Chapter 19 #2
When she finished, she cleaned the blood from her hands.
She stirred the fire until a small flame leaped from the peat, and she heated water and used burnt alum on the deeper wounds.
Then she wrapped the foot in strips of cloth that she boiled in garlic and witch hazel.
There would be terrible scarring, she thought and, though she had done her best with the toes, they might never heal straight.
At last, she loosened the leather Duncan had used to tie the lad’s leg to the bedstead and sat back on the stool. She looked up to find Duncan’s eyes on her, and he gave her a nod of approval.
“Ye did fine, lass,” he said. “Real fine.”
It was all that he said, and she doubted he was speaking about her work. She still did not like Duncan, nor did she trust him. But the words made an impression on her. One that followed her to bed as Kathleen led her to a chamber down the hall.
“You’ve seen to my boy,” Kathleen said, clearly grateful. “I’ve no’ a right to ask you to remain any longer.”
“I do not mind,” Rose said just before her head hit the pillow and she slept.
Over the next two days, Rose took turns with Kathleen and Duncan, sitting beside the lad, reading to him, bathing his face and waiting for his fever to break. Rose felt an inner peace and confidence that it would. She didn’t know where such an emotion came from.
Kathleen had made sure one of her other sons delivered a note to Stonehaven the night of Rose’s arrival, reassuring Mary that Rose was safe, so she felt at ease remaining with this crowded family.
Though she could not tell exactly how they were related to Ruark, on her fourth morning, she felt comfortable enough to ask.
She sat in the stone-paved kitchen boiling water for chamomile tea while Kathleen worked on that day’s meal.
A few copper pots burnished to a rosy glow hung overhead, and fresh-cut flowers sat across from the hearth on the same countertop Kathleen was using.
The rhythmic slap of her palms shaping the bread dough stopped abruptly as she considered the question.
She thought her husband came from an offshoot branch of one of the former earl of Roxburghe’s grandfather’s cousin’s uncles who had married more than one wife, “whilst the others still lived,” Kathleen said and laughed.
“Though there was some discrepancy in testimonies depending on how much silver was involved. If ye wish to learn about the Kerrs, find the family Bible. All the births and marriages are recorded there. At least the legal ones are.”
Rose liked this family. Kathleen was in her mid-thirties and mother to three sons and one small girl, Rufus being her oldest. Her husband had died less than five months ago. For some reason, she had thought her Duncan’s wife.
“If no’ for Duncan, I do no’ know where the lot of us would be,” Kathleen said, working her hands into the bread dough, raising a small cloud of flour. “We have no’ always been poor, ye ken.
“My husband was the village fiscal,” she said. “We had a nice home in the village. Then one day, people accused him of running away with their money and embezzling funds and were ready to tar and feather his family. If no’ for Duncan . . . we might never have learned the truth.”
“What happened?” Rose asked as Kathleen’s voice faded.
“Duncan found my husband’s body. He’d been caught in a snowstorm and died of injuries when his horse fell.
No gold was found but by then the damage had already been done to this family.
This house was once Duncan’s, but he’s no family to speak of, least no’ any children.
He gave us the house and has taken it upon himself always to make sure our larder is full. ”
“Is it not the laird’s responsibility to see to his tenants’ care?” Rose asked.
Kathleen turned the bread dough over on a wooden block and began beating the other side with equal intensity.
“Aye, ’tis. We shall see if the new lord Roxburghe is of a different mettle than his father,” she said, and though she would say nothing more to denigrate the former earl of Roxburghe, her stiff shoulders stated her feelings eloquently.
Rose grabbed a hand pad and removed the tea kettle from the fire bringing it to the countertop where she had set out a teapot and a cup on a tray. “His lordship does not speak of his father.”
“Humph,” Kathleen said. “You have met Jamie’s mother?” she asked after a moment, slanting Rose a glance, before resuming her kneading. “Ruark may not have thought so, but Duncan did him a service back then when he shipped Ruark out of Scotland.”
“Because Duncan got him away from his father?”
“With lady Julia between them, one of them would have killed the other to be sure.”
Rose pretended close attention as she poured hot water into the teapot. A spur of doubt nudged her, for her heart would not completely let go of the rationale that real love did not die easily.
“How did Lord Roxburghe die?” she asked after a moment.
“Hereford killed him,” Duncan said from the doorway.
Rose and Kathleen turned at once. Duncan leaned with his big shoulder against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. He did not look nearly as fearsome as he did in the darkness of a mist-shrouded night.
He wore leather trews and a loose-fitting white shirt, minus the usual baldric dangling with all manner of weaponry and muskets.
His wild russet hair had been tied back from his face.
He grinned, though his blue eyes wore a less amused expression as they settled on Kathleen. “Are ye telling stories about me, lassie?”
She sniffed and returned to her kneading.
“As if anyone could tell a story about ye, Duncan? Who would dare?” Her shoulders worked as she folded and squished the dough with her fist, then she turned and rolled her sleeves back to her elbows and faced Duncan.
“Why don’t ye tell the lass why you believe Hereford killed your brother? ”
When Duncan did not reply, Kathleen answered for him.
“Rumor is that a valuable cargo in which Hereford had monetary interest went missing from one of Roxburghe’s merchantmen outside Rotterdam some years ago.
” She set her hands on her hips. “What is it Hereford accused him of? Collusion with pirates?”
Duncan narrowed his eyes, none too pleased with Kathleen’s assessment of the former earl of Roxburghe’s character. His gaze on Rose, he straightened. “Come lass. Say your good-byes. Ye are the laird’s wife and belong back at Stonehaven. You’ve been gone long enough as is.”
He turned on his boot heel, and after his heavy steps had faded on the planked floor, Kathleen said, “He’s right. You need to be returnin’.”
Rose unlaced her apron and folded it. She had done all she could for Rufus. But she was not thinking of him as her mind mulled over the details of Kathleen’s conversation. “You said Hereford made the accusation of collusion after a cargo went missing on a merchantman outside Rotterdam?”
She was remembering the story Ruark had told her about the ship he had boarded outside Rotterdam some years ago.
The ship had carried contraband that he believed Hereford had taken off an East Indiaman sunk off the Azores.
Ruark did not tell her he had taken the cargo from one of his father’s own ships.
“Was it true?” Rose asked. “The accusation.”
“No one will ever know,” Kathleen said. “The cargo was never recovered. Ruark’s father accused Hereford of attempting to ruin his reputation.
Accusations went back and forth. Then last spring, our former laird decided he would confront Hereford over the issue.
Duncan was a day late reaching the meeting and found his brother with a musket ball in his head.
Ruark oft docked in Workington, but it took two months to get him the news.
” Kathleen brushed at a loose curl. “Even then I do no’ think he would have returned to Stonehaven if no’ for Jamie.
Some of us did no’ think he would be staying. ”
Kathleen squeezed Rose’s arm. “I have no’ meant to distress ye. We owe ye a debt of gratitude, and Duncan well knows it.” She smiled. “Otherwise, he would no’ care how ye got yourself back to Stonehaven.”
Rose answered with her own weak smile. She examined Rufus one last time and gave instructions to Kathleen for his care, promising that she or McBain would return in a few days.
“If the bandages stick to the wounds, fresh lint dipped in sweet butter will help loosen the dressing so as not to tear away the scabs.”
Carrying her young daughter, Kathleen hugged Rose and took her outside, where Duncan had hooked up a cart. He was crouched in the dirt, scratching the ears of a shaggy sheepdog. He saw her and stood.
In the bright sunshine, he looked almost cheerful as he presented Rose a courtly bow and placed her in the cart. “Nothing but the best for my nephew’s bonny bride,” he said.
“Duncan!” Kathleen chastened from the steps. “She’ll no’ be able to stand straight by the time you get her to Stonehaven.”
“Aye,” he agreed, and patted the rolled-up blankets he had placed on her side of the bench, “which is why I have gone out of my way to see to the lass’s comfort.
” He winked at Rose, “I would have used the chariot had Kathy’s miscreant young brother not taken it carousin’ last night and run into a ditch. ”
Kathleen laughed. “Do no’ believe Duncan, lass. Jason has never caroused in his life and we’ve no’ a chariot to our name.”
“Jason is your brother?” Rose asked.
“A fine lad he is,” she said fondly. “Do no’ let Duncan tell ye otherwise.”