Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
T he aroma permeated the small cottage, bringing a smile to the old woman's face.
"Aye," Maisel nodded. "Marsalaid--ye've a simmer pot going, aye? I recognize the smell."
Alix nodded as the brew bubbled with its own language as the old woman had taught her early when they worked side by side, oil from the leaves she'd gathered now slick at the surface. When it had simmered a good while, she would skim the oil off the top once it cooled and blend with lavender for a calming, soothing balm that was always in great demand.
"When the chieftain returns, there will be much need of it, for the bruises and aches in the muscles." She prayed those would be the only wounds. Unaware of the emotion in her voice, she looked up as the old woman came to stand beside her and laid a gentle hand at her arm.
As age gradually took Maisel's sight she came more and more to rely on Alix to mix the remedies and concoctions needed by a household full of Fraser warriors and a score or more of youngsters--the chieftains three children--who always seemed to get into one scrape or another, right down to his young daughter who he often claimed was more a handful than the two boys.
But Alix knew it was only because the way of young girls was a mystery to him, and so the chieftain dealt with her as he dealt with the boys--a strong hand, a fierce heart, and more than a little looking away when they got themselves into a bit of a tangle.
"Dinna fash yerself, lass, They will return," the old woman said now, with a knowing smile.
"Just as I knew that young Ruari would return. Aye?"
Hadn't she spoken of it those long months ago?
Alix had not believed it. In all the time he was gone to France and then other far places they heard of ,when word eventually made its way back to Lechlede, from a year past with some distant kinsman or the tinker who brought wares from the coastal port each spring and fall, she had not believed it.
And then word reached them of the encounter with the English at Calais. She had seen the expression at the chieftain's face when their cousin in France sent word that Ruari had fallen during the battle. There had been no word about him afterward and by the chieftain's grim expression, she knew that he thought him dead.
It seemed a part of her died too when they heard of it. It was then her grandmother had once again encouraged Eben McGinley's attentions, much to her irritation.
"Eben is a boy!" she remembered the argument all those months before. And he would always be a boy. Her heart had long been lost to another.
"And yer a girl wot needs a husband. Ye canna just go about with no man to protect ye. Ye might be part of the chieftain's household, but that wouldna stop a man from taking wot he would from ye and leaving ye with a bairn in yer belly."
She knew where Morna's concerns came from, but the words between them had been sharp and painful.
"Ye canna go on hoping for a thing that will nay happen!" Morna finally said, punching a fist into a mound of dough at the breadboard.
None had been more surprised than her grandmother when Ruari Fraser rode into Lechlede more dead than alive. Her expression since had been a constant frown that had only deepened as the weeks turned into months, and Alix had taken Ruari's care upon herself.
Now, the days since they left Lechlede fell into a pattern of work, trips to the village to see to the needs of the villagers, and then hours spent with Maisel in her cottage listening to the old woman as she taught her more about the wild things that grew that time of year that could be gathered, dried, then crushed into healing balms or ground into powder for remedies for different complaints that always seemed to be in abundant supply. Working with the old woman helped fill the long hours and take her mind off the fear and doubts that filled her thoughts.
Early each morn she joined Lady Brynna in her chamber to break the fast, then chased the children out into the orchards or the practice yard for the adventures they always seemed to find. Midday she made her way to the village escorted by two Fraser kinsmen, Cam, who was barely her own age, and young Dougal who was only a few years older than young Alexander. But they took their duty as guardians of the clan seriously with no idle threat from Gabhran.
"Ye see the young miss to the village proper, then see her safely back. Or I'll strip the hide from yer backsides meself."
Cam and Dougal both nodded that first day, their expressions by turns filled with mock sternness at the task they were given by the old warrior, and uncertainty whether the threat was genuine.
"Would ye?" Alix whispered to the old warrior when the two were out of earshot.
"Most likely not necessary," he admitted. "What's important is that they believe it, aye? Fear is a verra effective weapon."
She usually only went to the village to see to those who had taken ill, to see if their fevers had gone or to see to one of the young women who was new with child and having difficulties.
Otherwise, she preferred to spend her days seeing to the chieftain's children, with old Maisel, the cottage filled with pungent scents and aromas from the pots that were set to simmering then cooling with the shutters at the windows propped open.
The days wore on, and even the endless chores found in a large household, and hours spent with Maisel could not quiet the fear deep inside as each day slipped into another, and then another, and there was no word from their kinsmen or sign of their return.
Now with the simmer pot good for a while and juniper steeping at the edge of the fire, she sought the bracing chill of the evening as she climbed the stone steps to the top of the high wall.
She had climbed them just so a hundred times and more when Ruari left that other time for France, counting off the carved granite stones that had been set decades before, climbing from memory as the light from the torches at the yard below faded into darkness--twenty-one, twenty two... thirty four--almost out of breath as the light from the torches where her kinsmen stood guard gradually reached out to her.
Thirty eight, as she reached the top, breathless, blood humming through her veins, and the night wind that caught and then swirled at the walls reached her, lifting her hair from her shoulders, and stinging at her eyes.
The guards had become accustomed to her nightly visits, and contrary to Morna's dire predictions, simply nodded in greeting, their gazes drawn beyond the walls as they kept their silent vigils. Only later had she learned that Gabhran made it clear she was not to be harmed, or any man would answer to him.
She smiled now as she thought of the bear-like warrior who had first served the old chieftain. She was not surprised to see his outline at the wall, that gruff, countenance staring out into the surrounding darkness.
She knew he did not approve of her visits to the top of the wall, but had said nothing. He was not one to make comments when a steely-eyed glare said far more. She had ignored him, needing the quietude the top of the wall offered with the wind for a companion.
She imagined that it whispered in that strange way the old ones spoke of to frighten young children with their stories that the night was filled with the spirits of those who had gone before just waiting to steal a young lad or lass away to the far hills.
Years before she had let her thoughts reach out into the darkness as if she could will Ruari to return. Then, refusing to believe that he was dead after Calais, she had continued to return to the wall, watching, waiting.
"Wishing for a thing wilna make it so ," Morna had once said.
But when that was all she had left, she continued to climb those steps, by turns lost in despair and then furious that he would go off and get himself kilt.
"Damn ye to hell, Ruari Fraser," she had cursed more than once, and then whispered her silent prayers.
"Come home. Ye belong here... Ye belong to me. Do ye ken?"
Now she wrapped the woolen shawl more tightly about her shoulders as she stood with the old warrior, her thoughts reaching out once more.
Was it possible for another to know yer thoughts as old Maisel claimed, to be so connected that ye could feel another's thoughts, feel their pain, their hopes, disappointments, the fear?
"Tis possible fer some," the old woman had explained, watching her then, her gaze piercing.
" Bean feasa the old ones call it." Second sight.
Was that what she felt when she imagined the places Ruari had gone? Did she see those things, or only imagine them?
She did not know. She only knew that she found some comfort there at the wall with her own thoughts, and hoped that somehow they reached him.
The wind was sharp this night, and she pulled the wool shawl more tightly about her. And there was a smell on the night air that was different, of the damp and frost that came now in the last hours before dawn, of green things changing, apples ready for the harvest in the orchard as the warm months gave way to the coming change of seasons.
"How far is it?" she asked, thinking of the days and weeks ahead with the coming of Samhuin, then rain would turn ice-cold, and ice would glisten atop the wall. And snow would follow.
"Stirling?'
She nodded, having asked that same question of Lady Brynna who was not certain the distance having never been there.
"A handful of days and a bit more with those afoot ...
She heard the hesitation in the old warrior's response.
"If the weather holds."
A handful of days. If they did not encounter trouble along the way. Then the question as she had lain awake on her cot, fear and doubt slipping through the darkness on silent feet to haunt her dreams.
"What will happen when they reach Stirling?"
She needed to know and at the same time didn't want to know, was afraid of what he would tell her.
Many times the years past she had seen their kinsmen return from some skirmish with reivers who raided their cattle, or a confrontation with one of the other clans over some matter. Then there was the time when Lady Brynna had been taken captive by her own brother. The chieftain had ridden out to bring her back, and Ruari gone with him. Then just those few years past there had been the confrontation with the English in the borderlands. There had been many injuries among their kinsmen. Several good men had died while others carried the scars of that encounter, including James Fraser.
Gabhran did not reply at first, but she heard the long breath he took, and felt the glance he angled toward her.
"Speak yer mind, lass."
It was there, on the tip of her tongue, the doubt and fear that had lain like a stone at her belly since she watched Ruari ride out. Not one backwards glance, did she see, never once, as he sat tall astride the black stallion and joined the others, the sun glinting off the metal armor that was now his left arm and hand.
"Will he... ?" she began hesitantly, then bit the words back. "Do ye think there will be a fight?
"Tis possible." More than possible, he knew. "There are those of our men who would like nothing more than to kick English arse again, and now with them riding on Stirling and the young king... Tis reason enough, and then some. The English willna be satisfied until they have enslaved every one of us."
She felt that shrewd gaze on her.
"Say what it is ye really want to know, lass."
"Tis only that his wounds are only just healed... "
"Ruari, ye ask about?" He speculated when he knew full well it was.
It had been there since she was a just a chit of a girl with more sass and spirit than was good for her. It was still there in the young woman who stood beside him. If he was a younger man...
Gabhran sighed. But no, there was only one who was a match for that sass and spirit.
"He's healed well enough, lass. Not to be worrying yer head about that."
But there was still something that caused the frown at her pretty face in the half light from a nearby torch.
"I know he has worked hard every day at the practice yard. But is it enough?" She turned to him then, needing to see that gruff countenance, to know whether he spoke the truth or told her what she wanted to hear.
"His arm... Is he strong enough? Can he protect himself?"
He heard it in her voice, the strength that would accept no lies or carefully chosen words, spoken just to protect her as she knew he tried to protect their mistress.
Aye, she would have the truth of it, or bedevil him until she did.
"The chieftain would not have allowed him to go and fight at his side, if he could not protect the both of them." He tapped his head.
"Much of a man's strength comes from here, and here." He laid a hand at his chest.
"From the heart, lass. Tis in the blood of every clansman, ye ken?"
She did understand, but still worried over it.
"He has dreams," she spoke of the nights when he first returned from France and had been tormented by horrible images, often fighting his way out of them so that she feared he would open the wound at his arm again.
She had thought they would go away in time, as the arm healed, but they were still there and left him silent and tormented, including that last night together.
"Horrible dreams," she whispered. "From what happened before, and Calais."
Blackwood, known for the black shield he carried with the blood red dragon, Lady Brynna had told her what she had learned from the chieftain.
He was the English king's henchman it was said, and not even William Marshall could control him. It was a name Ruari had screamed, both in pain and rage, as he came out of those dark fevered dreams. When she asked him about it, he had refused to speak of it.
" It is not for you to know ," had been his reply, but with a look in his eyes that had said far more.
Gabhran nodded. "We all have our demons, lass. Once you've faced death, once ye've drawn blood, there is no escape from it. It is always there, ye ken? It becomes a part of ye that ye must live with. Or not."
That was what she feared most, that Ruari could not live with it, that even now, he rode with the rest of their kinsmen to rid himself of the demons that haunted his dreams.
Was that what he was trying to tell her that last morning when he had given her the ring, their hands bound together by the silver chain? To protect her, if he did not return?