Authors: Felicia Rogers
By God's Grace (10 page)
“My, that lass is getting fat!”
“Aye, ye have that right. Every week she brings in the same dresses and says, âA little around the middle, please'. Why if I didna know it was impossible, I would believe the gel was expectin'.”
The whole group reared back their heads and roared with laughter. They couldn't think of one man in his right mind who would take Lyall for a lover. Oh, she was beautiful enough on the outside, but the ugly on the inside overwhelmed everything else.
“Can ye see a man taking her to bed?”
“Nay, I canna, but if he tried, I am sure she would have something to say.”
“Aye, for starters she would tell him he wasna doing it right.”
“Aye, and she would be sure to complain about proportions.”
The ladies went on and on with comments that they were sure Lyall would use in the bedroom. Rhona was engaged to be married soon, and the discussions were making her uncomfortable.
Raising her arms over her head, she stood and stretched. “I think I will head to the kitchen for some refreshment. Would any of ye ladies like anything?”
Rhona spent several minutes remembering the list and then took off toward the kitchen. As she trotted away, the older ladies were saying, “We probably embarrassed the poor lass. She doesna have any idea what she is in for. That gel needs a talkin' to before she gets hitched.”
Rhona continued to the kitchen as the seamstresses talked over the details to share with her in her new state of coming maturity. As she moved forward at a decent pace, she heard a light tapping. “It must be a mouse,” she mumbled.
Tap, pause, tap, pause, rapped the seamstress's knuckles. Her lips twitched with mirth, as she started walking away. The women would think her daft for sure.
Tap, pause, tap, pause.
Her face scrunched in concentration. Since when can a mouse tap out a rhythm? Mind drifting, Rhona had a memory of an old dirt cellar being somewhere in this area. It had been closed up when a newer, larger cellar was constructed. The door had been sealed, hadn't it? Someone couldn't have gotten inside and become trapped, could they?
Cold with fear, Rhona used her fingertips to feel the wall. It was here somewhere. It took her forever to find the door and even longer to figure out how to open it. The whole time she worked, the tapping grew fainter and fainter.
The door opened, Rhona edged around the corner, and looked inside. She whispered, “Is anyone there?”
Darkness was all Rhona could see as she peered around the cellar. Nothing of consequence. She shook her head at being such a silly nit. Of course, no one was inside. The door was locked tighter than a drum.
Pulling the door to, a shocked scream escaped her throat. A hand fell forward! The shriek carried throughout the keep.
Backing up to the opposite wall, she slid down. Deep gulping breaths of air were sucked into her lungs. Her hand rested against her fluttering heart as it beat a wild tattoo in her chest. It took several minutes to calm down. Once the roaring in her head subsided, a faint whisper of “help” was heard. And then silence.
****
Someone screamed. Duncan ran, legs pumping as they flew across the floor. Upon arrival, he was face-to-face with a shrieking villager. The lass kept making noises and pointing in the direction of the wall.
Duncan walked up to the girl and shook her. “Get ahold of yerself, and tell me what is wrong with ye.”
Rhona pointed at the open door and squeaked. “Ha-ha-hand!”
Duncan glanced downward and saw a hand. It was attached to an arm, and the arm was protruding from the dark room. Facing the trembling lass, he said, “Quickly, get a torch!”
On shaky legs the girl obeyed, running back down the hall and coming back with a lit candle. Duncan ripped it from her hand like a drowning man. By this time, more men had arrived, having been alerted by the scream.
“What is it, Duncan? Is it Arbella?” asked Grant.
“I don't know. And I don't know whether to hope it is her or not.” Having uttered those words, Duncan leaned into the room and found Arbella in a prone position. From the dim light, he couldn't tell if she was breathing. A primitive roar filled the hall.
The candle was thrust back to Grant. Duncan edged into the room and picked up Arbella. Holding her close to his body, he hoped to feel her heartbeat, her breath, anything to indicate she was still alive. With a quick step he carried Arbella to the bedroom and placed her lifeless form next to Tamara. He fell to his knees in prayer.
At the end of the request, Arbella's body rattled as she accepted a deep breath of air into her lungs. For a while it seemed as if she struggled to get every breath. Duncan's concern increased. Just as he contemplated a life alone, Arbella's breath took on a more stable pattern.
He thanked God for watching over her, then turned to Bryce, who was still in the room. “Remain here. Stand beside these ladies with sword ready. I will return.”
“But, but, my laird, Iâ¦
“Ye what, Bryce?”
Head bowed, he said, “Aye, my laird, as ye wish.”
Duncan left the room. Increasing his speed, he headed to the kitchen. Before he reached his destination, Lyall appeared.
An odd look settled upon her face. One long, silky lock of hair was wrapped around her finger and twisted. One shoulder lifted in a type of half shrug as she spoke. “I am verra sorry to hear the lass is missin'.”
“Are ye?”
“Well, of course I am. It was obvious ye felt some affection for the gel from the way ye put her in the keep.” Her hand rose and fell over his heart before she continued, “I'm certain there is at least one lady out there who in time could attain yer affections.”
“Ye think so, do ye? And just who might that lady be?”
“Duncan, don't play daft with me. Ye know I wish to fill the empty place in yer heart. I always have. Ye will forget her in time. I promise to help ye accomplish such a mission.”
Duncan removed Lyall's hand. “I appreciate yer concern for my heart, but there is no empty place.”
“How can that be? I heard Arbella left ye.”
“Arbella is in her room and doing just fine. Ye heard wrong.”
When he finished speaking, Grant and a few others appeared behind Lyall. Duncan picked a man at random. “Ye take the mistress Lyall back to her quarters and stay with her.”
Lyall frowned. “What for? I do not wish to be taken to my rooms. I was going outside for some fresh air.”
Duncan scowled. “I am laird, and ye will do as I say.” Turning back to the selected Scot, he said, “Take Lyall to her rooms and do not allow her to leave until I tell ye otherwise.”
The Scot grasped Lyall about the waist and dragged her away. He grunted as flailing legs struck his shins and flailing arms struck his face, but his grip remained steadfast.
While disappearing around a corner, she yelled, “Duncan Sinclair, ye will regret this day. I swear it!”
Duncan and the men were alone. “Grant, ye and the others stand guard at Arbella's door until I return.”
Grant raised his blond eyebrow. “Not to be questioning my laird, but there are twenty men here. Don't ye think that is a bit much?”
Duncan sighed. “I guess it will have to do.”
Hands thrown up in mock surrender, Duncan retreated. His laughter echoed all the way to the kitchens.
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“Sori, how could he do this?” Lyall plopped in front of the looking glass. Hair mused, lips pursed, she pulled at her cheeks. “What is wrong with me?”
“There is nothing wrong with ye. Ye are perfect.”
With her chin cradled in her hand and her elbow resting on the table, Lyall stared at her reflection. “Well, I know I'm perfect, and ye know I'm perfect, but for some odd reason, Duncan doesna seem to know about my perfection.”
“Didna I say men were dimwitted? Canna get 'em to ask directions and canna get them to notice a beautiful woman, even when she's standing right in front of their faces.”
“Nay, I don't remember that conversation, but I remember ye saying they canna be trusted.”
“Then we should add dimwitted to the list.”
“I guess we'll have to.” Lyall sighed at the thought of adding something new to the already lengthy list.
“I guess I thought Duncan was different. Anyone who loves me so much must be different, right?”
Sori remained silent.
Lyall banged her hand upon the dressing table. “Why, Sori? Why, when I speak of Duncan and his feelings for me, do ye remain silent?”
Again no response.
Although Sori remained silent, the noise from inside alerted the guard. Soreness at the mistress's treatment of him came through in his voice as he asked, “Mistress, are ye all right?”
Lyall spun in her seat. The length of her wrinkled gown was smoothed by her fluttering hands. Irritated by the disturbance, Lyall replied in an aggravated tone, “Of course, I am all right. Why wouldn't I be?”
Perplexed, the guard scratched his head. “I thought I heard a noise.”
“A noise? I didna hear a thing.”
“I heard voices too.”
“Do ye see anyone here beside me? Nay, ye do not. So ye must be mistaken.”
With a shake of his head, the guard twisted on his heel and left. He glanced back one time, his full lips parted as if he considered arguing with her. But just as quickly he snapped them shut, for which she was pleased. If the man had spoken, she might have put a curse on him right then and there.
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Duncan retrieved the items from the kitchen and went back to Arbella's room. Grant and the others were dismissed and given directions to be suspicious of everyone until the suspected murderer was found. Bryce moved Tamara to her own bed before he was dismissed as well.
Duncan placed a water bowl on the floor beside the bed. Sitting down next to Arbella, he wet the rag and washed her face. Next he washed her hands. The poor things were raw and bloody where the lass had tapped on the wooden door in hopes of being rescued. With care, he cleaned them and applied an ointment and a loose bandage.
In her sleep, she struggled to get a deep breath. Duncan rolled her onto her side and removed her dress, leaving her shift in place. Once this was accomplished, her chest rose and fell with ease.
After cleaning her wounds, Duncan sat in front of the fire until the sun began its descent. Shedding his clothing, he wrapped himself in a plaid. Ensuring Arbella was under the covers, he lay beside her on top of the coverlet, scooting closer to her body in a spooning position. A deep pent-up sigh released as she relaxed against him. Muscles tense from the day, Duncan lay awake. Comfortable, he descended into a deep sleep.
****
Arbella stirred. Her eyes opened and she glanced around the room. It took a moment for her vision to adjust, but once it did, there was one thing she knew. She was no longer in the dark prison. Wrapped in a cocoon of warmth, she placed her arm overhead and proceeded with a languid stretch. Startled, she noticed an arm lying across her. The hairs on her neck stood on end, as a bloodcurdling scream left her lips.
****
Duncan, who had been resting by Arbella's side, sprang from the bed, ready to conquer whatever foe had entered. He stood beside the bed, legs spread wide apart, sword held high in his hands.
Wide-eyed, he shouted, “Arbella, what the devil is wrong?”
She shut her eyes, scrunching up her face. “Noth-noth-nothing.”
The bed sagged as Duncan returned to the bed. He urged, “Look at me.”
“Nay!” came her shouted answer.
Duncan frowned. Grasping her chin in his hand and attempting to will her eyes to open, he demanded, “What is wrong with ye? Look at me, Arbella.”
Like a tiny mouse, she answered, “Nay. I will not.”
Duncan's frustration mounted. Exasperation filled his voice. “Whyever not?”
A flabbergasted look appeared upon her beautiful visage. Her eyes popped opened and stared into his own. “Whyever not? How can you even say such a thing?”
“Now, was it so hard to look at me?”
An indescribable sound flowed from her throat as her eyes closed once more. Air rushed from between her teeth. “Have you looked at yourself. You're naked!”
Duncan glanced downward; a deep guttural laugh formed. With a shake of his head, he climbed off the bed, stood up, and grabbed his plaid and wrapped it around his middle. He was still securing the material in place when Grant and the other men burst through the door with swords drawn.
Arbella's eyes flew open as her mouth formed a shocked “O”. A rose-colored hue covered her cheeks as she sank down in the big bed and pulled a coverlet over her head.
Grant led the pack. Duncan studied what his guard saw. And it didn't look good. Here Arbella was trying to hide, and he was standing beside the bed redoing his plaid. Duncan ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
Grant's eyebrow rose in question. “My laird, we heard a scream.”
Duncan peered above him, avoiding eye contact. “Aye, Arbella had a fright.”
Some of the men standing behind Grant shuffled their feet from side to side, snickers restrained behind their hands.
From under the covers, Arbella mumbled, “I had a nightmare, but I am all right now, thank you.”
The men spun and headed out the door while Grant stayed behind and pulled Duncan aside. “My laird, what really happened?”
“None of yer business.”
“My laird, it is not for me to question what ye do with yer future bride⦔
Duncan interrupted, “I have done nothing with her.”
“My laird, I believe ye, but it doesna matter. The men are going to make a story to go with what they seen this day. Maybe if ye explain to me, I can explain it to them.”
Duncan sighed. “Grant, the truth is Arbella was under the coverlet. I was wearing my plaid and lying on top of the covers. My arm was draped across her. She awoke, saw my hand, and became frightened. When I jumped off the bed to get my sword, my plaid came loose. Besides, Tamara's door is open. Would I try anything with the door open?”
Both men heard a stifled groan. Their attempt at secrecy had been a complete failure. Grant was thoughtful. “I believe I can explain it. Then, of course, do some threatening on spreading rumors about their future mistress.”
Duncan shook his head. “Aye, let it be so.”
“Maybe ye should consider marryin' sooner rather than later,” Grant muttered as he bowed and left the room. Before the door closed, Grant looked at Duncan and gave a sly wink.
Shaking his head, Duncan walked back to the bed and lay back down beside Arbella. His arm was cast over her side once more as he dragged her back against his body. The covers had been taken off her head after the clicking of the closed door. She allowed him to get on the bed and throw his arm around her, but she stiffened when he attempted to pull her close. Regardless of her protests, he did so. His mouth buried against her neck. A chaste kiss was placed behind her right ear. Gruffly, “Go to sleep.”
Within moments, Arbella relaxed and fell asleep.