Chapter Ten
The following day, they buried Ailsa.
Stephen made the recommendation to Tate at dawn; having just come from the coffin of the young girl, her body was rapidly deteriorating and it was important they get her it in the ground before she putrefy further.
Stephen made the suggestion purely based on how Toby would react to her sister’s decaying corpse and Tate was forced to agree.
The air between the two knights was strained but professional.
Tate hadn’t told Stephen that he and Toby were betrothed, mostly because it wasn’t any of the man’s business.
Although he was certain of Stephen’s interest in Toby, the man had yet to make any inappropriate moves.
When, and if, it came to that, Tate was prepared to act.
It was a bizarre situation that Tate could never have imagined they would face. Kenneth just tried to stay out of it.
Tate extricated a couple of men from the army of soldiers digging a mass grave for the victims of yesterday’s battle and put them to digging a grave in the floor of Harbottle’s small chapel.
As the sun began to rise, he was reluctant to wake Toby with news that they had to bury her sister right away but he knew that he had little choice.
Stephen and a few men were bringing the coffin up from the store room and the day was already busy.
Shortly after sunrise, Tate went up to her chamber.
Knocking on the door softly, he was surprised when she immediately responded.
The door was unlocked, too. Opening the door, he should not have been surprised to already find her awake and dressed.
Clad in a muted red surcoat and off-white linen shift, she was clean and washed and looked positively radiant.
She also had the room in complete disarray.
She smiled at Tate as he entered the room.
“Good morn to you,” she said. “I hope you slept well last night.”
He couldn’t help but smile in return; every time he saw the woman, he felt his heart soften just a little more.
“I was going to ask you the same question,” he made his way towards her. “But my next question would be why you seem to be tearing the room apart.”
Her smile broadened as she looked about.
“Well,” she began, “it seems to me that I will be spending some time in this chamber. It needs to be cleaned and I need to see what, exactly, you brought from Forestburn so I can begin to calculate what was saved against what was lost. There seems to be a good deal to do and I am at a loss as to where to start, so I thought I would begin here.”
He was standing next to her, watching the way her mouth curved when she spoke. “This can wait, sweetheart. You do not have to do everything in one day.”
“But I must see what I have lost so I will know what I must purchase to replace it.”
He put his hands on her upper arms and pulled her head to his lips for a sweet kiss. “I will buy you whatever you need to replace what has been lost,” he said. “You need not worry about money.”
She closed her eyes as he kissed her temple again, relishing the feel of him and thrilled that everything that had transpired between them yesterday had not been a dream. When she had awoken this morning, she almost wasn’t sure what was real.
“I am not worried about money,” she said with a furrowed brow. “But I will be honest when I say that I am worried over many things.”
“Like what?”
“The people of Cartingdon, for example. I really must return to Forestburn as soon as possible to ease their minds.” She fidgeted with the edge of the bed. “And then there are my parents… and Ailsa….”
She hung her head, biting her lip to keep from bursting into tears.
Tate could see the mood darkening and he collected her in his arms, taking her over to the bed and pulling her onto his enormous thighs as he sat.
It was a tender moment, full of the warmth of discovery.
She was soft and sweet upon him. He held her tightly, his face against the side of her head.
“We must speak of your sister,” he murmured. “I realize how difficult this is for you, but we must bury Ailsa this morning. Stephen has already moved her coffin to the chapel in preparation for doing so.”
The tears came then and she wiped at them, missing a few that fell silently to her lap. Tate gave her a squeeze, kissing her on the side of the head and wishing he could give her more comfort.
“I know she must be buried,” she whispered. “But it is difficult to think of putting my little sister in the ground when she was alive and well only two days ago. I simply cannot believe that she has passed.”
He kissed her cheek. “I know,” he muttered, “for I have been in your shoes. I understand completely.”
She looked up at him, the hazel eyes swimming with tears. “I heard whispers once that you lost your wife years ago,” she said. “Cartingdon Parrish, if nothing else, is a fertile ground for gossip. If it is untrue, I apologize for repeating it.”
He gazed into her eyes, remembering the pain he had suffered through four years ago.
Strange how he didn’t feel it as horrifically as he used to; true, it was still there, like a faded ache from long ago.
Oddly enough, Toby seemed to do a great deal towards pushing it into the deep recesses of his memory where it was a moment of sadness and nothing more.
It had been a time when he thought he had died inside.
But Toby made him feel very much alive and he was willing to speak on the subject.
“It is true,” he said. “She perished in childbirth. I lost my daughter as well.”
Toby’s grief shifted focus. “I am so terribly sorry for you,” she said sincerely. “Losing a sister is bad enough, but to lose your wife and child… I surely cannot imagine the pain you experienced.”
“I hope you never will. I will do my best to ensure that you do not.”
Toby stared into his storm colored eyes, realizing she felt comforted by the fact that he had indeed experienced grief on her level. He understood. It gave her strength, somehow drawing them closer, and she wiped at her face in an effort to compose herself.
“Then we should not keep Ailsa waiting,” she rose from his lap but continued to hold his hand. “I am ready.”
He stood next to her, towering over her with his size and strength. Gently, he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as they moved towards the door.
“Your bravery, as always, is astonishing,” he said softly, allowing her to pass first through the door.
She smiled weakly. “’Tis not bravery. ’Tis simply the way of things; it must be done and hysterics on my part will not change it.”
“That is much more like the Elizabetha I first met at Forestburn.”
“How do you mean?”
“Strong and decisive.”
“And appalling?”
He grinned, hearing his words echoed. “You are never going to forgive me for that, are you?”
“Perhaps. But not today.”
He kissed her hand as she descended the stairs, his gaze lingering on her golden brown head.
As much as he had loved his wife, he couldn’t ever remember feeling such strong emotion for her as he felt for Toby.
There was something about the woman that already had her embedded deep into his heart and soul as if nothing else had existed before.
Together, they made their way to the tiny chapel of Harbottle.
Toby felt moderately strong until she entered the chapel and saw her sister’s coffin near the altar.
Then, she faltered, her eyes brimming and her heart pounding.
It was a struggle to remain strong. As Tate escorted her into the small chamber, Kenneth, Stephen and Edward were there to greet her.
One of the most tender acts of compassion that Tate had ever seen was when the young king, unable to voice his sympathies, took Toby’s hand and held it tightly.
As she struggled not to cry, he struggled not to cry also.
He just stood there and held her hand. The little girl that had so terrified him with her attention had nonetheless left her mark.
Wallace gave the liturgy that sent Ailsa’s young soul to a better place. Instead of a hymn, Tate stood over the grave and sang the song that Ailsa had loved so well.
To the sky, my sweet babe;
The night is alive, my sweet babe.
Your dreams are filled with raindrops from heaven;
Sleep, my sweet babe, and cry no more.
The tenderness of it broke Toby’s heart.
*
January was a bitterly cold month and it was rare that the sun was able to break through the heavy covering of clouds at any given time.
On the afternoon following Ailsa’s burial, the sun, remarkably, was able to burst through the mist. In the master’s chamber, organizing all of her worldly possessions, Toby took it as a sign from God.
She thought perhaps he was happier now that he had Ailsa to keep him company and that thought, however foolish it seemed, kept her from the depths of grief. It was a comfort.
She stood for a moment in the lancet window, eyes closed, feeling the weak warmth on her face.
Her emerald-colored surcoat was in her hands, as she had been fussing with a spot on the fabric.
She knew it must have occurred the night Tate and his knights had come to sup at Forestburn.
She remembered that day with some fondness, though it seemed like a terribly long time ago.
In fact, everything at Forestburn seemed like it belonged to another time and another world.
Now her world was Harbottle Castle and a future she could never have imagined.