Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Fergus was scarce for the next few days. It was festival time, and all the neighboring clans were busy bees preparing.
Lairds and ladies donated food, time, and staff to make sure everyone had a good time on the day of the festival.
Jeane remembered what Fergus had said about a festival he had gone to that had gone wrong, the reason he had lost his friend and betrothed, the way he had gotten his scars.
She worried about him during this time. Did preparing for the festival bring back all those horrible memories?
Those feelings of losing someone, of being called a monster?
Jeane hated Fergus’ old betrothed on principle, even though she had never met the woman. How could she call such a brave man a monster? He had taken on nearly a dozen bandits and survived, lost his friend, been injured, and she had the gall to call him a monster?
She knocked lightly on Lottie’s door, hoping she would not catch Aiden and Lottie in a compromising position again.
She drew in a breath. When Lottie pulled open the door, she looked frazzled. However, there was no Aiden standing sheepishly behind her like last time.
“I cannae find anythin’ to wear,” Lottie complained, and Jeane laughed, walking inside.
“Ye’ve lost weight since ye’ve been ill.”
“It’s a wonder I daenae weigh a thousand pounds with all the sweets that Aiden brings me.”
“Where is yer fine young suitor today?” Jeane teased, unable to help herself.
“Helpin’ Fergus with the festival,” Lottie said with a pout. “He barely pays attention to me around this time of year.”
“I’m sure that’s nae true.”
“Part of me is sad I’m gettin’ better. He willnae dote on me anymore,” Lottie admitted, and Jeane nudged her with her shoulder playfully.
“Daenae malinger, Lottie. Aiden will dote on ye regardless of yer health.”
“Ye’ll see. Now he will go back to barely lookin’ and speakin’ to me,” Lottie said miserably, and Jeane rifled through her closet.
“What makes ye say that?” Jeane asked, turning to look at the girl.
Lottie huffed out a breath, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout.
“He willnae even look at me when Fergus is around. He… avoids me.”
Jeane chuckled. “Of course, he willnae.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Jeane shook her head. “He’s afraid, of course.”
“Afraid? Of me?”
“Nae of ye, Lottie. Of Fergus.”
“Fergus? Why would he be afraid of him?”
“Do ye really nae ken what kind of man yer brother is?”
“He’s nae that protective.”
Jeane snorted. “If ye say so.”
“I daenae understand,” Lottie argued. “He lets me do whatever I want, within reason.”
“That’s different from being courted, Lottie. Aiden probably thinks that Fergus will kill him.”
“He wouldnae.”
Jeane raised an eyebrow. “Wouldnae he?”
Jeane thought about all the times Fergus had threatened to kill men who might touch her. She could not imagine he felt any differently about his baby sister.
“It doesnae matter. Aiden doesnae want me anyway,” Lottie said miserably, plopping down on the edge of the bed. “He merely likes to pass the time, and he felt guilty about takin’ me to the lock and getting’ me sick.”
Jeane paused, thumbing through the closet to sit down next to her.
“What are ye talkin’ about, Lottie? Aiden’s mad about ye. It’s clear as a summer day.”
“It is?” Lottie looked up at her with wide, hopeful eyes.
Jeane smiled, finding the whole conversation adorable.
Young love, she thought.
“Of course, it is, ye dobber,” she teased. “He’s here every mornin’, isnae he?”
“Only because I’m sick,” Lottie insisted, her mouth turning down in a frown.
“Lottie. I’ve never seen a man more in love than Aiden, and that’s sayin’ somethin’. Mefriend Beatrice’s husband is absolutely enamored with her, and Aiden looks at ye just like that.”
“You mean it?” Lottie brightened a little. “It’s just… He doesnae talk to me, not when Fergus is around. Hardly even in private. He just looks and looks, listens to me go on and on.”
“He’s listenin’ to ye,” Jeane assured her. “He loves hearin’ yer voice.”
Lottie flushed. “I daenae ken.”
Jeane patted the young girl’s knee. “Ye’ll see, Lottie. When ye’re well, he will be here all the same.”
“Perhaps.”
Jeane sat there for a moment longer, but she understood that she could not force Lottie to understand. She would have to see for herself. Jeane did not know much about Aiden, having barely spoken a few sentences to the man, but the longing in his eyes was obvious.
Jeane stood, going back to the closet. She finally found a simple shift dress. It was thin, but it was a warm day, and Lottie could use the fresh, clear air.
“I’m nae sure I’m up for a walk today, Liliana.”
Jeane paused, not recognizing the name for a second, and then she looked at Lottie. She placed her head on Lottie’s back, bidding her to cough. When Lottie did, Jeane lifted her head and smiled.
“Yer lungs sound clearer than they ever have. The more ye’re up and around, the faster ye’ll heal,” Jeane insisted. “Now, be a good patient and let me take ye for a walk.
Jeane handed her the dress and helped her change into it, buttoning the small buttons on the back for Lottie.
The dress was robin’s egg blue and made Lottie’s eyes sparkle.
Lottie sat at her vanity and let Jeane braid her auburn hair, dutifully.
“Are ye going to tell me what’s goin’ on between ye and me brother?” Lottie asked, and Jeane froze with locks of Lottie’s hair between her fingers.
“I daenae what ye’re talkin’ about,” Jeane lied, and Lottie huffed and rolled her eyes.
“Ye daenae have to keep lyin’ to me, ye ken.”
“What do ye mean? I havenae lied to ye.” Jeane wondered if God would strike her down for lying again.
Lottie stood when Jeane finished her hair, walking past Jeane out toward the back door. They usually walked through the garden and around the grounds, near the edge of the woods.
“We can make it to that clearin’ today. The one ye told me about with all the dandelion puffs,” Jeane offered, hurrying to catch up with Lottie. Usually, Lottie was slow, having difficulty breathing, but today, she seemed in good spirits, her lungs clear.
“Perhaps,” Lottie said, putting her nose in the air and walking a few steps ahead of Jeane. “But daenae think I didnae notice ye changing the subject.”
Jeane sighed. “Ye’re angry with me.”
“Am I?” Lottie huffed out a breath, continuing out of the castle through the back doors.
Jeane caught up with her easily. Lottie was starting to flag, having used up too much energy too quickly. She looped her arm through Lottie’s, and the younger woman slowed down, leaning against Jeane.
“Tell me somethin’,” Lottie insisted.
“Aye, what is it?”
“What’s yer real name?”
Jeane sputtered. “L-Liliana Murdoch.”
Lottie sighed. “Daenae lie to me again. Ye always delay respondin’ to that name, like it’s foreign to ye.”
Jeane’s head spun. Lottie was smarter than she had given her credit for.
“All right,” Jeane said finally in a quiet voice, deciding to trust Lottie in that moment. “Me name isnae really Liliana.”
“Then why—”
“I’m using it to protect meself,” Jeane explained. “I’m hidin’.”
“Hidin’ from what? From who?” Lottie asked, her eyes brightening. Jeane smiled. The girl loved a spot of gossip; that much was clear.
“From me father,” Jeane admitted. “He wanted me to get married to some brute, and I was afraid. I ran away. The Laird was kind enough to make up a new identity for me.”
“So Fergus is protectin’ ye?”
“Aye.”
Lottie grinned. “That’s so romantic.”
Jeane flushed. “I wouldnae call it romantic.”
“Then what would ye call it? Ye ran away and met Fergus, and he offered to protect ye from yer evil father.”
“It wasnae exactly like that,” Jeane said with her cheeks flushing even redder. “Yer brother wanted me to come here to take care of ye.”
“But then it blossomed,” Lottie said, continuing to walk through the rose beds and squares with daisies planted in the center. “And now, ye two are in love.”
“What makes ye think we’re in love?”
Lottie smiled at her, walking backward to look at her. “Oh, everythin’. The way he looks at ye. The way ye look at him. Every time ye two are in a room together, it’s exhilaratin’.”
Jeane smiled softly to herself. “Do ye really think so?”
“I really do. It doesnae matter who ye are. Ye are still the woman who helped me. Who healed me.”
“I wouldnae call ye healed just yet,” Jeane warned.
Lottie smiled. “I’m out of bed! I consider that progress.” She tilted her head, looking at Jeane. “Would ye tell me yer real name?”
Jeane hesitated. “I will. When I’m safe.”
Lottie pouted but then nodded. “All right, mystery healer.”
“Ye can still call me Liliana.” Jeane smiled. “Ye have made being away from me closest friends bearable. It’s been me honor to help ye and become yer friend.”
“I think of ye as a friend, too,” Lottie said brightly.
The two women had walked further out than Jeane had intended, and when they reached the clearing with all the dandelion puffs, Jeane breathed out a long sigh.
It was beautiful, the dandelion puffs flying here and there as they walked among them. Each step sent a rush of more dandelion puffs up, and Lottie laughed but then began to cough.
She doubled over, spitting clear mucus onto the ground which encouraged Jeane. It was probably just the dandelion puffs that were making her cough.
“We should go back,” Jeane said, and it was at that moment that she froze, feeling a presence behind her—a big one. She did not think much of it at first, putting her hand on Lottie’s lower back to turn her around, but soon enough, the presence became unbearable.
“Someone’s followin’ us,” Lottie whispered, and Jeane nodded.
“It has to be one of yer brother’s men,” Jeane said with more confidence than she felt. “Doesnae it?”
Lottie nodded. “Sometimes they can be a little overprotective. I’m sure that’s all it is.”
But as the women walked back toward the castle, a sense of unease swept over Jeane. The man kept following them, and as they turned a corner, Jeane heard a sharp gasp from Lottie.
They walked around the corner proper, and Jeane saw two of Fergus’ men tied up on the ground. Jeane opened her mouth to scream, but it was too late.
The man behind her swept her up into his arms, nearly lifting her off the ground. Another man grabbed Lottie, and bless her, she screamed, trying to alert anyone nearby.
The tied-up men struggled, muffled sounds coming from them, but no one came to help.
“Make her quiet, or I will hurt her,” the man murmured in Jeane’s ear.
She shuddered with revulsion as his arms tightened around her waist.
“Yer father has been lookin’ for ye, Lady Jeane. He will be glad to ken ye’re safe.”
Jeane struggled, all the blood seeming to drain from her face. Hearing her real name coming from the man’s throat made her shiver. She felt cold, as if she were standing outside her body looking in. Her father had found her. And now, what would he do to her?
Lottie continued to scream, but Jeane looked her in the eyes, trying to catch her gaze as her screams turned hysterical.
“It’s all right,” Jeane said. “I will go with them.”
“Nay! Ye cannae—” Lottie started, but the man twisted her arm painfully behind her. Lottie cried out and then fell silent.
But then Lottie shot her eyes to Jeane’s as if to signal her, and she stepped down onto the kidnapper’s foot, hard.
He cried out, letting her go only for a split second, but it was enough. Lottie took off, grabbing Jeane’s arm and tugging hard. The man holding Jeane, startled by the sudden events, loosened his grip, and Jeane was free.
She ran for all she was worth, and Lottie ran with her. They approached the edge of the castle. Jeane could smell the loch, could feel her freedom.
But then she heard coughing and wheezing behind her, and it felt like someone had dumped ice water on her head.
Lottie.
Jeane stumbled as she tried to stop her feet, and when she turned, she saw Lottie doubled over.
Jeane’s heart pounded as she ran back to Lottie, who was only a few hundred feet behind. She pumped her legs, her skirts flying out around her, but she was not fast enough.
She had planned to tug Lottie with her, to drag her if she had to, but now, that plan was dead. The two men caught up with Lottie, flanking her.
Jeane slowly stopped running, exhausted physically and emotionally, downhearted. It was over.
Lottie, despite the wheezing, fought the captors, jerking her arms from side to side. “Daenae ye touch me, ye bloody bampot, or me brother will have yer head!”
The man raised his hand and slapped her across the face. Lottie cried out, and Jeane gasped when she saw blood bloom on Lottie’s poor, flushed face.
Jeane made a decision, then, at that moment. She could not allow them to hurt Lottie any further. The girl was already sick. Despair settled over her as she realized what she had to do.
“Stop! I will go with ye!” Jeane shouted, turning her head slightly to face her captor. His breath smelled of fish and ale, an awful combination that made her wince. “Daenae hurt her.”
“Let’s get ye back where ye belong,” the man said, and tugged her toward a horse and wagon.
He threw Jeane into the front of the wagon, keeping her close after climbing in beside her.
Jeane watched the castle get smaller and smaller in her vision which was growing blurry with tears.
Would she ever see Lottie or Fergus again?