Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
H e didn't wait.
The next day he walked out into the practice yard, ignored the stares of his clansmen, and took off the linen shirt. He smiled faintly at the loops and wood buttons that had replaced the ties at the neck opening, that easily slipped open now, one-handed with the flick of his fingers.
She had said nothing, simply handed him the linen shirt, but he recognized her fine stitches in the modification of the shirt, that matched those other fine stitches that he'd painfully endured at his shoulder.
The lass had a temper on her, something he should have remembered, and hadn't put up with his dark mood the day before. And she'd made the alteration in the shirt without boasting or even telling him of it, all but throwing it in his face. His smile deepened as he carefully hung it over one of the wood rails at the horse enclosure.
He chose a claymore from the swords at the weapons rack, swinging it slowly in a wide arc then back over his head, loosening the muscles in his right shoulder and arm at the same time he stretched out what was left of his other arm for balance.
The moves were still awkward, unfamiliar, frustrating, but he pushed past, adjusting his stance, moving quickly against an imaginary opponent to protect his left side, taking a misstep as he fought against instinct to adjust for the lack of coordination.
He took another misstep, almost tripping over his own feet as he instinctively led with his left foot, over-corrected, and almost went down as he had the day before. He cursed, wiped the sweat from his brow, and began again.
Alix heard him before she ever saw his awkward moves as she crossed the main yard near the stables. As he tripped, stopped, and began again, she stepped back into the shadows, so that he wouldn't see her.
She saw the battle he fought with himself, the anger and frustration, the moment when he would have thrown the claymore into the dirt, struggling against the loss of his hand and arm, but then began again.
It brought tears to her eyes as he fought to overcome years of training, everything he'd learned, then struggled to relearn everything with his right hand and arm, the frustration as he fought against what he had become, the taut expression at his face, the curses that filled the air.
She sensed the old warrior's presence as he came from the stables and stood beside her. Once war chief of the clan, Gabhran was now master of the armory. He had fought alongside Connor Fraser, the old chieftain and then James when he became chieftain. And he had ridden alongside James Fraser in the attack at the borderlands four years earlier, both injured in that battle against the English. It was his responsibility now to see that their kinsmen were well trained and prepared in these uncertain and dangerous times.
The chieftain had recovered well enough, but the wound the old warrior had received had taken a toll. After a slow recovery under her care, Gabhran was made master of the armory, where his experience and the respect he held with the other clansmen was recognized.
It had been a difficult transition for one accustomed to riding out with his kinsmen, taking charge, and confronting any hostility that threatened the clan, but their chieftain had made him see the wisdom of it. He trusted no other the way he trusted the old warrior, and needed him after the losses of others. In a ceremony before the other clansmen, he had asked not demanded, that Gabhran accept this new responsibility for the sake of the clan.
Since that day, the chieftain frequently sought the old warrior's council in matters that affected the clan just as she had when confronting a particularly difficult clansman who had been injured or taken with fevers, including the one they watched now.
"What will happen to him if he canna do this?" she said aloud for the first time, the fear she had since his return.
They both knew, had seen it among others in the clan who had suffered horrible wounds. Some never recovered, but took themselves off into the hills, to live out what was left of their lives. Others found a purpose among the clan, working with the horses at the stables as best they could, or taking up a trade. Some never recovered, but simply willed themselves to die as she had feared for him.
"He will find his way," Gabhran replied. "But he canna do it alone. That will be the most difficult part of it, lass. He has always been alone, even when he first returned to Lechlede when you were just a slip of a girl. There were things that happened... " He paused, searching for the right words.
"There are things a man goes through." He paused again and his expression shifted.
"Women too, aye? And it changes them. Only they can decide if it will be for the better, or no."
A choice.
She looked up at him then, wide-shouldered in spite of his years, his red beard graying, with sharp eyes that missed nothing.
Was he perhaps thinking of the Lady Brynna and what she had suffered in her first marriage for he had served the old chieftain, then Hugh Fraser, and now James Fraser.
What would Ruari choose? Would he let what had happened to him in Normandy destroy him?
From the moment he returned she had feared it, and now as she saw his missteps, his frustration with himself, the way he drove himself until she couldn't watch any longer, the fear grew inside her that what he had suffered there might yet destroy him, that he would simply go off and never return..
"Tis the loss of the hand that is the most troublesome," Gabhran said thoughtfully.
"Ye remember old Rufus, the wood carver?"
It was a sad tale. The poor man had wounded himself and lost the fingers of one hand. After the wounds healed, he had set out to make himself a hand of wood. It was a clumsy contraption that he attached to what was left of his arm with leather straps, and he was able to continue his trade. But woodworking was not the same as the skills required of a Fraser warrior.
"I will have Malcolm practice with him," Gabhran commented. "He fights well from both sides, and he is verra patient."
She forced back the tears, and laughed.
"He will need the patience of a saint with that one."
"Aye, that he will," Gabhran agreed.
She caught glimpses of their training over the next several days, Malcolm of the Munros, allied with the Fraser clan, working with Ruari, and as Gabhran had predicted, patient as a saint when Ruari became frustrated and would have simply thrown down his claymore and walked away.
"Now, begin again, the way I showed you," she overheard Malcolm tell him. "Lead with yer right foot, and again, until it comes natural to ye, and plant yer left foot to steady yerself. Close your eyes and do it again. Aye, ye have the way of it. Now, again."
Hour after hour, it continued, until both men were exhausted and drenched with sweat. But true to the old warrior's words, Malcolm never grew impatient or angered by a misstep or a clumsy strike that once came too near his head.
"If ye mean to take me head, Ruari Fraser, ye must do it quickly for there will always be another at yer back to cut you down, aye? Now, again, and then ye must turn to defend yerself. Don't think, just do it. Aye, and again."
And when he wasn't at the practice yard with Malcolm or the other Fraser warriors, he rode out from Lechlede alone, often not returning until after dark even when their chieftain insisted he take another man with him.
"I'll not be coddled like a helpless child!" Ruari angrily replied in a way that no other kinsman would have dared. Then he was gone again not returning until just before dawn.
Alix made her way through the village at the bottom of the hill below the keep. She called on the young woman, Kaylen, who years before had lost both husband and child in an attack on the village of Abh-more. She had become attached to an orphaned child at Lechlede afterward, and chose to remain. In the village her skill at candle-making had provided her a means of supporting herself and Maire, the little girl she had taken as her own.
Two years before she had married Brian, the tanner whose leather craft was highly sought after by the chieftain at Lechlede for both harnesses and saddles, and the finer leather made into vests and breeches for their kinsmen. They had a little boy the year before who was now a curious imp at his father's knee, and a daughter only the month past.
Alix had helped with the birthing of both and stopped by their cottage at the back of the tannery to see how Kaylen and the bairn, named for the lady of Fraser hall after the kindness she was shown at the loss of her family those years before. Both were doing fine and the bairn was rosy cheeked with a sweet disposition.
She put in the order for more candles that Morna had given her before leaving the tower hall, and then stopped by the shop behind the cottage to see Brian. He had his young son playing nearby in a hog enclosure lined with hay, minus the hog.
"How are ye, miss?" he greeted her, rising from the bench where he was putting the final touch on a length of leather.
"This is almost ready for the seamstress at the hall."
"I will tell her," she replied setting her basket with her medicinal herbs at the long wood work table.
"I've a request if tis possible for I know you have a fine skill."
He looked up. "A pair of boots perhaps? But the ones ye have are fine. What then, miss?"
She explained what she wanted.
"For the chieftain's brother, aye?" he asked.
She nodded. "I would gladly pay ye for it."
He shook his head. "We heard of his misfortune. I'd not take a single coin for something that would help the man."
"Is it possible?"
Brian's expression was thoughtful.
"Ah, like the wood peg I fitted the goat with after the hounds mauled her. Kaylen wouldna hear of puttin her down, ye see. She's a great mother and produces fine milk. Gets along right fine now, hopping about with the fake leg like nothing happened.
"I've heard of such things, seen one once in Edinburgh when I was there with our kinsmen. It was made in France for one of the noblemen who wore it when he came to pay tribute to the young king. An elaborate thing and all decorated and such, with a ring on one of the fingers, of all things!"
"Tis possible, then?"
"Aye, but it will take some thinking. Has he asked for such a thing?"
Alix hesitated. She knew she was overstepping. She hadn't spoken of it to anyone, and didn't give him a direct answer.
"It would be of great benefit to him," she replied instead. "The chieftain would be most pleased for his brother."
Brian nodded. "I will see what can be done about it. It will take some time to figure out just how the thing should be made."
She let out the breath she had been holding. "I thank ye kindly, Brian Taylor."
"I'll send word round when I have something for ye to look at. Mind ye, I make no promises that it will work."
"Ye'll not say a word about it?" she reminded him. "Not until it's done?"
He nodded. "Ye have my promise, miss."
She smiled her gratitude and stepped out into the late-summer afternoon. She ran headlong into Eben McGinley.
"There ye are, lass! Where have ye been?"
His hands closed around her arms and held on a little too long.
"Good day, Eben," she replied, hoping to escape.
"Aye, tis a good day now." He held on to her wrist as he called out to Brian about an order his father had placed for a new harness for one of the draft ponies, then turned back to her.
"I've missed ye. Where have ye been keeping yerself?" He fell into step beside her as she retrieved her arm and righted the basket that he knocked askew.
"At the tower, there are always injuries to tend too" she replied. "I called on Kaylen just now to see how she and the bairn are getting along." She quickened her stride.
"And ye have matters with the tanner, aye?" he asked with a good-natured grin.
She pushed back irritation at his endless questions.
"About a leather piece is all," she replied, hoping to end the conversation. She had discovered long ago that any common courtesy was only seen as encouragement by Eben McGinley. There were times he was such a child. But undeterred, he kept pace with her.
"I heard the chieftain's brother almost didna live after ye found him that day."
"He's well enough."
"Aye," he replied, eyeing her with a sideways glance. "Well enough I say. He's been keeping company with one of the girls down at the tavern, by name of Kaia. She's been boasting at market about the silver coin he gives her."
It shouldn't have mattered. She had no illusions about her place in the clan, or Ruari's as brother to the chieftain. He was his own man and bound to no one but the chieftain and his family. It shouldn't bother her that he sought the bed of one of the village girls.
But it did. It cut like a knife and her only defense was anger, at herself for carrying such deep feelings for Ruari Fraser all these years. She meant nothing more to him than someone he had humored and teased all those years before. And now, she was simply another member of the clan who had healed the wounds he'd returned with.
"Will ye sit with me at summer feast, Alix? Tis only a fortnight away."
"Aye!" she replied. "If my grandmother doesna need me," she impulsively replied, fighting to keep the anger from her voice. It was not at him. He was like a bothersome insect that kept buzzing around her, but meant no harm.
"I will sit with ye," she accepted the invitation. "I must go now. My grandmother will be needing my help with evening meal."
To his credit, Eben did not follow her, but returned to the tanner, whistling to himself. He looked like one of the young highland calves, kicking up his heels, his hair spilling down over his forehead.
The preparations for the evening meal proved no escape from her troubled thoughts. After working with Malcolm Munro as had become his habit the past several days, he slipped into the chamber beside the kitchen to wash off the sweat and grime before joining the chieftain and Lady Brynna for the evening meal.
"Good eventide, Morna," he greeted her grandmother. "Alix."
Morna had known him since he was a bairn in swaddle cloths and greeted him with what could only be described as grandmotherly affection.
"Be careful," she cautioned. "The water in the barrel is clean, but hot. And there's linen on the hook." She patted him on the shoulder, she had since he was a child.
"And I've a sweet cake to hold ye over until evening meal."
Alix would like to have escaped, with Eben McGinley's words about Kaia churning at her stomach. But there was no escape with several women bustling about setting the cook pot, building up the fire for the meat that was set to roasting, her grandmother giving her the eye as she handed her several platters to set the long table for the roast fowl and venison that was to be served.
Morna had given her the task of preparing the fowl that was to be set next over the cook fire. She brought the carving blade down with a loud whack that severed the head of the guinea fowl and sent it skittering into the pastry her grandmother rolled out at the side board for a fresh pie from the summer berries they'd gathered the day before.
"What's gotten into ye, lass?" Morna demanded, grabbing the head of the guinea fowl and tossing it into a bucket at her feet.
"It slipped," she answered simply, and wiped her hands with the hope of escaping.
"Well, since ye seem all thumbs with supper, see to Master Ruari then, aye?" her grandmother admonished her, with an angled glance toward the wash chamber.
"And he'll be needing a clean shirt. I washed the other one ye altered for him. It's on the dry rack. Now, get on with ye, girl."
It was not unusual for the women to help their kinsmen at their bathing; fetching more of the soapwort that made a rich lather or more warm water from the hearth as the water cooled in the tub. It was accepted without a thought for what was proper or allowed. If the man had a wife, he usually bathed in their cottage, at the stables, or at the common house in the village. But at the keep, it was not unusual for one of the women to assist the chieftain if his lady was kept elsewhere, with the children or with one of the many responsibilities she carried.
The women were older, most were married or had a man. They were use to such things and simply went about their chores without a thought or comment. Her status among the women was different. She had acquired the skills of a healer over the past years and was often called upon to see to an injury be it man, woman, or child, naked or covered.
It was as if she suddenly became invisible as a woman when her skills were called upon. And it wasn't as if she hadn't seen Ruari Fraser very naked as the day he was born. But that was when he was near death, covered with a blanket.
"Get on with it!" her grandmother scolded her.
She wished to be invisible now as she entered the chamber beside the kitchen that was used for bathing and the laundry.
"Damned breeches!" Ruari cursed, his head coming up as she entered the room.
Over the past week, either his brother or his young nephew assisted with the leather ties of his breeches. But neither were there now and he had managed to get them knotted. He swore again.
" Sguirich !" she told him in the Gaelic as if she was scolding one of the chieftain's sons.
"Cease! Ye'll only make it worse." She pushed his hand aside and concentrated on unknotting the leather ties.
He cursed again. "There's no need!"
"Need enough with the tangled mess ye've made of it, unless ye've a mind to bathe with yer breeches on. That could be dangerous when they dry and bind up about ye."
He glared at her. "You've a sharp tongue." But there was a hint of a smile at one corner of his mouth.
"Tis often needed with small children."
He made a sound. "Children is it?"
"Yer nephews," she explained as her fingers brushed the flat tautness of his belly. She heard his sudden intake of air, the way he slowly blew it out, his mouth thinned to a hard line.
"I am not one of my nephews."
"No ye are not." She finally tugged the knot free and loosened the ties.
"They have better manners."
He angled her a look. He took a step back. "I have the way of it now."
He was dismissing her, and she wondered if he was as dismissive with Kaia when he visited her cottage.
She smiled at the irritation she saw in that icy blue gaze.
"I've bandaged yer wounds and bathed ye when ye had the fever, Ruari Fraser. There's not much of you that I havena seen, if that's what yer thinkin'."
His head came up. "Go!"
She tossed the washing cloth into the tub of steaming water and headed for the door. She should have kept going. Instead, she hesitated with her hand at the latch to the door at the sound of water lapping against the side of the wood tub, and glanced back over her shoulder.
Ruari Fraser was a sight to behold as he slipped one long leg then the other into the steaming tub of water, for those brief moments all of him in full view.
The gauntness when he first returned was gone, replaced by sleek muscles at his shoulders, back, and his arse--naked as the day he was born-- as he slipped into the steaming water supported by his right hand at the rim of the tub.
Even the sight of his severed arm could not deter from the beauty of him with muscles at his chest and at his flat belly from long hours in the practice yard. His dark hair had grown long to his shoulders and in the light from the fire at the hearth where more water simmered, he had the look of a fierce Scottish warrior his head eased back against the rim.
She had seen men before, a glimpse here or there when tending to a wound, and most certainly the chieftain's sons. She knew the way of it, and felt a pang of jealousy at the knowledge that he chose to spend his nights with the girl, Kaia, who was known to share her bed with any man willing to pay her.
As if he sensed that he was not alone, those eyes slowly opened and stared back at her, slightly slanted, that fierce blue gone to black at the edges. Caught staring, she suddenly froze, then turned and quickly slipped from the chamber, closing the door behind her. She leaned back against it.
Her gown clung to her from the heat in the chamber. It was as if she had stepped into that wooden tub and slipped beneath the surface of the water with him, and she ached with something very near pain.
"Fool!" she hissed to herself.