Adrienne Basso (20 page)

The flutter in Fiona’s chest tightened. “He’s a busy man.”

“I know. And I applaud his tireless sense of duty. ’Tis but one of the many things I admire about him.” Aileen leaned down and plucked the top of a mint plant, crushing the fragrant leaves between her fingers. “Still, I know I can learn some things, if ye help me.”

Fiona forced back a wave of panic. “I don’t know what I can do.”

“Come now, dinnae be coy. Ye have been a guest here fer a few months. Ye must have learned something of his character. Of his likes and dislikes. Though I would prefer to hear them from his own lips, I am a practical woman. If the earl cannae spend time with me, then I must learn about him from others. After all, ’tis my duty as his wife to know how to please him.”

Merciful Lord, it hurt!
Fiona’s chest felt so tight it was difficult to breathe. She could not discuss Gavin’s likes and dislikes with his future bride. She could not!

“I am uncertain what you want of me.”

“Ye’re a widow. As a woman of experience, I was hoping that ye’d have some words of wisdom to impart. Advice that would aid me in becoming a good, proper wife.” Aileen brought the crushed mint leaves to her nose and sniffed. “My father says that a husband’s word is law, his will is implacable. A mere wife cannae force him to do anything. Do ye believe that to be true?”

“No,” Fiona answered honestly.

“Neither do I.” Aileen smiled. “I think with a clever approach, a wife can get her husband to do just about anything. I want ye to help me understand the right approach with the earl.”

Fiona lifted her head sharply. Was this a trap? A way to get her to acknowledge her relationship—
her past relationship
—with Gavin? But Aileen’s expression was open, honest. A facade? Or was she truly that young and naive?

“I fear I have little specific knowledge to impart. I am merely a guest here. The earl does not share his confidences with me, Aileen.”

“But he speaks so highly of ye. And with great fondness.”

“He was a good friend to my husband, and as such, has shown kindness toward me and my son.” Fiona’s throat nearly choked as she added, “Nothing more.”

Realizing she was frowning, Fiona turned away. Aimlessly, she bent down and plucked a weed from the row of sage. For whatever strange reason, Aileen was drawn to her and Fiona knew it would only be a matter of time before the younger woman learned the truth.

Hopefully, Fiona would be long gone when that occurred. But in the meantime she needed a new topic of conversation—quickly! “Tell me, Aileen, was your journey here an arduous one?”

“Not especially. But we did have a few adventures.”

“Really?”

“Oh, indeed.”

Fiona lifted her brow in obvious interest. It was the only encouragement Aileen needed to settle down on a stone bench and launch into her tale.

Fiona smiled with relief. In this instance Aileen was very much like any other young woman—she enjoyed talking about herself. With only the occasional prompt necessary, Fiona kept Aileen happily chattering, safely steering the topic away from the earl.

By the time the noon bell rang, Fiona was surprised to discover how quickly the time had passed. Aileen had a natural talent for storytelling and a wry sense of humor that was both refreshing and engaging.

“Will ye be joining us fer the meal?” Aileen asked, as the women moved from the garden.

“Alas, I have felt poorly these past few days and require rest,” Fiona replied with feigned regret. “I’ll eat some clear broth and bread later, if I feel better.”

“Oh. I am sorry to hear it.”

Aileen’s disappointment seemed genuine, but Fiona had little trouble ignoring it. Attending the midday meal in the great hall meant seeing Gavin, and that she vowed to avoid at any and all cost.

 

 

“She was asking for you again,” Alice said as she placed a tray of food in front of Fiona.

“Who?”

“Lady Aileen. She saw me with your meal and wanted to know if you were still feeling poorly or making some improvement.”

Fiona sighed. Since her encounter with Aileen yesterday morning, the young woman had been solicitous in her concern, inquiring several times through Alice if she could offer any aid or assistance.

“She has a kind heart,” Fiona exclaimed, guilt closing her throat so tightly she had difficulty swallowing a small piece of cheese.

“Well, Lady Aileen’s not the only one wanting to know how you are faring. The earl has been hounding me, too.”

Fiona washed the dryness from her throat with a long sip of wine, then pushed the food tray away. A longing that was too sharp to endure pierced her chest. It was pointless. Seeing Gavin again would open a wound that was still too raw to heal. She would save herself that anguish at least.

“Tell Lady Aileen that if she wishes, I will join her in the solar with my sewing for an hour this afternoon,” Fiona said.

“Are you certain?”

“No. Yet I realize I can’t hide in here forever. This seems the best compromise.”

Thus, later that afternoon Fiona and Aileen sat together in the airy solar, a respectable distance from the rest of the women, sewing in their laps. Had the situation not been so absurd, Fiona conceded she might have enjoyed herself—a fact that was an even greater puzzlement.

By rights she should dislike this young woman who would become Gavin’s wife. Yet on such very short acquaintance Aileen had managed to make Fiona like her, respect her, fear for her future—and yes, be jealous of her.

It was an intolerable situation, a hopeless predicament that would only end once she was gone. Aileen was her usual talkative self and Fiona was relieved to be spared the burden of having to make conversation. The time passed quickly and, having fulfilled her obligatory visit, Fiona began to gather her sewing items.

Laddie chose that moment to enter the solar. His floppy ears perked up the moment he spied her. With a happy yelp, the dog lumbered across the room, his tail wagging furiously.

“Och!” Aileen’s screech startled them all. “How did that filthy beast get in here?”

“’Tis not a beast,” Fiona said. “’Tis Laddie.”

“The earl allows his hounds the run of the castle?” Aileen asked in astonishment.

“Only the special ones.” Fiona reached into her pocket. She unwrapped the cloth from the soup bone she had Alice pilfer from the kitchen earlier in the morning. Laddie’s eyes brightened. He licked his chops and whimpered, quieting only when Fiona commanded that he sit. As a reward for performing his trick, Fiona tossed the bone at him.

Laddie caught it in midair, then sprawled out at Fiona’s feet and began gnawing at it with great gusto. Aileen leaned over cautiously and glared at him, her brow knit in confusion.

“Back home, our dogs are kept outside.”

“Yes, that is usually the case.”

Aileen drew closer, her expression curious. Laddie growled, pulling his bone closer with his two front paws.

“Laddie! Behave!” Fiona admonished.

“He’s very smart,” Aileen observed, apparently not insulted by the dog’s behavior.

“Laddie was the first friend I made when I came to stay here.”

“One does always appreciate a loyal companion,” Aileen agreed. “We dinnae allow our dogs inside, yet I can see the idea has merit.” Aileen wrinkled her nose. “Though I would have to insist they be clean.”

“Well, Laddie is not fond of a bath, but he’ll sit for one, if rewarded.”

“Hmm. I wonder if that approach would work with some of the earl’s retainers. I confess, Laddie is hardly the most foul-smelling creature in the castle. Thankfully the earl takes pride in a neat and clean appearance, though I’m sorry to say not all of his men follow his example.”

Fiona smiled at the truth of that observation. “Perhaps that is something you can establish.”

“A weekly bath fer his lordship’s men-at-arms?” Aileen’s eyes danced with amusement. “Mother Mary, can ye imagine how that demand would be met? They’d most likely toss me in the loch.”

“It might be worth it if you could pull a few of them in with you.”

“Aye. And toss some flakes of soap in fer good measure.”

Fiona giggled at the thought. “I confess, I never understood why some folks fear they will catch their death if they bathe too often.”

“’Tis a sad yet true problem.”

“For the rest of us.”

The two women let loose with a peal of laughter. But Fiona’s unexpected amusement vanished as quickly as it had come when Father Niall entered the solar, a purposeful expression on his face.

Hoping for some good news, Fiona bid Aileen a hasty good-bye and hurried toward the priest. He seemed genuinely shocked to see her engaged in such a companionable situation with Aileen. But his mind was on other matters and Fiona was relieved when he came quickly to the point of his visit.

“The arrangements are finally set,” he said in a low voice. “You leave tomorrow at dawn.”

Fiona had to concentrate on standing very still so as not to give any hint of her emotions. Father Niall’s words were a blessing, a comfort, precisely what she had been waiting to hear. However, Fiona was very surprised to discover that mingled with the great sense of relief was an unexpected twinge of regret.

Darkness, thick and silent, shrouded the great hall. Sounds of gentle, as well as loud, snoring could be heard as the others slumbered peacefully on their pallets. Holding her breath, Fiona tiptoed across the large chamber. She opened the heavy door slowly and slipped out, offering a silent prayer of thanks that no one had witnessed her departure.

The cool predawn air was bracing against her skin and she shivered. The full moon provided far more light than she expected, altering her to be even more cautious. Lifting the skirt of her gown, she hurried, carefully keeping herself close to the structures, to avoid being seen by the guards.

She paused to get her bearings when she reached the stable, but the distinct crunch of a footstep startled the wits out of her. Barely containing a shriek, Fiona flattened her back against the outer wall and waited.

The footsteps grew progressively louder and Fiona’s heart started beating so rapidly she swore the sound must be echoing throughout the courtyard. She restlessly shifted her feet and squinted into the moonlit darkness, trying to decide which way to run should someone appear.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the sound of footsteps disappeared. Cautiously, Fiona peered around the corner. Nothing. The bailey was deserted, with no sign of any guards or any other shadowy figures.

Run!
This was her chance and she needed to seize it. Yet instead Fiona went absolutely still. Oh, no. She had come too far to panic and lose her nerve now. Taking a deep breath, she counted slowly to ten, then nimbly dashed across the empty bailey to the chapel.

She was prepared to hear a shout of alarm, an order to halt, the sound of heavy footsteps in pursuit. Yet none came. Head and heart pounding, Fiona slipped through the church door, wishing there was a bolt so she could lock it behind her. She was flooded with relief, though she knew this was only the start of her journey—she still needed to get past the men guarding the gatehouse.

In anticipation of her arrival, Father Niall had lit two candles. The flickering light illuminated just enough of the darkness to enable Fiona to move about the room without knocking into things, yet was minimal enough to avoid attracting attention.

Fiona stepped gingerly forward. Nerves still unsteady, she felt the perspiration forming on her forehead and upper lip, while a few droplets trickled down her spine. As they had agreed, the priest was waiting for her, dozing peacefully on a wooden bench. She stood over him for a brief moment, marveling at his ability to sleep so contentedly on such a hard, uncomfortable surface.

“Father Niall!”

Her sharp whisper startled the priest. He bolted upright, almost knocking his head on her chin. “Lady Fiona, you are here.”

“Yes, at the appointed hour,” she replied unnecessarily.

The priest shifted on the bench and looked up, yet Fiona knew all too well his sleepy countenance belied the sharp perception of his stare. As recent as last night, he had tried, unsuccessfully, to dissuade her from taking this action, agreeing to offer her aid only after he realized she would not be deterred.

“I have your belongings,” he said, pointing beneath the bench.

She picked up the meager bundle of clothes she had packed and given to the priest to hide and slung it over her shoulder. She was taking only what she had brought with her, leaving behind the blue silk gown she had made from the luxurious fabric Gavin had bought for her at the fair, along with the glass vial of perfume. She had no use for these fine things where she was going and the memory of that happy day was a cruel reminder of what might have been, if the circumstances were different.

“I mustn’t tarry. Will you please summon Spencer?” Fiona asked.

Father Niall frowned. “Are you certain? The squires sleep in the great hall. I will endeavor to be careful, but I could be seen, and that puts you at a much greater risk of discovery.”

She nodded her head decisively. “I know, but I cannot ride through the gates until I’ve said good-bye and held my son one final time.”

The priest nodded reluctantly. Unable to sit, Fiona paced nervously, waiting with growing anxiety for Father Niall to return. She knew the priest was right. It
was
a calculated risk speaking with Spencer, but Fiona knew she would not be able to leave without saying farewell to him.

Spencer’s loyalty to the earl, indeed to all his newfound Scottish friends, was deep. She did not have the earl’s permission to leave his castle, yet even knowing this might put Spencer in a moral dilemma did not sway her resolve.

After what felt like an eternity, a yawning Spencer trooped sluggishly into the church, Father Niall’s guiding hand resting on the boy’s shoulder. He blinked groggily at her through the dim candlelight, surprise on his face. “Mother?”

“Hello, Spencer.” Fiona forced a smile. “I’m sorry to have awakened you so terribly early, but I’ve asked Father Niall to bring you here so that I might bid you a proper good-bye. I’m leaving this morning. Quite soon in fact. And I shall not be returning.”

The shock in his eyes brought a rush of unexpected tears to her. Uncertainty clawed at her, along with a strong sense of duty. Had she thoroughly considered how this would affect her child? Would he feel abandoned, deserted by her actions?

“Why are ye leaving?”

A fair question, yet impossible to answer with complete honesty. Squeezing her eyes shut, Fiona pressed her palm to her forehead. “I know this makes little sense to you, yet you must trust that I know what is best.”

“If you leave, then I must go with ye.”

Fiona’s throat tightened. ’Twas not only the loyal sentiment that moved her, but hearing him say
ye.
The Scottish influence she had hoped would be Spencer’s salvation was starting to engulf him.

“Oh, dearest. Nothing would make me happier than to have you by my side. But for now, ’tis best if you remain here and continue with your training.”

“Where are ye going?”

“Somewhere safe,” Fiona answered vaguely, knowing it was best if her son had no specific information. This way when Gavin pressed the boy for details, as he most assuredly would, Spencer could answer truthfully that he knew nothing.

“I have made the arrangements,” Father Niall added. “There’s no need to worry. All will be well.”

Spencer looked torn, glancing back and forth between them. Fiona’s chest tugged. She had to tell him more or else he would never accept her decision. But what could she say?

“I must be practical and go before I wear out my welcome,” she explained, her mouth curling in self-mockery. Offering to become the earl’s mistress had been the most impractical decision of her life. Yet it was far too late to undue that damage.

“Has the earl asked ye to leave?”

“Oh, no. He is too noble and chivalrous, but his kindness does not give me the right to take advantage of him. Do you understand?”

Fiona could tell by Spencer’s furrowed brow that he didn’t, but there was precious time left to say much else. Knowing she could no longer prolong the inevitable, Fiona reached for her son. Spencer suffered her tight hug and gentle cheek kiss with manly bravado, yet as she started to pull away, he grasped her tightly. The sweetness of his need melted her heart.

“I shall miss ye, Mother.”

In spite of her aching heart, Fiona could not help but smile. Spencer was a fine boy, with a true and loyal disposition. Her pride swelled as she pulled back and gazed at his dearly loved face. Oh, how she would miss him!

Unable to stop herself, Fiona reached for Spencer a second time. His arms also came forward and they hugged each other. For just a moment, Fiona caught a glimpse of the small boy who had always loved and admired her. The child she had raised as her own, who came to her when he was frightened, or hurt, or feeling ill. The child who needed her.

She wiped the tears pooling in her eyes with the back of her wrist and hesitated, her conscience battling with her protective mothering instincts. Was he too young to be left on his own? Should she swallow her pride, sacrifice the halves of a broken heart that would never have a chance to mend if she were near Gavin, and stay?

She clung to her son as long as she dared, until suddenly she felt his hand gently patting her shoulder, a clear offer of comfort. It was a bittersweet gesture, reminding her that he was maturing into a young man who understood and accepted his responsibilities. It also gave her the boost of courage she needed to accept the rightness of her decision.

They broke apart at the same moment. “When the time is right, I will send word through Father Niall,” Fiona promised, turning away before her resolve to leave failed.

“Wait here until I come back and tell you ’tis safe to return to the hall,” Father Niall instructed Spencer.

Then he turned to Fiona. She busied herself with her bundle of belongings, then looked at the ceiling to prevent any more tears from falling. The priest touched her arm, motioning for her to come. Side by side they walked across the bailey, which was slowly stirring to life.

There were a few people starting their morning chores, but none of them gave her a second glance. Still needing to avoid recognition, Fiona pulled the hood of her cloak high over her head and kept her face deliberately lowered. She stood a respectful distance away as the priest readied her horse, moving forward only after he signaled.

“Go with God,” the priest said kindly, as he hoisted her into the saddle.

Fiona nodded, unable to speak. The aching loneliness and longing that hung heavy within her heart was so near the surface she was certain she would burst into sobs if she spoke. She nudged her mount, taking up a position at the rear of the grain cart. The guard circled around the front; none seemed to take any notice of her and she realized Father Niall’s plan had been well thought out. She wondered how much he had paid them.

As they rode through the open gates, Fiona’s melancholy momentarily abated. Fear took hold. She was certain if any of the guards got a close look at her face, they would recognize her. She would be stopped, questioned. No doubt Gavin would be summoned and then . . . she couldn’t even begin to imagine what would happen next.

Fiona tried to take a deep breath, but her lungs felt tight. Bracing herself, she fought for calm. Her horse nickered and tossed his head and Fiona’s heart skipped. Visions of being stopped while the alarm was sounded spun before her eyes.

But luck or fate or justice was finally looking kindly upon her. Though it felt like an eternity, the guards never even gave her a glance as she went through the gates along with the cart and its escort. Noisily, they all rumbled down the road that wound through the village.

A thick mist enveloped them as they traveled through the village. When they emerged on the other side, dawn began to break, the distant horizon slowly brightening with an eerie pink glow. Gradually, a portion of the fog began to burn off and the sun began to move up in the sky. Fiona could now clearly see the breath from her horse’s nostrils waft into the air, as well as the road ahead.

She filled her lungs with fresh air and resisted the strong urge to push her mount into a gallop. Nay, though she longed to move with haste to increase the distance between herself and Gavin, Fiona knew it was necessary to keep pace with the slow-moving cart or else the men might start asking questions. Only the armed escort rode with any sense of urgency, keeping a fair distance ahead as they scouted for any signs of trouble.

Though she might wish to ride with them, Fiona was very aware that it was the soldiers leading the escort who posed the greatest risk of uncovering her true identity. It was therefore essential that she shield herself from their notice. Thus, she stayed near the heavily laden cart, doing her best to avoid the dust it stirred as it labored along the road.

It would be hours before she was missed; perhaps days before they thought to search for her along this route. As they dipped into a valley, the swirling mist once again shrouded their tracks. A good omen for the day of her leave-taking, Fiona decided.

If only the pain in her heart agreed.

 

 

Despite Father Niall’s best efforts and meticulous planning, Fiona’s departure did not go entirely unnoticed. Restless and unable to sleep, Aileen gave up trying and rose from her bed. ’Twas no use; no matter what position she twisted her body into, her mind would not remain quiet.

She could no longer deny that the future she had believed to be set was in truth unsettled. She had come to wed the earl with high expectations and an open heart, but these past few days she was filled with a nagging frustration she could not understand.

The earl was polite, yet distant. Kind, but distracted. She knew he was doing his duty in this marriage—as was she—but she had hoped there would be more. A sign that the union brought him at least a degree of contentment, a special look of admiration meant only for her, evidence of a growing affection that someday might blossom into love.

Was that really too much for a lass to ask of her future husband? Was she being foolish? Naive?

Her mind in a whirl, Aileen paced her small bedchamber. She needed air! Fearful of waking her maid, Aileen silently gathered her cloak around her shoulders to ward off the predawn chill and slipped from the room.

There were several startled expressions from the guards as she climbed the circular stone stairs to the curtain wall to watch the sunrise, but none challenged her right to be among them. The view from the tower was a sight to behold. Not only was the inner courtyard revealed, but the village below and the outline of the distant hills were also in plain sight. Seeing the vastness around her brought a calm to her nerves, along with a much needed sense of freedom.

Leaning forward on the parapets, Aileen looked down. The waning moonlight reflected off the water in the moat, its shimmering blackness offering an almost mesmerizing fascination. Turning her gaze to the inner courtyard below, she saw two figures leaving the chapel, walking with purpose toward the stables.