Highland Vow (20 page)

“Angel, will ye wed with me?” he asked, biting back a grin as she angrily pushed her tousled hair out of her face and glared at her widely grinning father.

“Fither, I willnae allow ye to force him,” Elspeth said, although she did think that Cormac looked a little too happy for a man who was being forced to do something he did not wish to do.

“I am nay forcing the lad,” Balfour said, “and who is the laird here, eh?” He looked at Cormac. “The lass says aye. Introduce me to your kin then.”

“Fither!” When her mother stepped up beside her and calmly brushed off her skirts as she lowered them, Elspeth said, “Can ye nay stop him?”

“Any other father would have either killed the lad or dragged him before a priest two months ago,” Maldie said as she nodded a greeting to each new Armstrong she was introduced to. “A handsome lot, these Armstrongs.”

“I dinnae want him forced to marry me,” Elspeth muttered, hoping that, despite her distraction, she would be able to recall the names of all the handsome young men who stepped forward to kiss her hand.

“Lass, do ye think the mon was crawling to our gates just to tell ye that it was nice to see ye again?”

Before she could respond to that sarcasm, Cormac brought a young boy and a plump older woman to stand before her. Shock pushed aside every thought and concern from her mind. One look was all that was needed to know that this was Cormac’s son. Cormac had told her that there were no ghosts, that Isabel was gone, but he had lied. Her ghost rested there in the perfect features of the son she had given Cormac.

“This is my son, Christopher, and his nurse, Agnes,” Cormac said, not surprised to hear Sir Balfour softly curse, although hearing Lady Maldie do the same did startle him a little.

It was not easy but, refusing to make the innocent boy pay in even the smallest way
for the sins of his parents, Elspeth greeted him and then Agnes with all the charm and courtesy she could drag out of herself. Agnes gave her an approving smile, but her gray eyes were sharp as they studied her face and those of her family. Christopher was sweet, obviously shy, and well mannered, making it easy for Elspeth to keep control of her emotions. She straightened up and looked at Cormac, pleased to see that he had the good sense to be uneasy.

“Christopher and I are still coming to ken each other,” Cormac said, holding Elspeth’s gaze with his own.

“Aye,” said Christopher. “Papa met me but two months ago. I lived with Nurse Agnes till then.”

God bless you, Christopher
, Cormac thought as he watched some of the anger leave Elspeth and her family, their scowls and tense stances easing a little. A small frown touched the full mouth he ached to kiss. As long as the child was near, however, he could not give Elspeth the fuller explanation needed to soothe away those very unkind thoughts she was so clearly having about him. A moment later, he decided, yet again, that Nurse Agnes was a very wise woman.

“Come, lad. We shall go to the keep.” Agnes looked at Maldie, bobbed a curtsy, and said, “If that is acceptable, m’lady.”

“Of course,” replied Maldie. “Go right along, all of you. Ye will be shown where to freshen yourselves, where ye can sleep, and anything else ye may wish. We will be along in a minute.”

The moment Agnes, Christopher, and the others with Cormac walked away, Elspeth demanded, “Isabel?”

“Aye. She kept him hidden from me for all of his seven years. If ye can recall, we once puzzled o’er her apparent barrenness. Weel, she wasnae barren. From what she said, Christopher is here simply because she couldnae rid her body of him as she had the others.” He nodded when both Elspeth and her mother gasped in horror. “I ne’er had the heart to ask if any of those others were mine, too.”

“So when she kenned she was going to die, she finally told ye about the child?” Elspeth asked.

“Nay, I think she would have gone to her grave with her secret, but she thought she had finally found a use for the boy. She said she would give him to me if I helped her get free. She said that, if I didnae, I would ne’er see my son alive. God help me, I might have done it just to get the boy, e’en though I wondered if she was lying yet again.”

Elspeth could tell by the look on his face that he was still very angry about that. “But ye didnae do it.”

“Nay, I was saved from making that choice by the keen eyes and wits of Sir Ranald. He had been watching Isabel since the death of her third husband, and so he kenned about the child despite how rarely Isabel went to see her own son. The moment she was captured, I think he suspected how she would try to use the boy and brought him to me.” Although it was evident that Elspeth was no longer angry, he was not sure what she thought or felt and did not want to ask while her family stood there.

“Come,” Maldie said as she slipped her arm through Cormac’s. “We will join the others now.”

“Does Christopher ken the truth about Isabel?” Elspeth asked as she fell into step on the other side of Cormac, her hands clenched into tight fists at her side as she resisted
the strong urge to touch him.

“As much as a child that young can,” replied Cormac. “He called her Lady Isabel and actually seemed pleased that he could go with me and ne’er have to see her again. Both Agnes and I have told him that she is dead and why, although we ne’er told him exactly what crimes she had committed. He sometimes mentions her in his bedtime prayers, but otherwise, ne’er asks of her or speaks of her. To Christopher, Agnes is his mother, and Lady Isabel is the woman who made him verra unhappy during her rare visits.”

“’Tis verra sad, but in this case that may be for the best,” said Maldie. “Be grateful that he was blessed with Agnes.”

While her mother asked Cormac questions about Christopher, obviously trying to see if there were any wounds of the heart or spirit that might need tending, Elspeth tried to decide how she felt about it all. She felt no anger or dislike of the child, knew she would have no trouble loving him as all children deserved and needed to be loved. What she was not sure of was what Cormac felt about it all. Men often felt something for the mother of their child, and considering what Cormac had always felt for Isabel, such a bond should be even greater. Yet she sensed little more than disgust and anger in him whenever he mentioned Isabel. It was hard to believe he could have changed toward the woman so completely. Somehow she was going to have to get him to talk about it.

There was no doubt in her mind that she would soon be married to Cormac. Her father wanted it and Cormac appeared to want it as well. Part of her was elated, yet another part was deeply afraid. She would be married to the father of her child, to the mate of her heart and soul, to the man who could make her burn with just a look. There would be no more lonely nights, no more aching for his touch or the sound of his voice. Her fear was bred of the fact that he had not openly chosen her over Isabel, that he had come to her only after Isabel was dead. Despite the gifts, the sweet words, and even his grand gesture in front of Donncoill’s gates, she did not know what was in his heart. It was just another thing they needed to talk about. Cormac might be telling the truth when he said there were no more ghosts inside of him, but Elspeth suddenly realized that she had a few.

By the time the evening meal was done, Elspeth realized that she was not going to have a chance to talk to Cormac until after they were married. The wedding was to be held in three days and she suspected that Cormac was going to be heartily sick of her family’s company by then. Everyone was friendly and annoyingly cheerful, but she quickly saw how one or more of the men in her family constantly and closely shadowed Cormac. Someone also shadowed her at all times. The longest time she was able to stand alone with Cormac was barely long enough to ask him how he fared before Payton and her brother Connor arrived to lead him away. Elspeth cursed, leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, and glared at the crowded hall, most especially her family.

“They willnae allow ye two within feet of each other until ye kneel afore that priest,” Cormac’s brother William said as he slouched against the wall on her right.

“In three days ye will have him all to yourself,” said his brother Dougal as he slouched against the wall on her left. “’Tisnae so verra long.”

“Mayhap I wish to speak privately with the mon my fither is dragging to the altar,” she said, her glare doing nothing to vanquish their identical looks of amusement.

“Now, lass,” said William, “does our brother look verra troubled by all of this?
Why did ye think he came here?”

“And just mayhap it isnae the
why
of his arrival that troubles me. Mayhap ’tis the
when
.”

“The
when
?”

“Aye,
after
Isabel is dead and gone.”

“Ah,” William murmured as he watched her walk away. “So that is the way of it.”

“Do ye think we should warn Cormac?” asked Dougal.

“Warn our brother the idiot who let that bonny lass leave his bed? Our brother who, in three short days, will be curled up between the sheets with a lass who, in his own words, has a voice that could melt rock? Our brother who could revel in the love and passion of that wee lass with but the muttering of a few sweet words?” He looked at Dougal and cocked one brow.

“Ye are right. The bastard is already too cursed lucky for words. Let him figure it out for himself.”

Cormac watched Elspeth leave the great hall and sighed. Her father was obviously willing to forgive and forget. He should be grateful and he was. Her family was welcoming him with open arms, and considering all he had done, he knew he was very fortunate in that. In three days he would be married to Elspeth; he would be able to love her and hold her close throughout the night. He should be in the chapel on his knees thanking God for that. However, her family, smiling and friendly as they were, clearly meant to keep him and Elspeth completely separated for every hour of the day and night between now and the wedding. It was going to be a very long three days.

“And just where might ye be going, lass?”

Elspeth squeaked in alarm and stumbled as her mother’s voice came sharply to her through the shadows. She struggled to think of something to allay the suspicion she could see on her mother’s face when she turned toward her. The way her mother stood in the doorway of her bedchamber—her arms crossed and one small, slippered foot tapping—made Elspeth feel like a small child caught out in some mischief again.

“I was feeling a wee bit hungry,” Elspeth said.

“Ah, I see,” her mother murmured. “It must be the excitement of your wedding on the morrow that has caused ye such a strange confusion.”

“What confusion?”

“The confusion that has ye tiptoeing in the wrong direction in the verra keep ye grew up in.” Maldie shook her head when her daughter blushed; then she grabbed Elspeth by the arm and tugged her into the room. “I have some food in here.”

“I just wished to speak with him,” Elspeth muttered as her mother dragged her into a small room just off her bedchamber and pushed her into a seat before a small table. “Dinnae ye think he and I should talk a little ere we are set before a priest?” she asked, looking over the selection of bread, cheese, fruit, and tarts on the table and helping herself to an apple tart.

“Do ye mean to tell him about the child?” Maldie asked.

Elspeth choked on her tart, but then winced as her mother slapped her on the back a little too sharply before handing her a soothing glass of wine. “How long have ye kenned the truth?” she finally rasped.

Maldie shook her head again and sat down opposite Elspeth. “I guessed it shortly after ye came home. I kenned it for certain a few weeks later. Elspeth, my child, did ye really think I wouldnae see it?”

“Nay,” she said, a little disgusted with herself. “In truth, I didnae think on it too often except to mark when my first menses didnae arrive when it should and then my second didnae, either. Then I would fret a while o’er how to tell ye and Fither and what would happen. Then there would be a few visions of Fither dragging a gaunt, still grieving Cormac from the shrine he had built to Isabel and forcing him to kneel with me afore a priest.” She was not surprised to hear her mother badly stifle a giggle, for it was a truly preposterous imagining. “Then I would be right back to trying verra hard not to think of the mon at all. And if I couldnae think of the mon, I couldnae let my thoughts dwell on the child I carried, either, could I?”

“Of course not. Weel, were ye going to tell Cormac about the child?”

“Nay, that wasnae my plan. I just wished to talk to him. We didnae get to say much ere he was surrounded by my kinsmen. Somehow I thought talking to him might ease some of my concerns. I dinnae feel all that sure that Isabel is truly gone from our lives.”

“Because of the boy?”

“A wee bit. If I can see his mother in him, surely Cormac can as weel. And I dinnae ken if I should worry on that or nay.”

“The woman treated the child most unkindly and I believe Cormac kens that, if nay the how of it. One thing she seemed most fond of doing was complaining about how he didnae have the grace to die like the others.” Maldie nodded, her expression grim, when Elspeth gasped in shock. “I dinnae think the woman beat the child or hurt him physically,
aside from being to quick to slap, but what little I have found out indicates that she did her best to make him feel unloved, unwanted, and mayhap, unloveable. Agnes told me that once, shortly after the lad turned six, Lady Isabel arrived while the boy was finishing his bath. Nothing happened, and Agnes feels nothing e’er did, for she kept a close guard, but something in the way Isabel looked at the child and insisted upon drying him made Agnes sick with fear for the boy. I did hear a rumor or two at court that said Lady Isabel liked the verra young lads, the beardless boys who hadnae yet had a woman.” Maldie shrugged. “Still, I can sense no deep scars in the boy, although there are some wounds. He will need a lot of nurturing.”

“Are ye saying that I should set aside my own concerns for the sake of that poor, sad boy?”

“I am saying that, aye. Sort out your troubles, for an unhappy union will do the lad no good at all. Now isnae the time, however. And to be quite blunt, child, ye will still be wed on the morrow no matter how much ye grumble. Your father is adament and Cormac seems just as set on the business. Ye carry the mon’s child. He has brought his son to you and clearly wishes the three of ye to be a family. And there is wee Alan to consider as weel. There is also the fact that ye love that mon, and if ye are as much like me as I suspect ye are, ye will ne’er love anyone else as completely, as deeply, or as passionately. Dinnae toss it all aside because ye fear a dead woman or fret o’er a vow made by a lad of little more than sixteen.”

Elspeth saw no point in relating any more of her concerns. Her mother had made her position quite clear and her final words made Elspeth feel as if she was being foolish or weak. As Elspeth ate, they talked about who was going to attend the wedding in the morning. Then her mother escorted her back to her bedchamber and left her there with a kiss on the cheek that silently offered encouragement.

Her mother’s words were still haunting Elspeth in the morning as she slipped away to the nursery to visit with little Alan and Christopher. She knew it would soon be too chaotic to do so, for with her family would come a great many children. Christopher sat on the floor, piling up blocks for Alan to knock down, smiling when the tiny boy giggled madly as the blocks tumbled loudly to the floor. Christopher had taken to Alan very quickly and Elspeth wondered if he felt some bond with the child, who had been so cruelly cast aside. Agnes gave her a brief smile and a wink as Elspeth sat down with the boys; then she returned to sewing a little shirt for Alan.

“He does enjoy that,” Elspeth murmured as Alan knocked another pile of blocks over, giggled merrily, and then crawled over to sit in her lap.

“He is a good bairn,” Christopher said, briefly and shyly touching Alan’s dark curls. “His mother didnae have much heart, either, just like mine. I will let him ken that it isnae his fault that she didnae keep him.”

“And I think ’tis advice he will heed much more closely if it comes from you.”

“He will come to live with us, willnae he?”

Elspeth had the feeling that Christopher would fight her with every possible weapon a clever child of seven could muster if she said nay. “Aye, that was my plan. I think your father will allow it.”

“Oh, aye.” Christopher gave her a smile that made her heart ache because it so strongly resembled his father’s. “He told me all about wee Alan. He said he missed the bairn almost as much as he missed you. He said he missed waking up and hearing the
bairn sucking on his toes and babbling at the cat. Muddy is a verra good cat,” Christopher added, glancing toward Muddy, who was sprawled near Alan’s crib, watching them all closely.

Flung into a mixture of delight and confusion over what Christopher had told her his father had said, Elspeth took a moment to gather her wits before she said, “He is. A verra good cat indeed. Now, lad”—she looked right at Christopher—“I came to ask ye if it is acceptable to ye that I marry your father.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Agnes nod with approval and Elspeth wondered why that should make her feel so absurdly pleased.

“Aye, Lady Elspeth,” Christopher replied, his pretty face solemn. “I asked my father if ye had a heart and he said ye had a verra big one. I can see that he was right. He also said he hopes ye will let him back in.”

“Just between us, laddie, I ne’er cast him out. I just got a wee bit angry, and I will tell ye true: He still has some explaining to do.”

Christopher nodded. “Ye want to ken that ye are in his heart, too.”

“Aye, my bonny boy, that I do.”
Or at least know that someone else is not still lurking there
, she mused.

For a little while longer, she played with the children; then she started to leave. Agnes rose and walked her to just outside the nursery door. It was clear that Agnes wanted to say something, and Elspeth tried to wait patiently for the woman to begin.

“Young Sir Cormac is a good mon, m’lady,” Agnes finally said. “The moment that bi—her ladyship’s secret was uncovered, he took on the care of his laddie. He and that lot of handsome kinsmen of his filled my wee cottage near to bursting, but it did my bairn more good than I can say. Ye see, he was finally accepted. The only one of his blood he had kenned of before they all arrived—weel, she made it verra clear that he wasnae wanted. Those big lads treated him like one of their own, teasing him, playing with him, and sometimes teaching him things I had to box their ears for.”

It was hard, but Elspeth bit back a smile at the image of Agnes sternly ruling over a small horde of full-grown Armstrong men. Although Agnes was Christopher’s nurse, it was clear she meant to mother the whole lot. Elspeth wondered if any of the Armstrongs understood that yet.

“What I am trying to say, m’lady, is that all the lad needs is to be accepted,” Agnes continued, “to have himself a true home.”

“I will have nay trouble doing that,” Elspeth assured her.

“I ken it, and when done with my rambling, I was going to bless ye for it. And ’tis good of ye to keep that wee bairn. Christopher has grown most fond of the bonny wee lad.”

“Oh, aye, ’tis easy to see. But they have a bond, dinnae they? They were both cast aside and both had unnatural mothers who wished them dead and gone.”

Agnes shook her head. “I ken it happens, but I have ne’er understood it or been able to forgive it. Weel, ye had best go and prepare for the wedding. I have said all I meant to say. I just wished to thank ye for giving the poor lad a home.”

“Ah, Agnes,” Elspeth kissed the older woman’s cheek and then started to walk back to her bedchamber. “Christopher has always had that because God blessed him and gave him you.”

The moment Elspeth entered her bedchamber she was set upon by her cousins
Avery, Bega and little Gillyanne, as well as her sister Morna and several maids. Elspeth protested at so much help, but she was ruthlessly ignored. She was undressed, bathed, and dressed, and her hair was washed, brushed dry, and decorated with bright green ribbons. By the time they were done and she was left alone with just Avery and young Gillyanne, Elspeth was exhausted, but she had to admit that she felt pretty. The green of her gown suited her. Thinking that was a little vain, she blushed.

“Blushing?” teased her cousin Avery, who looked particularly catlike as she stretched on Elspeth’s bed, her golden eyes alight with laughter. “Dinnae tell me ye have forgotten what to do?”

“Young ears,” Elspeth muttered, glancing at Gillyanne, who promised to be as beautiful as her elder sister Sorcha.

Gillyanne snorted indelicately. “Nay that young. Nay with brothers and cousins like mine.”

“Just why have the two of ye lingered here?” Elspeth nervously toyed with a lock of her hair.

“Gillyanne is to hold the wedding cup and I am to make sure that ye dinnae trip on your gown and fall on your face,” Avery answered cheerfully. “And we wished to visit, though ’twill be a short one, for Gillyanne and I are soon off to France to visit my cousins.”

“Truly? I am surprised Aunt Bethia will allow it.”

“I think she feels she has near to caged the lass since what happened to Sorcha. We hope to be gone ere she grows too fretful again and snatches Gilly back.”

“Is Sorcha to be here, too?”

“Nay,” Gilly replied. “She couldnae leave the convent on such short notice, but she vows to attend you when ye have your first bairn.” Gilly laughed when Elspeth instinctively rested her hand on her stomach. “Aye, she said that she doubted it would be verra long before ye sent her word that a bairn was due.”

“Wretched brat,” Elspeth teased, then took a deep breath to steady herself. “Weel, let us go and get this o’er with.”

“Such romance,” drawled Avery as she scrambled off the bed with a grace Elspeth envied. “He is a bonny lad, Cousin, and I think he is most eager to claim you. And, his son is verra sweet.”

“When did ye meet Christopher?” she asked as they started out of her room.

“Late last night. We arrived after ye had already retreated to your chambers. Between the journey and meeting so many bonny Armstrongs, I found that I couldnae sleep. I crept down to the kitchens, hoping to find some warm, spiced wine. Agnes was there feeding wee Alan some porridge and a sleepy Christopher was watching her verra carefully. She kindly made me some hot, spiced wine and we all had a nice visit as I drank it.” Avery winked at Elspeth as they entered the great hall. “Agnes wants your first bairn to be a lass. She says there are already too many male Armstrongs.” Looking at the crowd gathered in the great hall, Avery laughed softly. “She may be right.”

Elspeth smiled in reply to Avery’s good humor, but her attention was on Cormac. He stood with her father, talking quietly to the young priest. The way his tall, lean body looked in the black and silver doublet and hose he wore made her insides ache. Off to his side were several of his brothers and young Christopher, dressed in plaids and crisp white shirts. Her father still looked tall and fit in his equally black doublet and hose and Elspeth
smiled faintly as she recalled how often her mother had tried and failed to get her
big brown mon
to wear anything colorful. To her father’s side were her brothers Connor, Ewan, and Liam all handsomely arrayed in their plaids. It was a sight, she mused, to linger in a young lass’s mind.

As if he sensed she was looking at him, Cormac turned. He searched her face intently, as if trying to judge what she was feeling. Then he smiled. Her breath caught in her throat and she heard both of her cousins sigh in appreciation.

It was an effort, but Elspeth inwardly pulled herself together. There was no stopping the marriage and she was not even sure she would do so if there was, but she and Cormac had a few problems to sort through yet. That would never happen if she let him addle her wits with smiles and warm looks. Even if the answers she got did not completely please her, Elspeth was determined not to begin their marriage with questions unanswered, explanations ungiven, and doubts unassuaged.