The Country Wife (3 page)

“Aye, if you’ve a wish to see me gone at morning light, I’ll ride on. I much appreciate the Highland hospitality so highly spoken of.” He lowered the bowl, his gaze still holding hers until she glanced away as if in embarrassment, but he sensed reluctance in her to speak frankly.

“It’s just that I’m fearful your presence will bring harm on our heads, and we’ve no one to protect us.”

“Where’s your man, woman?” he demanded, looking at her askance. “You don’t run this croft by yourself, do you?” Once again he dipped his spoon and gobbled down the stew while he regarded her solemnly.

“Whilst I was away, word came that my father passed but a few days ago.” She turned away just as a flush tinged her cheeks, but he’d seen it and something didn’t ring true to him. She did not lie well.

“What of your man, lass? The father of yon babe.”

“I-I…” She stammered to a halt.

She’d had no time to concoct a plausible tale, he guessed, and he wondered why she needed to make a story when the truth would surely be simpler.

“I can’t say,” she muttered, stalking back to the fire where she stood warming her hands. Her stiff back said plainly he had no call to question her when he himself had been evasive.

“Aye, we’re a pair,” he sighed and lay back against the soft heather stuffed mattress. His weary eyes studied the blackened beams above him as he imagined the security this humble dwelling offered its inhabitants. The lass seemed to have troubles of her own, and she was right to think first of her own family’s needs.

“Tomorrow, I’ll leave as you requested.” His voice faded away. He was safe here he thought, and he sank willingly into the dark warmth that claimed him. Vaguely, he heard the clatter of his bowl hitting the floor, but it no longer mattered to him.

The sound drew Lilli’s attention from her somber perusal of the fire. When she looked around, she saw that Callum MacAlister was sprawled in slumber, his heavy limbs burnished by the firelight, his dark mane falling across his wide brow. His lips had been narrowed with pain or grim with resolve, but now in slumber they were full and well molded, his jaw and nose strongly made. With his dark, intelligent eyes closed, his face held a gentleness he had not shown when awake. His demeanor was that of a warrior, but she sensed within him a possibility for tenderness.

Looking at him she thought again of Edward and Jane. How great their passion had been. She’d often wondered what brought a woman to such desire for a man that she’d give up her very life for him. Gazing at Callum, something stirred within her breast, and she looked away quickly. She had no understanding of the passions between a man and woman, and if she had the wish for such she would not choose a nobleman on which to place her heart and her life. She turned away and firmly dismissed such thoughts from her mind, but the strange fluttering of her heart continued.

Chapter Three

She was back in the hanging field, and Jane was weeping bitterly. The rain beat on their heads and drenched their woolen shawls. She had never been so cold. So cold she ached with it, and her body shivered as if with ague. She felt Jane’s frigid hands grasping hers in desperation, heard her strangled cries and knew they were in danger.

She must get them to safety, but where? Where was there protection for them now? Edward was dead, and Jane was clumsy in labor with his unborn child, weakened by shock and grief. Jane could not even mount a horse again. Half-crazed like some wounded animal, she could only stagger over the field stubble as if drunk or mad. They must not fall, she thought fearfully, for she’d never be able to get Jane on her feet again. They would lie here in this muddy field and die.

She could hear the creak of the hanging ropes straining against their burdens and the voices of men, hard and vengeful. Soon enough they would remember the women and search for them. Even now she could hear riders moving among the haystacks, coming closer. There was no time! No time!

Jane screamed—a sound filled with pain and despair. She hadn’t cried out like this when Edward was hanged. The high-pitched keening reverberated in Lilli’s head. A hand grasped her shoulder roughly.

“Wake up, lass,” a voice said urgently and she opened her eyes to stare into Callum MacAlister’s flushed face. His black eyes were shiny with fever. “You’ve wakened the babe,” he mumbled and fell back against the bed.

Only then did she hear Rose’s cries. She sat up and blinked. She’d fallen asleep at the foot of the bed where Callum and Rose slept. It had been a dream! She and Rose were safe. Safe!

But Edward and Jane were dead! Dead in the hanging fields among the haystacks. Lilli felt the wetness of her tears and sighed wearily.

“‘Tis all right, lass. We’re safe enough for now,” Callum mumbled.

Lilli pushed herself upright. She’d only closed her eyes for a moment or so she’d thought, but beyond the window the gray blur of dawn lay on the distant slope. Wearily she rose and shook out her skirts. They were still damp and wrinkled, but she paid no heed.

Crossing to the fireplace, she stirred the coals and placed peat on them then fetched a pail and some of the milk from the night before. Patiently, she tended the baby’s needs, dribbling milk into the tiny mouth until finally Rose slept in her arms, warm and content. She placed the small bundle on the bed beside Callum.

He lay silent, his feverish eyes studying her movements. Automatically she placed a cool hand against his brow and drew it away quickly.

“I can’t leave you this day, lass,” he said regretfully. “I’m at your mercy.” His voice was weak and the effort of talking made him shiver.

“Aye, you are.” She dipped a cloth into water and placed it over his feverish brow. “You’ll have to stay until you’re better.” She watched him move restlessly with chills. Crossing to a chest, she searched among its contents and pulled out an old woolen tartan and spread it across him.

Callum opened his eyes, and a thin smile curved his lips. “The MacAlister plaid.” Lovingly he rubbed his hands across the rough wool. “Many a battle I’ve fought under this tartan.”

“I’ve heard you were a brave warrior.”

His dark gaze studied her face. “You’ll let me stay then?”

“Aye, I’d not turn out any creature needing help, even a nobleman.”

He smiled weakly. “You’ve a good heart, lass.”

“Not so good, for as soon as you’re able you must ride on. I’ll not have your troubles brought to my door. I’ve plenty of my own.”

“Fair enough.” He closed his eyes then opened them again. “You must hide the horses. If anyone comes, the horses will give you away.”

Lilli nodded in agreement. “I’ll take them up the mountain. There’re shieling huts and pastures. No one will be there at this time of the year. They’ll be safe enough.”

She glanced at Callum, but he’d already closed his eyes. His breathing was labored, coming in harsh gasps. Rose slept like the angel she was.

“I’ll go now while Rose sleeps. Can you tend her if she cries out?” Lilli demanded urgently and watched him struggle to remain alert.

“Aye, lass, I’ll keep her safe while you’re gone. The sooner the horses are hidden, the better.” He rolled his head toward her. “And the lad. He must not be found here, or they’ll know. You must bury him. When you return, I’ll help dig a grave…” His voice trailed away.

“Humph, little good you’ll be to help with anything.” She gathered up an old shawl that had been carefully preserved in the chest and went outdoors. The horses tossed their heads in greeting, stamping their feet to show their displeasure at being closed inside such a small space.

“Don’t you get uppity with me,” she scolded them while she gave them each a portion of grain, then slipped a rope over each proud head and led them out into the morning sunlight.

Mounting the sleek white stallion Laird MacAlister had ridden, she took up the lead rope for the other and nudged the stallion’s belly with her booted heel. They headed up the mountain, and she took care to stay on rocky soil as much as possible, so they left no prints. When she returned, she’d have to brush out the signs left in the barnyard.

The rain had stopped, and the rising sun stained the distant ridge with the promise of warmth, but she had no time to admire the mountainous scenery or draw in the pure Highland air as she might have on another day. Her thoughts were on the two people she’d left in the croft below, both helpless babes at this moment, dependent on her strength and skill to protect them. When the horses were safely pastured, she started the long journey downhill, stumbling in her haste. The urgency of her dream stayed with her.

When she reached the rise near the byre, she heard the sound of horsemen and quickly hid herself. A group of men rode into the croft yard. One of them dismounted and banged imperiously on the closed door.

“No one’s about,” he called to the others.

“Break it down,” the leader called.

She rose to go and confront them, but at that moment, the door opened and Callum MacAlister appeared. She pressed a hand against her lips to hold back her gasp of fear. Even from here she could see that he had blackened his face with soot from the fireplace as if he’d spent many a winter night finding comfort there. He’d donned some of the clothes from the chest; even a pair of clogs such as a crofter would wear to the barn. His hair fell across his forehead and into his eyes adding to his air of unkemptness. His shoulders were hunched as if from long hours of labor.

“Who are you to come battering at my door?” he demanded belligerently.

The leader of the band nudged his horse forward, so he crowded Callum against the building. His thin, cruel lips held a grim smile. “Watch your tongue, crofter. We’ve come in search of a woman and child. Who lives here besides you?”

“Just my woman and myself,” Callum muttered, keeping his head lowered as if intimidated.

“No one else? What’s that?”

She heard Rose cry in the background.

“That’s my daughter. She wails like that all the time. A man can’t sleep for it,” he said with some disgust. “A son wouldn’t whine and carry on so.” His voice was aggrieved with many injustices, and this was but one that he should have a daughter and not a son. He staggered and fell back against the cottage wall.

“Are you sick, man?” the leader demanded.

“Aye, ever since last market day, I’ve had the ague.” He scratched at his belly. “And there’s a rash such as I’ve never had before. My wife says I’ve brought the pox home to them.” He looked around the croft yard. “Aggie, where are you, you worthless wench? Aggie, come feed your brat.” His voice faded away and he leaned against the wall, trembling.

The riders had pulled back from him, their faces reflecting their own fear that they might be infected with whatever ailed this poor highlander.

“What we seek is not here,” the leader said. “So we’ll leave you, good crofter and wish you better health.”

“Wish me a son, if you’ve a mind,” Callum called after them. “A man needs a son to help him with his work.”

His words were lost in the sound of hooves galloping away. Only when she was sure they were gone did Lilli leave her hiding place and go down to the cottage.

“Ach, you can quit your acting now. They’ve gone,” she said, coming upon Callum where he slumped against the wall, his hands wrapped about his middle, his head bowed so she could not see his face.

“I was not acting, lass,” he muttered, his voice low. He raised his head to look at her and his face glistened with sweat. He staggered as if he might fall, and indeed when she rushed forward to place a shoulder beneath his arm, he sagged against her with obvious relief.

“Do you think they’ve gone?”

“They couldn’t ride away fast enough thinking you might have more than the ague.”

She’d hoped for a chuckle, but his feverish body shivered as the first of the chills hit him. When they reached the bed, he sagged onto the mattress, his strength depleted. Quickly, she opened the lid of a chest, added a pillow and placed Rose inside.

“Soon, I’ll feed you, I promise,” she told the fretful baby.

Rose quieted, staring at Lilli with huge round eyes that hadn’t decided yet what colored they’d be. Then Rose stuck her little thumb in her mouth and dozed.

“You’re a wee angel, all right,” Lilli murmured.

She had no time to cuddle the sleeping babe, for Callum had begun to thrash around, calling out names with heart-wrenching anguish. Lilli fetched a pan of water and a clean cloth. Kneeling beside the bed, she pulled aside the dressing and inspected the torn and swollen flesh. Diligently, she cleaned the wound then searched among the medicinal herbs she’d found earlier. She crushed comfrey leaves and St. John’s Wort for their oil and applied it to the wound before rebinding his shoulder.

Callum shivered with chills. “Lass,” he shouted hoarsely and gripped her arm, so she thought he meant to break it.

“Have you buried the lad?” He stared at her fiercely.

“Not yet. I’ve not had the time.” She tried to pull away, but he kept his hot urgent clasp on her.

“Don’t forget him, lass. I’m sorry I can’t help you.” He fell to shivering.

His hold on her was broken, so she hurried to gather more blankets for him, even using her shawl and his own cape. She built up the peat fire until the room was sweltering in the hopes of breaking his fever. She bathed his brow and threw back the covers to lave cool water on his long muscular arms and torso, impressed in spite of herself by his beauty and perfection.

She’d never gazed upon a man before. Callum was a prime strapping male. Suddenly embarrassed at her boldness, she was grateful he had no awareness of how fully she looked upon him or how pleasing she found the sight of him. Nobleman or no, she couldn’t imagine a finer looking specimen. Just to glance at him caused her heart to beat heavier and her body to tingle in places it never had before. She pushed those thoughts from her mind and concentrated on the tasks at hand. In life and death, there was no room for such emotions, only fear and caution.

Between nursing her patient and feeding Rose and milking the bawling cow and tending its calf, she lost the day. Late in the afternoon, when the rain began to fall softly over the fields and it seemed her patient slept easier, she took up an old shawl and Thom Hardy’s spade and dug a grave on the slope above the byre. From here, the boy could see the rising sun and God could not forget him.