By God's Grace (6 page)

Jamus squinted in Grant's direction, then twisted back to Duncan with veiled mirth in his aged eyes. “Aye, I will try my best, my laird.”

“Ye see, men, he will try his best. Now get out there and keep the jilted ladies from storming the hall till I can rectify this situation.”

Grant and Bryce bowed low and exited the keep. Duncan knew they weren't entirely upset by the events. What man would be when just given the honor of comforting a large group of distressed but beautiful women?

When the commanders left, Duncan faced Jamus, happy to see the old man. However, anger at the circumstances that brought them together kept his back rigid and his tone dripping with irritation. “Jamus, what have ye done?”

Jamus shrugged. “I don't know. What have I done?”

“Ye know verra well what I mean,” said Duncan, his voice rising. “How could ye have placed Arbella in such danger?”

Jamus threw off the worried tone, righteous indignation taking over. “Ah, she was never in any danger.”

“Are ye jesting? She could have tripped and fallen down the mountain. She might have been trampled by a horse. What if wrestling were picked as one of the tournament events? Or throwing heavy stones, what then?”

“Duncan, Duncan, my boy, there is no reason for concern, for none of these events occurred. In fact the worst thing to happen was not during the tournament but after.”

“Humph. Don't ye blame this on me. I reacted on instinct. I didn't know if she was real or an imposter.”

“Oh, she is legitimate.”

“Where has she been all these years?” said Duncan, a tad breathless.

“Well, after Jameson passed, she went to stay with Jonas and Martha.”

“Why did no one in the clan take her? She was what? Thirteen?”

“Ye forget her father left the clan and married an English singer. Few ever forgave him for the slight.”

“I know the story well enough, but after her father died, why take her away from the clan?”

Jamus shrugged. “The men believed she was cursed. And before ye start arguing with me, let me say we did try, but no family was willing to risk the censure the poor gel would bring on their family. I was willing to take the lass, but Arbella wouldn't have it. It was her idea to go with Jonas. Jonas and Martha had no children of their own, and they lived close to England as crofters on someone else's land. They were far enough removed from the clan she wouldn't be bothered by taunts.” A brief pause ensued before he added, “I believe Jonas reminded the lass of Jameson.”

“Where is Jonas's wife? How come she didn't come with Arbella to the tournament?”

Jonas stroked his chin. “Quite frankly, she died as well.”

“When and how?” Duncan asked, his breath catching.

“Arbella was alone when we arrived on the farm. According to the lass, Jonas and Martha became ill some time back and perished.”

“Ye are telling me the lass was alone on the farm. How did she survive?”

“The garden was tilled, and there was a good amount of salted meat in the smokehouse.”

“Are ye saying she not only lived there alone, but she was running the farm as well?”

“Well not the whole farm, mind ye, but at least enough for one person to live on.”

Duncan mumbled. “So ye are saying little Arbella lost all her family, and ye brought her here to compete in the games so she could marry me?”

“Aye, this is what I am telling ye, and at this moment ye have yer future bride in the dungeon.”

Duncan stuttered as he left, “What have I done?”

 

 

Duncan sent the guard away and stood outside the cell door listening as Tamara warned Arbella about Lyall. It was a pleasant surprise to find the servants noticed his lack of interest toward his sister-in-law. When Arbella expressed doubts about her own beauty, he was a little shocked.

The door now open, he stared at her. The gown she wore was several sizes too small, emphasizing a waist so tiny he could grasp it in entirety. Roving his gaze over her frame, his breath caught as Arbella slumped. His hand reached forward, but he was too late. Quicker in reflexes, Tamara slid under Arbella in time to keep her head from slapping the cold stone floor.

“My laird, I believe the lady has swooned.”

Sighing, Duncan said, “I believe ye are correct.”

Tamara was pinned under skirts and Arbella's slight weight. Duncan walked toward them and hoisted Arbella into his arms like a rag doll. It was like carrying a feather. Why, one swift wind could carry the young lady away forever.

Cradling Arbella to him, his gaze roamed the length of her. The changes since last they met were beyond measure. Long, black lashes lay against pale, white cheeks. Freckles lay scattered across a delicately designed nose. Long, dark brown hair cascaded over his arm.

Her pale countenance sent his legs into double time. When his quarters were reached, he laid her upon the large feather bed. The lass sprawled — legs askew, arms flung wide. Straightening her into a more suitable position, Duncan left in search of nourishment. Tamara helped Arbella out of the tight-fitting gown and found a shift for her to wear, then once again settled her in the bed.

When Duncan arrived, he said, “Tamara, ye can leave, and I will watch the lass.”

Tamara hesitated before responding, “But my laird, it wouldn't be proper.”

Rubbing his stubbled jaw, he replied, “Ye are correct. Ye may stay for now.”

On the Sinclair plaid, she stretched out beside the big four-poster bed. The floor wasn't overly comfortable, but exhaustion caused her to fall asleep.

Duncan settled into a leather chair and stretched out his legs. It was going to be a long night. A glance at the pale figure lying in the bed made him wonder what he was thinking. The lass participated all day at the competition, then he had thrown her in the dungeon. Consumed by worry and fear, she may have neglected to eat or drink. Why had these thoughts not entered his mind earlier? Had he turned heartless?

Bent over holding his head, the sound of movement caught his ears. Arbella was stirring. Rising, he rushed to her side.

“Thirsty,” she croaked.

Duncan grabbed a cup of watered-down ale, dribbling a couple of drops on her parched lips.

“Thank you,” Arbella whispered.

“Ye are welcome.”

“I'm hungry.”

“Wait a moment, and I can get ye some broth.”

“Nay, I want biscuits and eggs.”

“Biscuits and eggs?”

“Aye, biscuits and eggs.”

Leaning in and crossing his arms, his lips twisted upward. The renewed spirit of the lass made his heart feel lighter. “And who do ye think is going to prepare this feast of biscuits and eggs?”

“I will.” Arbella went to stand, but as her feet hit the floor, her knees buckled. Duncan grabbed her upper arms. Her brown eyes met his. “Or not,” she said, crawling back into bed.

The lass shifted and wiggled. He grabbed the coverlet and pulled it up to her neck, tucking it around her. Stepping toward the door, he was halted when she asked, “Where are you going?”

“To get ye biscuits and eggs.”

“Are you going to cook it?”

Guffawing, he shook his head. “Nay, of course not.”

“So you will wake the cook then?”

“Aye.”

“I'll drink the broth.”

“Nay, the cook will be glad to feed ye.”

“Nay, please let the cook sleep. I can eat the broth. You shouldn't bite the hand that feeds you.”

Duncan shrugged and headed to the fireplace. He filled a bowl full of broth, retrieved a spoon, and sat beside the bed. The hot broth in the spoon, he started toward Arbella's mouth.

“What are you doing?”

“Feeding ye.”

Sitting straight, the coverlet fell to her waist. The large, thin shift hung from her frame, exposing a creamy white shoulder.

“I don't think that's necessary.”

“Well, I do. Now lay back, cover up, and let me feed ye.”

Settling back against the pillows, she pulled the covers up to her neck. “Are we alone?”

“Nay.”

“Who is with us?”

“Tamara is asleep beside ye.”

“Oh, because being alone with you would be, hmm…”

“Scandalous?”

“Aye, scandalous. But I have this feeling you enjoy being scandalous.”

He emitted a low chuckle. She closed her eyes, mouth opening to accept the broth when the spoon was near.

In between bites, Arbella talked. “Do you remember the last time you saw me?”

Duncan squirmed. In all honesty, the last time he saw her had been going through his head for most of the day. His silence on the matter must have led her to believe he didn't remember.

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she continued. “I guess not. I'm afraid I'm just not that memorable. But I remember it like it was yesterday. I was the tall, gangly, freckle-faced girl sitting on the sacks full of grain watching you. You were shirtless, and the sweat was glistening on your body in the sunlight. You were carrying sack after sack of grain and loading it on a wagon. You had just gotten into a good rhythm when a tall fair-haired woman sauntered out of the woods. She came up behind you, wrapped her arms around your middle, and snuggled against your back. Then she turned you around toward her face and gave you a most thorough kiss. She backed away and crooked her finger, as if she was urging you to follow. You just shook your head and went back to work.”

If Arbella had not kept opening her mouth for broth, he would have thought she was talking in her sleep, so still was her body.

After swallowing another spoonful she continued, “There were four more girls that day who did the same thing. I used to dream I was one of those girls until I realized you never left with any of them. Your labor was more important than what those girls offered you.”

The last words came out in a whisper. Her eyes opened and connected with his. “Why didn't you leave with them?”

Duncan knew exactly why he hadn't left with any of those ladies, but now was not the time to tell. With face downcast, he answered, “I don't know for sure.”

Almost as if talking to herself, she added, “I always wondered that. The last was more beautiful than the first, but you turned them all down.” Opening her eyes and looking at him in a serious manner she asked, “Duncan, what do you want in a wife?”

Duncan was floored by the switch in topics. Recovering, he answered, “Well, quite honestly, I have never thought about it until recently. When my father passed away about five years after your last visit, and my brother became laird, he gave me permission to leave and do my own living. I have spent quite a few years just being selfish, and I have never worried about my wife because I never planned on marryin'.”