Highland Vow (22 page)

“I just wish ye could have decided all this
before
ye heard her confession and could have come to me
before
she was dead.”

“I wish I could have, too, angel mine,” he said softly, brushing light kisses over her face. “All I can do is swear to ye that I was already seeing the truth about her, looking clearly at all that had passed between her and me, and beginning to feel that I had trapped myself with that cursed pledge. I couldnae talk away the doubt any longer. After ye left, I was angry with Isabel for making such a mess of it all then disappearing, but I longed for you. Lying alone in that bed, I wasnae thinking of Isabel, but aching for you. I e’en realized that ye and I had made love more often during our short time together than Isabel and I had in all the years I had kenned her. By the time I joined the Douglases in hearing the woman’s confession, I kenned it was done, over, but I couldnae get those words out of my mouth. That would be admitting that I was a complete fool, that I had wasted all of those years.

“There was simply nothing left. I felt no jealousy as I heard her loudly rut with Sir Kenneth. I felt only anger and disgust when I heard her and her lover talk of the murders they had committed already and the ones they planned. I cannae e’en begin to describe what I felt when I discovered she had hidden my child from me and now tried to use the lad to bring me to heel.”

“He is a verra good lad,” Elspeth said, smoothing her hand over his broad chest and savoring the feel of his warm skin.

“I do see a hint of Isabel in his face, but it doesnae move me.”

“I was a wee bit concerned about that,” she confessed. “And ye need nay fear that I would e’er blame him for his mother’s crimes.”

Cormac framed her small face with his hands and gently turned it up to his. “I ken that. My only fear in bringing him to you was that ye might see him as proof of some lingering bond between Isabel and me. There is none. There hasnae been since I first looked into your eyes at Sir Colin’s. Forgive me for being too stubborn and blind to see what was in my own heart, for being afraid to admit that I had been wrong and had been played for the fool for so verra long. I hurt ye for the sake of a woman who wasnae fit to clean your wee slippers.

“Ye gave me so much, Elspeth. Aye, and I fed on it like some greedy bairn, yet gave nothing back. Ye gave me my life back,” he whispered and touched a reverent kiss
against her mouth.

“That old debt has been verra weel paid for,” Elspeth said, nearly moved to tears by the sweetness in his gentle kiss.

“I dinnae mean the time ye found me bleeding into your father’s dirt. Ye saved me from Isabel. With each touch, each kiss, ye pushed her out of my foolish, stubborn heart. Ye showed me what loving was meant to be and it revealed the ugliness of my relationship with Isabel. She was sent to the gallows, but in truth, she was dead to me ere she climbed the ladder to the gallows, ere I watched her executed.”

“Ye watched her die?” Despite her feelings about the woman, and Cormac’s long affair with her, Elspeth found some small hint of sympathy in her heart for all that Cormac had endured.

He nodded. “I wanted to for Christopher’s sake. Someday he might ask about her. And when it became clear that all of her kinsmen had deserted her, I also saw to her burial. I was a witness against her, as weel. That is why I didnae come for ye for so long. I had to see it all through till the end.”

“’Tis best. Ye needed to see that it was really finished.”

“So, answer me this, my heart: Have I destroyed all ye felt for me?”

“Nay,” she replied softly, knowing that she owed him the same amount of honesty he had given her, even if he had not said the three little words she so hungered for. “The words I spat out that day were but words born of my anger and pain. I did try, ye ken. As I watched the days slip by, I tried verra hard to kill all feeling for you. ’Tis just that I didnae want to hurt anymore. I tried even harder when Payton brought the news about Isabel, for that made me feel a flicker of hope that ye might yet turn to me, and I feared I was weak enough to allow myself to be your second choice. Nothing worked. Ye are set deep in my heart and soul, Cormac Armstrong. I couldnae push ye out. Aye, I still love ye.”

Cormac held her tightly, feeling such a strong sense of relief he shuddered from the force of it. “Ah, lass, I was so afraid that I had done more than ye could forgive, that I had killed your love, and now ye could ne’er return mine.”

It took Elspeth a moment to understand the import of his words. “Ye love me?” she asked, her voice softened by shock as she pulled away just far enough to see his face clearly.

“Of course. I have told ye so.”

“Ye
never
, not once, have said that ye love me.”

“What did ye think all those notes I sent to ye were saying?”

“They didnae say that ye loved me. If ye dinnae believe me, I shall get them and show them to you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him grin, so she sent him a stern frown. ‘What are ye grinning about?”

“Ye saved my notes.”

“The backs werenae written on. I thought I could use them for my own scribblings.” Her sarcasm took the smile from his face, but she could see it lingering in his eyes. “Believe me, Cormac, not one of them carries the words
I love ye, Elspeth
. I believe I would have noticed that.”

He pulled her close and licked the hollow by her right ear, delighting in the shiver of desire that rippled through her slim body. “Yet again, I ask your forgiveness. I poured my heart into those notes. Foolish, but I think I felt ye would be able to read it there, even
if I wasnae verra direct.” He kissed her after each word as he said, loud and clear, “I love ye, Lady Elspeth Armstrong.”

For a little while, Elspeth gave herself over to his intoxicating kisses. His touch was even more thrilling to her now that she knew there was love as well as passion behind each caress. When he covered her breasts with his hands, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples until they were hard and aching, she decided that she had to put a halt to the sensuous play. It was time to tell him her secret. She soon discovered that freeing herself from the hold of an amorous Cormac was not easy. Finally, she pinched the tender skin beneath his arm. He cursed and rubbed the spot, allowing her the chance to wriggle out from under him and sit up.

“What was that for?” he asked, frowning at her and suddenly afraid that he had heard only what he wanted to hear, that everything was not all right yet.

“I need to tell ye something and ye were distracting me,” Elspeth said.

“’Tis our wedding night. I am supposed to distract you until neither of us has the strength to walk.” He reached for her.

Elspeth lightly slapped his hands away. “Ye can do that in a moment.”

That sounded hopeful, but Cormac still felt uneasy. Elspeth looked a little nervous about what she was about to tell him. When she had left him she had been hurt, angry, and undoubtedly feeling that she had somehow failed as a woman or as a lover. He knew all too well the sort of doubts one could wrestle with when believing oneself set aside for another. Had she turned to someone else for comfort? Elspeth was a passionate woman. It was all too easy to envision what form that comfort might take. Cormac clenched his hands into tight fists, discovering that the mere thought of another man holding his Elspeth stirred more anger, jealousy, and hurt inside of him than Isabel ever had. Elspeth had thought herself cast aside and Cormac knew he had no right to complain about what she might have done during that time. He desperately wanted to be understanding, but he knew, in his heart, that it would be the hardest thing he had ever done. He also knew that she had better not tell him the name of her lover, not if she had any affection for the man. He would, without hesitation, kill the fool, and that would certainly not help his marriage get off to a very good start.

“Ye are looking verra fierce, Cormac,” Elspeth said, a little startled by the hard expression on his face. “It isnae a bad secret.”

“Dinnae pay any heed to me,” he said, struggling for an even tone of voice and knowing by her increasingly wary look that he was failing. “’Tis just that I have had a bellyful of secrets, none of them good, and the mere hint of one now sets my teeth on edge.”

“Ah, of course. I dinnae usually keep secrets, Cormac, and have no intention of doing so with ye. At least, not any that concern the two of us. My family—the younger ones—might need one kept from time to time. I would have told ye this sooner, but just as I didnae want ye to come to me simply because ye couldnae have Isabel or because ye felt honor bound to wed the virgin ye had bedded, neither did I wish ye to come to me because of this.”

“Elspeth, just spit it out.”

She blinked in surprise at his curt tone, then admitted to herself that she had been babbling a little bit. Elspeth took a deep breath and, in as calm a voice as she could muster, said, “I am nearly three months gone with your child.” When all the tension left
his body and he flopped on his back, laughing softly, she frowned. “Of all the reactions I imagined ye having to this news, I must confess that that wasnae one of them. I rather hoped ye would be pleased,” she added, cursing the tremor of tears in her voice.

“Oh, angel, I am, but if ye kenned what I had imagined your secret was…” He chuckled and shook his head.

“Just what did ye think I was going to say?”

“That ye had taken a lover whilst we were apart.”

Cormac heard her gasp of outrage and grabbed hold of her when she started to get out of bed. He grunted under the pummeling she gave him until he got her firmly pinned beneath his body. The extent of her outrage only cheered him more. Here was a woman who obviously believed in fidelity, saw it as a matter of honor.

“How could ye think that of me?” she asked, a sense of insult and hurt pushing aside her anger.

“Nay for any of the insulting reasons ye are thinking. I hurt you and, as far as ye kenned, had set ye aside for another. Ye are a passionate woman, Elspeth. I but feared ye might have blindly sought some comfort and it had become something more. I was telling myself that I had no right to object and that I would be understanding.”

He said those last words as if they were going to choke him, and Elspeth grinned. “Was it working?”

Cormac sighed and rested his forehead against hers. “Nay. I was hoping ye wouldnae tell me the mon’s name, for I would surely kill him.”

She touched a kiss to his lips. “There were a few nights when the aching was so sharp I did wonder on the easing of it.”

“I ken that feeling all too weel.” He grinned when her eyes narrowed. “I endured—alone. Verra, verra alone.”

“So did I, for I kenned it would but ease it for a few moments.” She reached up to stroke his cheek. “And what of our bairn?”

He knelt between her legs, kissed her still flat stomach, then rested his hand there as he looked at her. “I am too full of joy to give ye any fine words, angel mine.”

“Those are fine enough.”

“Does your mother ken?”

“Aye, and she sees naught wrong with me.” When he placed his hands on her hips, stretching his thumbs out across the space in between, Elspeth sat up and kissed him. “I am made in my mother’s image, my heart, and look at the brood she produced. My family is bursting with women who have a skill in healing and they will all be there.”

Cormac closed his eyes and held her close, finding comfort in her words, but knowing that comfort would not last long and would have to be repeated often. “I love ye, Elspeth.”

“And I love ye,” she whispered and kissed him. “Now, didnae ye say something about distracting me until neither of us could walk?”

Cormac laughed and tumbled her back down on the bed.

“Push. That’s the lass. Push hard.”

Elspeth lifted her sweat-soaked head from the pillow and glared at her mother. “I
am
pushing.”

“I can see the head, lass,” Agnes said and patted Elspeth’s upraised knee. “He is almost out.”

“I cannae understand why it should take so cursed long,” Elspeth panted. “’Tisnae as if he has verra far to go.” She faintly heard Agnes, her mother, and Sorcha laugh even as she obeyed her body’s and the women’s commands to push.

Sorcha wiped the sweat from Elspeth’s face with a cool cloth. “Ye will be done soon, Cousin. I ken ye dinnae think so just now, but ye have been blessed with an easy birth.”

“Easy?” Elspeth rasped.

“Aye. For one thing, ye still have the wit to talk.”

“Oh, aye? Then bring Cormac here. There are a few things I should like to say to him.”

The laughter of the women was the last thing Elspeth heard before the demands of her body grasped hold of all of her strength and attention. Soft voices, encouraging words, and her own unattractive grunting were the only things she heard. Then, suddenly, there was an overwhelming pain and she screamed.

It was only when the pain ceased that Elspeth began to slowly become aware of herself and everything around her again. Her body ached and she realized with a start that it was all over. Then, just as her weary mind noted the silence and her fears mounted, she heard the wail of a child.

“My bairn?” Her voice was so hoarse she barely recognized it.

“Alive,” said her mother. “Agnes is cleaning the bairn and Sorcha and I will now clean you.”

“But…”

“In a moment ye and the beautiful new life ye created will meet. Ye waited nine months. Ye can wait a few more minutes until the both of ye are cleaned up.”

Elspeth resigned herself to waiting, although she tried hard to get a look at Agnes and the child she held. Sorcha and her mother were swift and efficient, rolling her back and forth on the bed as they changed the linen, sponging her down, tidying her hair, and getting her dressed in a fresh night rail. Elspeth began to feel as much an infant as the one she had just birthed. She did feel better, however, by the time they had her propped up against an array of pillows and set her child in her arms. Elspeth noted with approval that Agnes did not swaddle the baby too tightly even as the woman slowly unwrapped the child.

“Ten wee fingers, ten wee toes, and no…” Elspeth’s eyes widened. “’Tis a lass.”

Agnes could not hide her delight. “Aye, a lass. A wee, bonny lass with your black hair. Oh, she is so verra bonny.”

With her mother’s subtle aid, Elspeth gave suckle to her child. There was not much milk yet, but the brief nursing would help bring it forth and teach her child where her food was to be found. It hurt a little but her mother had warned her about that, so Elspeth concentrated on the joy of holding her first child.

“Did ye want a lad?” asked Sorcha.

“Nay, I just expected one,” replied Elspeth. “Between the Murrays and the Armstrongs there is a surfeit of laddies born.” She smiled at Agnes. “We all ken what ye have prayed for these last months. Best ye go and fetch Cormac.”

“Let me take the bairn, lass,” Agnes said, reaching for the child. “Cormac will bring her back to you, but if she is shown about, however briefly, then ye willnae have the whole lot of them stomping up here to have a peek.”

Agnes left, cooing to the baby every step of the way. After a little more fussing and a few kisses, her mother and Sorcha left as well. Elspeth yawned and hoped Cormac did not take long to come to see her or she would be sound asleep.

Cormac tensed when he saw Agnes enter the great hall. He had leapt to his feet when Elspeth’s scream had echoed through the halls, but his brothers had finally wrestled him back into his seat. Since then, there had been silence, and each painfully long minute spent without sound or word of Elspeth had increased his fears. As Agnes approached him, he told himself that she would not look so cheerful if anything was wrong with Elspeth, but his fear refused to heed that wisdom.

“Elspeth?” he croaked when Agnes stopped by his chair.

“Fine,” replied Agnes. “Just weary. Ye would ne’er ken it to look at her, but she is made to give ye many bairns.”

“She screamed.”

“Aye. So would ye if ye were pushing this out of your body.” Agnes slowly unwrapped the child and held it lower so that Cormac could see clearly. “See? Lots of black hair, ten wee fingers, and ten wee toes, and no pintle!”

“A lass. We had a lass.” Cormac touched the baby’s soft hair with one unsteady finger, then watched his child disappear into a circle of his three sisters and Agnes.

Dougal frowned at the four cooing women. “Agnes is a wee bit too pleased at the lack of a certain appendage on your bairn.”

Cormac laughed shakily, downed the last of his ale, and stood up. “Agnes, can I see Elspeth now?”

“Aye.” She wrapped the baby back up and set her in Cormac’s arms, ignoring his look of alarm. “Take the wee lass back to her mother,” she said as she tugged him away from his kin and pulled him toward the door. “Lad, your wee wife had an easy birth though ’twas her first and ’tis clear the two of ye are a fertile mix. Though Elspeth seems formed to breed, too many bairns too fast isnae good for any woman. ’Twill nay surprise ye, considering whose servant I was, but I ken a few ways ye can slow the growth of your family.”

He kissed Agnes on the cheek. “So does Lady Maldie. She spoke to us as weel. I want bairns, but I need Elspeth. Children are a blessing I will always welcome, but Elspeth—weel, Elspeth is my life. I willnae waste her life on a birthing bed.” He warily eyed the tiny baby he held. “Are ye sure I willnae drop her?”

“I am sure. Now, I will go and tell Christopher and wee Alan the good news. Ye go and see your wife ere she falls asleep.”

Elspeth blinked when she felt the bed move. She realized she had fallen asleep and opened her eyes to see Cormac at her side. When he smiled at her and set their daughter in her arms, she felt some small part of her relax. The look on his face told her that he did
not mind at all that she had not borne him a son.

“Agnes is beside herself with joy,” he said and brushed a kiss over her smiling lips. “So are my sisters.”

“This has evened the numbers a wee bit,” Elspeth said.

“Are ye all right?” He sat beside her, eased his arm around her shoulders, and gently tucked her up against his side.

“Just verra tired and a little sore.” Elspeth looked down at their sleeping child. “But she is worth every twinge.”

Cormac stroked the baby’s cheek with one long finger. “Aye, she is. She is worth all the agony and fear I have suffered through these last hours, too. I was torn between staying in the hall and praying until I was hoarse and running up here to be at your side, as if I could help in some way.”

“I am glad ye stayed in the hall. Birthing is a messy, immodest business. And”—she grinned up at him—“a few times I had the strong urge to call ye a lot of verra unpleasant names.” She laughed with him.

“Weel, do we call her Keira or Ilsabeth?”

“Ilsabeth.”

He kissed the child’s soft cheek. “Welcome, Ilsabeth Armstrong.”

“If I ken men, our kinsmen are down there celebrating as if they did all the work. Ye can join them. I dinnae mind.”

“Nay, I will stay and celebrate with you.”

“I think ye will soon be doing nay more than watching me sleep.”

Cormac put his hand beneath her chin and turned her face up to his, kissing her tenderly. “’Tis all I need. I celebrate each time I see you, each time I hear ye speak, each time I touch you. Ye are my heart, my soul, the verra breath I need to live. I love ye, Elspeth Armstrong, my wee green-eyed angel. I vow I shall love ye until I am but dust in the ground.”

“And I vow I do love ye, Cormac.” She smiled sleepily against his mouth as he lightly kissed her. “And shall. Longer.”

“Is that a challenge I hear?”

“Aye, I believe it is. Care to meet it?”

“With all my heart, angel. With all my heart.”