Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
T ira glanced at the high window, the afternoon light waning, and wondered anew if Errol still intended to speak with her.
Mayhap he had changed his mind given her heartbreak over her father’s death—och, what did it matter if he came to see her or not?
Reminding herself that nothing could ever be the same between them, she pushed aside the blanket Cora had thrown over her and sat up in the bed.
She had spent hours weeping and sometimes dozing fitfully as the shock of hearing about her father had become a numbing realization that the home she had known was gone.
A new chieftain of Clan Cheyne would have been named and his wife and family moved into the lodgings Tira had once shared with her parents—ah, God, both dead now!—so what was she to do?
She could return to her clan, but how would she bear the whispers and sideways glances from her kinsmen that her bairns had been sired by a hated Orkney raider? Only her father could have shielded her from such censure, but he couldn’t protect her now.
She had also desperately considered retiring to a convent, but she couldn’t abandon Monroe and Isobel, Tira’s heart aching at the thought. Mayhap if she had never looked upon their sweet faces or held them in her arms—och, her refusal to acknowledge them until this morning made her feel wretched enough.
Only one other possibility had tormented her, but she could never wed Errol, even if he still might wish it. She could never fully be a wife to him after…after?—
Tira groaned as she shoved away the memory of Thorgren groping her, kissing her, and rose from the bed on trembling legs. Tears blurred her vision, too, fresh panic overwhelming her, but she had cried enough for one day, one week—no, an entire year.
“You will think of something surely!” she tried to bolster herself, blinking away the wetness. She smoothed the wrinkles from her gown and then reached for the comb on the table beside the bed, her stomach grumbling noisily.
Aye, she was hungry, which amazed her because up until now, she’d had no appetite for food, though she had forced herself to eat to please Cora.
She felt stronger of body, too, her trembling fading, and drew the comb through her tousled hair with some surprise that she cared enough to do so.
Childbirth had been fierce and yet mercifully swift, and she couldn’t deny that with each day she had felt better—at least until the unhappy news this morning that had sent her into a spiral of grief.
She had wondered why Cora had said nothing about her father or a messenger being sent to the northern Highlands to let him know she had been rescued, yet she hadn’t asked about him, either, a broken sigh escaping Tira.
Keen regret swept her anew that she could have ever thought to blame him for anything…or Errol for that matter, another pang gripping her heart.
She owed him a debt of gratitude for rescuing her—aye, for saving her life when Brinda had sought to kill her.
“You can at least allow him that much,” Tira whispered, glancing again at the window where daylight was growing ever dimmer.
No one had come to her room for hours, she imagined because Cora had instructed the servants to leave her alone for a while—ah, God!
Tira’s gaze had flown to the door at the soft knock, her heart pounding in her throat. Errol ?
“C-come in,” she somehow managed, only to be swept by undeniable disappointment when a maidservant bearing a cloth-covered tray entered the room.
“I’ve brought you some mutton stew and fresh-baked oatcakes, miss. Lady Cora said it’s past time that you should eat.”
Tira nodded, her gaze fixed upon the open door and her heart beating faster as she wondered if Errol might be close behind.
“Was anyone else in the hall?”
Tira felt a rush of disappointment once again when the young woman shook her head as she set the tray on the bedside table.
“Lady Cora bade me tae tell you that she’ll come tae your room as soon as she returns from the infirmary.”
“Infirmary?” Tira echoed, wondering what might be amiss—until she gasped. “Not one of her bairns?—”
“Och, no, thank God, but she’s upset all the same. That red-haired Highlander—the one who brought you here with Laird MacLachlan.”
“Errol Sutherland?” Tira blurted, feeling the blood drain from her face when the maidservant nodded.
“Aye, he was struck on the head and hasna fully regained his senses, and that was hours ago.”
Hours ? Struck on the head ? God help him, why had no one come any sooner to tell her? Tira’s hands shook as she hastened to the armoire across the room to pull out a cloak and then spun to face the startled maidservant.
“Please, I dinna know where tae find the infirmary. Will you take me?”
A bob of the head was the young woman’s answer, though she gazed doubtfully at Tira.
“It’s the building furthest away from the keep, miss. I dinna think Lady Cora would wish you tae overtax yourself?—”
“I’m fine, truly,” Tira insisted, though she did feel some discomfort in her lower body as she rushed out the door. It had only been a week since giving birth to her twins—but what of Errol? What could have happened that he was so injured? No wonder he hadn’t come to see her!
These thoughts and so many others tumbled through her mind, Tira hurrying down the tower steps and across the foyer while the maidservant rushed ahead of her to open the door leading outside.
Tira remembered little of being carried from the ship and into the keep by Brody, and she glanced wide-eyed at the high ramparts manned by guards and the massive gates at the far end of the bailey.
Lower stone buildings on both her right and left adjoined the four-story keep, Tira grateful as her heart pounded for the maidservant guiding her. She would never have found the infirmary by herself, her thoughts flying again to Errol and what must have been a severe blow to disable him for so long.
She had treated him so wretchedly these past days, refusing to speak to him or even see him though he had been the one to gather her into his arms the night of her rescue—aye, so gently, she suddenly remembered, terrible remorse gripping Tira.
If anything happened to him before she could thank him for rescuing her, she would never forgive herself!
“In here, miss.”
Tira nodded and swept past the flush-faced maidservant who had pushed open the door to a low, turf-roofed building, the acrid smell of sweat and urine hitting her like a slap in the face.
She had visited such a place with her father after a bloody skirmish with the Mackays, the injured men from her clan moaning in pain while several others were covered with a sheet, dead.
A skirmish that she realized now with a jolt might have led to her abduction—och, but where was Errol?
“ Tira !”
Cora’s startled outcry near one of the shuttered windows led her to where Errol lay upon a cot, ashen as a ghost, a linen sheet pulled up to his broad shoulders—though thank God, not over his head.
“You shouldna be here,” began Cora, though Tira went at once to her to clasp her hands.
“Dinna ask me tae leave, I beg you! I heard Errol was hurt?—”
“Aye, a shield tae the back of his head, my husband’s captain was forced tae stop him. The men were training and Errol became crazed, striking out with his sword at anyone close tae him and rushing like a madman at others. Yet the blow mayhap caused him grave injury, or so the healer fears. Errol has yet tae open his eyes, though he has begun tae stir—och, it’s too soon for you tae have walked this far!”
Tira felt herself pushed down onto a stool near the cot, and again she felt the blood seep from her face at Errol’s deathlike pallor.
Tears burned her eyes, but she forced them away to lean closer and take one of his calloused hands into her own, squeezing Errol’s fingers.
His breathing shallow, his lips pale.
Lips that had once kissed hers…Tira longing so desperately for that innocent time last year before life had taken a terrible turn and torn them apart for what she had feared would be forever.
She had given up all hope and wanted to die—but she wasn’t dead, Tira silently mouthing a fervent prayer that Errol not die, either.
Even if they could never be together again—aye, how could they when the thought of any man touching her conjured horrible memories of Thorgren?
“Tira, squeeze his hand tighter. Canna you see his eyelids moving? A good sign, aye, Ambrose?”
Tira glanced up to find the older man hovered near Cora, nodding his gray head as he leaned over the cot to get a better look.
“Aye, he appears tae be waking, but who can say? I’ve seen lesser blows tae the head after a battle and the man never wakes?—”
“No, you mustna say it!” Tira cut him off, her voice grown hoarse as her gaze flew back to Errol. His eyelids were moving as if trying to open them, while to her surprise she suddenly felt the slightest squeeze to her fingers. Relief swamping her, she bent down to whisper in his ear, “Errol, can you hear me? It’s Tira—ah, God, please wake up!”
Her heart racing, she heard no response at first until he sucked in so deep a breath that it seemed he was choking.
His face flushing red and then he winced and turned to look at her, his blue eyes opened wide as if he couldn’t believe she sat beside him.
His hand gripping Tira’s so tightly now that she winced, too, flushing warmly herself when the weakest of grins crossed his face.
“Was that you yelling in my ear, lass?”
She bobbed her head, releasing Errol’s hand and rising from the stool so the healer could take her place to examine him—only for Errol to groan in protest.
“No, Tira, dinna leave me…”
She didn’t know what to do, not wanting to get in Ambrose’s way, until Cora drew her to the other side of the cot where she was pushed down gently to sit upon the edge.
Errol even shifted over slightly to give her more room, though he grimaced at what must have been a sharp pain across his head, Ambrose clucking his tongue with disapproval.
“Young lady, you should still be in your bedchamber—or at the very most, attending tae your wee bairns, and you , young man, must lie quietly until you’ve had more time tae rest. Do you both hear me?”
Errol nodded, though again he winced at what the movement cost him. Tira started to rise to oblige the healer only for Errol to catch her hand and draw her back down beside him.
“So I must be on my deathbed tae bring you tae see me?”
His voice hoarse, he wasn’t grinning now, but stared at her so intently that Tira felt her face grow warmer.
“Not your deathbed, Errol, please dinna say it. I heard you were injured and…and I feel so terrible for treating you so badly?—”
“Aye, the worst week of my life after a worse year. I thought you were dead, lass—we were told as much, or I would have begged the king sooner for ships and men tae search for you. Can you ever forgive me?”
Tira stared at him in confusion, her heart pitching in her chest as she whispered, “Dead?”
Errol gave the slightest nod, his eyes filling with moisture in the flickering lamplight above their heads. “Fishermen found a young woman’s body on the beach, her hair long and blond, and no clothing upon her. They guessed the raiders had tossed her overboard, as they had done to others, and she drowned trying tae swim tae shore—and they buried her. It was only when they heard of your abduction that they believed you were the dead lass and sent word to your father, and it proved too much for him. He died before you were sighted in November and I learned you were alive, yet we failed you then, too…”
His voice cracking, Errol’s chest seemed to heave and then he began to cough, Tira never having heard a man sob before as Cora took her by the elbow to urge her to her feet.
“Tira, let us leave him for now. There will be time enough tae talk further about what is tae come…what must come for the sake of you and your bairns.”
She didn’t have a chance to say a word, Cora leading her from the infirmary even as she glanced behind her to see Errol reaching out for her, though the healer pressed his hand back upon the cot.
His pained wheezing following her out the door, Tira’s eyes welled with tears at what he had revealed to her…such shame filling her that she could have ever blamed him for a moment of her captivity.
“As soon as spring came and the northern sea currents were safe tae navigate, Errol went tae Dumbarton tae plead with King Robert on your behalf, Tira, he was determined tae try and rescue you. Canna you see how he has suffered, too?”
She met Cora’s gaze, hearing no censure in her voice, only pity reflected in her eyes that Tira sensed was meant as well for her.
Pity that made her throat grow tight and her chin to tremble, the two of them walking the rest of the way to the keep in silence.
A silence that continued until they had climbed the tower steps and were passing by the nursery, Tira stopping suddenly at the closed door though Cora nodded toward her bedchamber.
“No, please…I need tae see my bairns.”
Cora didn’t protest, but opened the door for her and Tira hastened inside to the pair of cradles…her thoughts upon Errol even as she leaned over to gaze at Isobel first, and then Monroe, both babies sleeping so peacefully.
Was it fair what she was considering? She didn’t need any prodding to know what Cora had meant about what must come for her sake and that of her children…yet what kind of wife would Tira be for him?
She loved Errol, she knew that much, just as she knew now how deeply he loved her after hearing his anguish and his plea for forgiveness…though she shuddered even to think of him wanting her to…to?—
“Och, Tira, dinna torment yourself,” came Cora’s murmur as if sensing her fear, Cora’s gaze filled with understanding. “Errol knows you need time tae heal, but that doesna mean a wedding canna take place, aye, as soon as the healer says he can leave the infirmary. Will you agree tae become Errol’s wife?”
Errol’s wife … Fresh panic swept Tira, but glancing at her bairns, she knew there was no other course for her.
“Aye, I will agree tae it, if he still wishes?—”
“Och, Tira, he asked you a year ago and nothing for him has changed!” Clearly relieved, Cora enveloped Tira in a hug, though her outburst had awakened Monroe, who screwed up his face and began to cry.
Yet it was Tira who reached her little son before the wet nurse, scooping him up into her arms as Cora drew closer to say against her ear, “Errol told me that he wants tae raise your bairns as his own. If that isna love, Tira…”
She couldn’t answer, her throat tightened from such a welling in her heart that assuaged the fear lingering in the back of her mind…a soft laugh escaping her at Monroe’s fists punching at the air.
Tiny clenched fists that reminded her suddenly of Thorgren, Tira sobering even as she thrust the disturbing thought away.
“Monroe Sutherland,” she murmured almost defiantly to herself, though Cora must have heard her because she drew close again to hug them both.
“Aye, Monroe Sutherland!”