash of light coming from the glen. This was a spot that the keep guards wouldn’t be able to see from their posts. At a snail’s pace, Duncan dismounted and slunk behind a rocky outcropping. Back placed to the rock, he crept around the side. Dagger withdrawn and held high in front of him, all his muscles tensed in anticipation of impending danger.

  Not wishing to give himself away to the intruder who might be lurking on the other side, he waited in the hiding position. Then there was the sound of dry leaves crunching as the intruder moved. As he listened, the crunching became closer and closer. Crouched in a lunged position, Duncan readied himself. The toe of a shoe protruded around the rock. As more of the person came past the hiding spot, he leaped, grasping the person by the neck and slamming a soft flexible back hard into his chest, strategically pointing the dagger at the bared throat.

  Blood pumped and roared with a vengeance between his ears. The noise kept him from hearing the captive’s words. After time his heart slowed, and his vision cleared, and some things began to become obvious. The captive held within his grasp was short, had a lot of hair, and screamed at him.

  “Duncan, what are you doing?”

  “Arbella?” strangled past his constricted throat.

  A whiff of her unique scent wafted up his nostrils. The dagger fell from his hands and bounced along the dry ground. Duncan backed up against the rock to keep himself from falling. He could have killed her. What was she doing here? Then he saw it. The blanket spread upon the ground, the ale, and the food. Clearly Arbella had been expecting him. Right?

  Her hand rested upon her throat, moving back and forth in a soothing motion. All color drained from her face, leaving the flesh pale. “Duncan, what are you doing here? Filib wasn’t supposed to send you for another hour. And what was that,” her finger trembled as she pointed to the dagger laying on the ground, “all about?”

  Duncan gulped deeply and said, “I could have killed ye.”

  “I don’t understand. Didn’t Filib tell you to come out here, that I had a surprise for you?”

  “Nay, he did not.”

  It was a miracle he’d discovered her identity before slitting her throat. Arbella frowned. The lass must’ve realized Duncan thought she was an intruder, for without warning, her legs crumpled. Duncan caught her in mid-fall and carried her to the coverlet spread upon the ground.

  Upon the cover together, they made love. The action was fast and desperate. All the fears of what could have happened shone forth. When they finished, Duncan covered them in his plaid and held her tight.

  After a time they ate their meal, then headed back to the keep. Filib was waiting for them, desperate with worry. He’d been worried because he couldn’t find Duncan to tell him of Arbella’s plan, and he’d been afraid to leave and search for either of them. When he noticed Damon missing, Filib hoped Duncan would find Arbella on his own.

  Whoosh went the air from the sword as it swung mere inches from his sucked-in stomach. Boyd’s eyebrow rose. Duncan rarely let his cousin get so close during practice. Obviously he was distracted.

  “Ye really should pay more attention, cousin. Ye don’t wish to set a bad example for the young lads.”

  Duncan came toward Boyd, causing him to raise his sword in defense. “Much better,” said Boyd, as if Duncan’s attack was nothing.

  As he pursued Boyd around the practice field, his mind wondered to other pleasurable times with his wife. Arbella had been insatiable. She seemed determined to christen any and every space inside the keep and out.

  A few days after the encounter near the glen, Duncan had gone to the stables to saddle Damon when he noticed Filib was absent from his post. As he walked toward Damon’s stall, he noticed all the horses were missing. The closer and closer he got to his destination, a jolly humming was heard. Duncan thought, When I get through with this person, they won’t be very jolly.

  Upon entering the stall, Duncan was intent on giving a tongue-lashing to whomever was available. Who was this person to remove all his horses? It didn’t matter if they were responsible or not, they would receive the brunt of his wrath. But instead of delivering the prepared speech about speaking to the laird of a keep before removing their horses, he was caught staring dumbfounded at the most beautiful sight.

  Arbella was bent over a blanket arranging a type of mattress. At the moment, she was oblivious to another presence in the room. If he hadn’t recognized the bum, Duncan would have left the stall; but since this particular bum clearly belonged to him, he had no intentions of leaving. Instead the stall was closed, locking him in the freshly cleaned stall with his wife.

  The new mistress of the Sinclair keep muttered under her breath. Arbella leaned over while working on her project, causing her hair to fall forward across her face. Sweetly the locks were pushed behind her ear. Duncan couldn’t figure out what she was up to. Had she posted guards on the stable doors to protect her person? If she had, then he’d not seen them.

  Leaning against the side of the stall, Duncan watched. Had Fletcher Sinclair not loved his horses enough to ensure they were treated well, Arbella’s little feat wouldn’t have been possible.

  When the bedding was arranged to her satisfaction, Arbella flung her body around to a sitting position. The movement caused the wayward hair to fall forward. With a blowing sigh, the strands were pushed aside. This must have been when she noticed she wasn’t alone, for a scream punctuated the air.

  Duncan, initially scared speechless by the scream, dropped to his knees and covered her mouth with his own. At first she fought, kicking, hitting, and pushing him away, but as realization hit as to who was kissing her, she melted against him wrapping her arms up and around his neck, snuggling into his arms.

  They were breathless before Duncan pulled back. Forehead touching, Arbella sucked in air. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “About what?”

  A light punch landed against his arm. “About what? You scared me to death.”

  Duncan surveyed the set-up. Ale, goblets, cheese, and bread, plus hay arranged as a mattress graced the area. “What are ye doing in here like this?” His hand fluttered to indicate the room.

  Cheeks displayed a rosy hue while her shoulder shrugged in nonchalance. “We hadn’t initiated the stables yet, and Filib told me he was to empty them out and clean them today. So it seemed like a good opportunity.”

  Duncan laughed, leaning toward her. A kiss was planted on her neck; cool air blown on the moisture left behind caused a shiver. “How long do we have?”

  “Not long enough,” replied Arbella as Duncan nibbled on her ear.

  “Then let’s get started.”

  “Duncan!” Boyd shouted, breaking through the revere.

  Duncan shook his head. “Aye?”

  “What is wrong with ye? I almost lobbed yer head clean off!”

  The young squires stared at them. Duncan must have done something terrifying. Their eyes were wide with horror.

  Duncan glanced at Boyd. “Sorry, I’m a bit distracted.”

  Sword lowered to his side, he turned and walked away.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Arbella paced the room like a caged animal. Why did she feel so strange, edgy, and tight? Her breasts were tender, and she was throwing up every morning. And that accursed flow she normally experienced had been absent for almost three months.

  A cheery, happy person by nature, she tried to forgive everyone, not only the tiny mishaps, but the big ones as well. But just this morning, sh
e’d snapped at Duncan for no reason.

  Noticing how pale she looked in the mornings, especially when she tried to get up and do things on an empty stomach, he’d gone downstairs to the kitchen and had the cook prepare a tray of food. He tiptoed in, trying not to wake her, and placed the tray on a table. Ever so quietly he came and sat on the bed, brushing her hair off her sweaty cheeks and rubbing his knuckles across her cheekbone.

  As she woke, her arms rose overhead in a stretch. Eyelids fluttered open as she muttered, “Good morning, Duncan.”

  “Aye, it is a good morning,” his eyes twinkled with hidden secrets.

  With a spring, he’d jumped off the bed and grabbed the tray. Arbella sat up in the bed. When he returned, he placed the tray on her lap. As the tray moved through the air, the smell of the food drifted toward her nose. She grabbed her mouth to hold the bile threatening to spew forth. There was no time to remove the tray. Instead she jumped from the bed, pulled open their bedroom door, and sprinted down the hall to the garderobe. Duncan was left sighing in her wake.

  When she had jumped, the tray arced through the air and flung its contents all over the bed, floor, and part of the wall. Duncan would have to clean up the mess. By the time she returned, he had placed the ruined items back on the tray and was headed down the hallway toward the kitchen, almost running into Arbella.

  Nose pinched against the smell, she asked, “Duncan, how could you?”

  Arbella ran to their shared quarters and slammed the door, weeping aloud. Falling to the bed, large tears had flowed.

  Now after some time had passed, she felt better. This morning’s incident didn’t seem quite as important. Arbella walked to the bed. It was still damp from earlier. She needed to find Duncan and apologize. He’d tried to do a nice thing. She didn’t know why her stomach was so rebellious against food at the moment. Maybe Tamara would know?