Chapter Twenty-Two
The rain had been merciless for two more days of digging, slogging through swamps of mud that were reminiscent of the mud puddles back in July. There was so much muck that it was as if the entire world was full of it.
It was cold, too, and as Cortez and his men dug more holes and swept away more mud, his hands were frozen most of the time.
Two days of heavy rains and two days of digging had not turned up anything belonging to, or about the person of, Robert Edlington, and Cortez had finally had enough.
On noon of the third day since their arrival at Falkirk, Cortez called a halt to the search and sent his men back to the tavern.
Weary, and grateful, they retreated to warm their bones and get out of the rain.
But for Cortez, his return to the tavern was not one of warmth and pleasure.
It was one of sorrow. Sophie was growing steadily worse and the physic had suggested last rites for the child, but Diamantha had violently disagreed.
In fact, Cortez actually had to pull her off of the physic when the suggestion was made.
She had screamed at the man and told him never to come back, but Cortez had spoken to the physic in private and assured the man he was needed, now more than ever.
After things had quieted down, Diamantha sat on the bed with Sophie in her arms. The woman looked as if she hadn’t slept in days.
There were dark circles beneath her lovely eyes and her luscious hair was unbrushed and messy.
She simply sat on the bed, humming softly to her child and rocking her gently.
She didn’t stop humming when Cortez returned to the room from having escorted the physic out and she didn’t look up.
She was staring off into space. Only when Cortez put himself in front of her line of sight did she notice him. Her gaze was hollow.
“Did you find Robert?” she asked dully.
She hadn’t asked the question when he’d first returned, as she had been more concerned with the physic at that point. Now, her focus was shifting, and Cortez shook his head sadly.
“Nay, love,” he replied. “The weather is too fierce. We will return tomorrow and look again, but my men needed to dry out and warm up. ’Tis starting to grow cold.”
Diamantha’s gaze lingered on him for a few moments before looking away again.
She was seemingly dazed, her heart and soul and mind shattered by the condition of her child.
Cortez watched her for a few moments, feeling so desperately sad, before turning to remove his wet tunic.
The fire in the small hearth was blazing brightly, making the room very warm.
In the corner near the hearth, he noticed that the animal cage was open and the puppy and both kittens were sleeping in a pile outside of the cage.
He didn’t see the rabbit or the fox but assumed they were somewhere, sleeping under the bed. That seemed to be their favorite place.
“Has Sophie eaten anything today?” he asked, peeling off his wet tunic.
It was a few moments before Diamantha answered. “She managed a bit of porridge this morning,” she said. “But she has been sleeping all day.”
Cortez glanced over at the pair as he bent and started to remove his heavy mail coat. “And you?” he asked. “Have you eaten?”
Again, there was a long pause before she spoke. When she finally did, it was not to answer his question. “I have been thinking, Cortez,” she said. “I have been thinking that I want to bury Sophie with Robert, so it is imperative that you find him. You must try harder.”
He jerked his head around, looking at her with some dismay. “Bury her?” he repeated. “She is not dead, nor will she die. I will not hear that out of your mouth again, do you hear me?”
Diamantha nodded. Then, she burst into tears and hung her head. Cortez ripped the mail coat off and went to her, wet and all, and threw his arms around her. He buried his face in the side of her messy head, trying desperately to comfort her.
“I am sorry,” he whispered fiercely. “I did not mean to snap. I am so sorry, sweetheart. Forgive me.”
Diamantha was wracked with sobs. “She will not awaken and she will not talk to me,” she wept. “If she passes, I want her to be buried with her father. Please? He would want that. He would want her with him.”
Cortez was nodding eagerly, tears stinging his eyes as he kissed her repeatedly. “Of course, my love, anything you want,” he said, struggling not to weep along with her. “I will try harder to find Robert, I swear it.”
Diamantha continued to weep, clutching Sophie against her breast. Cortez sat next to her, his arms wrapped around them both, losing the fight against tears. He let them come. The situation was so heartbreaking in so many ways, and the pain was overwhelming them both.
For quite some time, he sat with Diamantha and Sophie, cursing God for not listening to his prayers.
He hated God, he had decided, because God surely hated him.
There was no point in praying when God dismissed his pleas.
As he sat there wondering what he could do to demonstrated his hatred towards God, perhaps by burning a church or two, Sophie suddenly opened her eyes.
“Mama?” she asked weakly.
Startled, Diamantha gazed down into the face of her baby. “I am here, sweetheart,” she murmured. “You slept a long time.”
Sophie, her pallor as white as snow, looked up at her mother. “Mama, I want mush.”
Diamantha felt a spark of hope in that little request. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “Do you think you could eat some mush?”
Sophie’s hand wormed its way out of the blanket and she yawned, rubbing her eye with the free hand. “I want mush,” she repeated.
Cortez, his arms still around Diamantha and Sophie, bent over to kiss the little girl on the forehead. “I will go get your mush,” he told her, releasing the pair from his embrace and standing up from the bed. “Mayhap Mama would like something to eat, too.”
Diamantha had to admit that her child’s request for food had a dramatic effect on her outlook. Asking for food was a sign from God as far as she was concerned, a sign that all would be well. Gazing up at Cortez with the first hopeful expression he’d seen in days, she nodded to his statement.
“I believe I would,” she said. “Thank you kindly, good sir.”
Cortez winked at her and left the chamber, closing the door quietly behind him.
Out in the common room, his soldiers were eating a thick stew and the knights were in the corner by the front door, their usual place.
Cortez made his way back to the kitchen where MacInnis and his wife were doing their chores.
Everyone was very busy in the kitchen, especially the wife who was hacking away at a goose.
The tavern keeper finally looked up and saw Cortez lingering a few feet away.
“M’laird,” he greeted, wiping his hands off on his leather apron. “How is the lassie?”
Cortez nodded. “She has awoken and asked for mush,” he said. “Can you provide some?”
MacInnis nodded eagerly. “Of course we can,” he replied. “And yer wife? She’s not yet eaten today.”
Cortez nodded, sighing with some manner of relief. “Aye,” he said. “Something for her, as well.”
As MacInnis and his wife began to bustle around, Cortez turned around to head back to the room but the tavern keeper stopped him.
“M’laird,” he called. When Cortez came to a halt, the tavern keeper closed the gap between them. “And fer yerself? Surely ye’ve had a hard day, digging as ye have been.”
Cortez peered at the man curiously. “How do you know what I have been doing?”
MacInnis waved him off, as if he meant no harm.
“I’ve heard yer men talking,” he said, lowering his voice.
“They said ye’re looking fer something south of Callendar Wood.
I’ve heard the townsfolk talking about it, too.
People have seen ye digging. That is where the great battle happened this summer, ye know. ”
Cortez nodded slowly. “I know.”
“Were ye part of the battle?”
Since MacInnis didn’t seem distressed over the question, and there wasn’t any use in denying his activities. He answered.
“Aye,” he replied.
“Did ye lose something?”
“A friend,” Cortez said softly. “A friend of mine died in the battle and was left behind. We have come to bring him home to give him a proper burial.”
MacInnis scratched his head thoughtfully.
Then, he looked around, as if fearful someone would overhear what he was about to say.
Cortez looked around curiously, too, wondering why the tavern keeper suddenly seemed rather edgy.
Or awkward. Cortez couldn’t tell which, even when the man motioned for him to follow.
“May I have a word with ye, m’laird?” he asked quietly.
Cortez followed purely out of curiosity. MacInnis took him outside, across the yard, and into the stable, which was vacant except for a cow and her calf. As the rain trickled in overhead, he turned to Cortez.
“I didna want yer men tae hear,” he said quietly.
Cortez’s curiosity was growing. He crossed his big arms as he faced the tavern keeper. “Hear what?”
MacInnis scratched his head again. “The battle left many dead and wounded,” he said.
“The priests from St. Francis gathered some of the townsfolk and together, we went across the field tae bury the dead and gather the wounded. There are Hamilton and Livingstone clans around here and we wanted tae get tae the bodies before their women did. They steal from the dead, ye know, and they would have killed any Sassenach that were still living. We collected the dead and tended the wounded. There was no one left on the field.”
Cortez was listening seriously. “Are you telling me that you collected all of the dead?”
MacInnis nodded firmly. “Every one of them,” he said. “We couldna leave them fer the women, ye see.”
“What did you do with them?”