Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
F or a long moment, Nimah couldn’t breathe. She’d spent so long waiting for her father’s letter, but she’d never imagined he’d send her the letter for her mother as well. Surely he’d want to burn his own letter to her, to send his own words to the spirits on the Samhain fires. But the proof was there in her hand… he’d given her the chance to do it for both of them.
“Niamh? Are ye all right lass?” Catriona was watching her, as were the others. Niamh gulped back the stinging of tears in her eyes.
“Aye. ‘Tis just… I’ve been waiting tae hear from me faither. I havenae spoken tae him, even by a letter since the Autumn Equinox Festival, when I met Alistair.” She swallowed again. “I’m afraid I said some harsh words tae him, I was afeared…”
“Och, lass, harsh words never stopped a proper father from lovin’ his daughter. If he loves ye at all, he’s missed ye sore since then.”
“I dinnae ken. But the letter…” She wanted to read it immediately, but she had promised to work on her Samhain gift and dress during the afternoon.
“Ye go, tak’ whatever time ye need. And if ye miss the afternoon, ye’re well enough along that ‘twill nae be a problem, I think.” Moira gave her a motherly embrace. “Dinnae fret lass. There’s none here who’d begrudge ye the chance tae hear from yer kin.”
Niamh nodded. “Then if ye’ll excuse me.” She turned and hurried away, tears stinging her eyes again as she entered the library. She’d thought about going to her rooms, but she didn’t want to chance encountering Alistair there.
There were glowing coals in the library hearth, and it was the work of a few moments to add some wood and coax them into a warm blaze. Once that was done, Niamh settled herself into the chair near the fire and opened the first letter, the one addressed to her.
Me Dearly Beloved Daughter,
Let me tell ye, afore I say aught else, that ye need never apologize tae me fer the way we parted. I regret it sorely as well, but I ken well enough that ‘twas me own doing that we parted so poorly. I wanted tae see ye safely wed, and I needed the help o’ yer maither’s kin, but I handled the matter poorly, and I am sorrier fer it than ye will ever ken.
I am sorry, as well, that I’ll nae be there tae give ye away tae yer husband, or for the Samhain celebration. I wish with all me heart that it were possible, me beloved child, but it is nae. I cannae make the journey at this time o’ year, nae when there’s much tae be done tae see our clan safe and secure fer the winter, and ready fer spring.
I understand ye will likely feel bitterly disappointed, me darling Niamh. I can only pray that it will ease yer anger tae ken that the outer walls have been repaired, and the mending o’ the castle is continuing as we speak. When winter comes, Clan Cameron will be safe and warm. Likewise, we’ve had a good harvest, and ‘tis me hope and belief that nae one o’ our folk will go hungry this winter. And that, in part, is due tae ye.
I ken ye were angry when ye left, and ye deserved tae be. I can only say that Laird MacDuff seemed tae be a good man. I hope he is treating ye as ye deserve - well and with every gentleness and respect. If he is nae, tell me, and I will come tae yer aid, and tak’ ye away, whatever I must dae.
Likewise, I am gladdened tae hear that ye have found kinship with yer maither’s family. ‘Tis me hope they can tell ye everything I never could about her. Ye deserve tae ken yer kin and yer heritage, and tae be among those that loved her - I hope they come tae love ye as well.
I sent the letter fer yer maither tae be burned along with yers, because I ken ye would be aggrieved tae be unable tae send it. In any case, I’ve only one wish fer this Samhain - I wish fer ye, me daughter, tae be happy, healthy, and loved. I wish fer ye tae find all the fulfillment and joy a faither could wish for his daughter, and I pray ye will find peace, and a way tae put tae rest all the fears that have long plagued yer heart and mind.
I love ye, me darling Niamh. I love ye more than any penned words in a letter can ever convey. With every breath in me body, I wish ye all the joy ye could ever want. I wish ye a loving husband, a life surrounded by loving kinfolk, and, if ever it be yer wish and decision, the joy o’ children. And if nae, joy in yer clan.
I dinnae ken that I will be able tae travel tae see ye afore winter closes the roads between us. But if that is the case, then look fer me in spring, and until then, I will send what letters I may, and pray tae receive yer words in turn.
Ken that, however infrequent our exchanges may be, ye will be in me thoughts and me heart alway,s daughter. And I will count the days until I have a chance tae hold ye again.
Fer now, I will wish ye a blessed Samhain.
With all me Love,
Yer Faither, Bruce Cameron
Niamh’s tears were falling freely down her face by the time she finished the letter, her heart aching painfully as she read and reread each word. The emotions that tore through her made it hard to breathe, hard to think past her tears and the feelings swirling through her mind.
He wasn’t angry. He loved her, and he had wished her happiness. Her father shared her grief over their parting, and her regret over how it had happened, but he didn’t fault her for it.
The letter was everything she’d hoped to receive from him, and more. She could feel the love and care suffusing every word.
She felt relief for her clan too, that the repairs would be done, and there would be no holes in the battlements, or cracks in the walls to let the chill winds through.
She felt grief, that she would likely not see her father until spring - it was already growing cold, and the journey wasn’t an easy one, not even in good weather. With winter closing in, it was likely that even if she sent another letter begging him to come, he’d not be able to make the journey before the snows closed in.
Still, he was thinking of her, and that was a comfort. He had sent her his blessing and his love, and she felt both relieved and happy to have both, even if her heart ached for the warmth of his embrace, and the sound of his low, rough bear-like voice.
Her gaze slid to the other letter, the one addressed to her mother. Niamh bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth as she considered it.
On any other year, she’d have already known the contents, for she and her father had always written them together before this year. But now, the words were a mystery, and she was curious.
However, she knew it was rude to read a letter written to another, especially one that was still sealed. It didn’t matter if the letter was meant to be sent to the spirits, the truth was still the same. In fact, it might be more important, given that the words were meant to cross to those waiting beyond the veil to the next life.
On the other hand, she had always been privy to such letters before. And surely her mother wouldn’t mind? Why should she?
She wrestled with her thoughts for several moments, then curiosity won out. She held the letter close to the fire until the wax softened, then gently peeled the seal away and opened the missive, which seemed not much shorter than her own.
What she read made her heart ache and brought her to tears once again.
Me Beloved Kathleen,
I write this letter tae ye without Niamh’s aid this year and pray ye willnae be too angered with me fer the decision I have made.
I have married our daughter tae Laird MacDuff, laird and kin tae the clan that ye fled from when ye married me. I did this so that Cameron Clan might be warm and safe in the winter, and in the coming spring - and because yer kinfolk would only aid us if I wed Naimh tae a Highland man, and there was nae one else I could bear tae even consider trusting with the precious child ye gave tae me.
‘Twas the hardest thing I have ever done, and the worst choice I’ve ever been forced tae make. And though I think Niamh has forgiven me, I dinnae ken how long it will be before I forgive meself, for I all but tricked her intae the marriage.
Och, Kathleen, it broke me heart tae act so, but she’s always been so afraid tae seek love and joy fer herself ever since she kent the way we lost ye. I want her tae be happy, tae live a life so full o’ joy that nae even the gods or the Fair Folk could find aught tae make it more complete, and I’ve always feared that her fear would keep her from the happiness she deserves.
Have I done well by her? Time will tell. I can only say Laird MacDuff seems an honorable man, and that, when last I heard from her, yer daughter said she’d found a welcome among yer kinfolk and her husband’s clan.
Och, Kathleen… I wish so much for her, more than I have words tae speak or tae write. She is the light o’ me life, and even the grief o’ losin’ ye didnae shadow the light and the love that filled me the first time I held her in me arms. She’s me world, but now I have given the shining jewel, the greatest part o’ me life and me clan intae the hands o’ another man, and I must trust him nae tae shatter it.
Watch over her, I pray ye. Protect her, as I nay longer can. I pray she feels yer love and light in every breath she takes, and that her time among yer kinfolk will allow her tae ken ye in a way I could never show her.
With all me heart, beloved, I have only one wish tae send tae ye, or mayhap two.
I pray ye forgive me, if this decision angers ye, if it was nae what I should have done fer our beloved Niamh.
I pray ye are with her now, tae continue tae shelter her in yer love and warmth, and may she, with yer guidance, find all the peace and joy that both o’ us have ever wished fer her.
Be there, with all yer love, and guard her in me stead, me love. If I never feel yer presence again, ‘twill be enough if I can only see Niamh find her way tae the happiness she deserves, fer I ken that such joy will include yer blessings and yer love, as they always have.
All Me Love and Devotion, Yers Til the End o’ Time,
Bruce
Her father’s letter to her had been emotional. The letter to her mother was heartbreaking, and Niamh could scarcely see through her tears as she stuck the wax seal carefully back in place.
She’d felt her father’s love in his letter to her, but the one he’d written to her mother - she could feel his heart bleeding into every word, every phrase. Her heart ached with love and with the pain of missing both her parents. And with the knowledge that, deeply as her father cherished her mother still, he was willing to give up any tie to her, for the sake of Niamh’s happiness.
Did her father look at her and remember the joy of holding her the first time, great enough to overpower his grief at losing his wife, every time he embraced her? If that was true, then it was a small wonder that he’d never understood her fear of having children. It must have seemed to him like fear was withholding the greatest possible joy from her life.
No wonder he had tried so hard to see her married and had wanted her to know the joy of family. For him, it was that joy that had kept him from drowning in sorrow and loss. She had never thought about it in that light. And he had never mentioned it when they shared their letter writing.
Now she knew. And it changed so much. Like the words of her father’s forgiveness, love and blessing, it was more than she’d ever expected to experience.
Niamh had no idea how long it took for her tears to dry, or the storm of emotions inside her to settle. But eventually they did, and in the aftermath, she understood two things.
She knew now, she would not be alone, when the time came. She might not live - it was still possible for childbirth to overwhelm a woman, no matter how much help was available - but she would not perish alone and in terror.
And she knew perhaps, just perhaps, now, why it might be worth taking the risk.
Alistair wasn’t sure what was going on in Niamh’s mind when she joined him for supper in the Great Hall. He knew, from whispers among the servant folk, that she’d not been with the women in the sewing room that afternoon, and that she’d gone to speak to Catriona earlier in the day.
He could also see that she was in a thoughtful mood, and she had clearly been in some distress earlier in the day. The slight redness of her eyes and the weary, slightly distant expression in her face told him that. But for the life of him, he could not imagine what had caused her strange mood.
He also wasn’t about to ask during the meal. Such things were private matters, and unless she decided to speak of it in front of the rest of the clan, he saw no reason to do so. Whatever troubled her, his questions could wait until they’d retired after the meal.
He was still wondering how best to broach the subject when one of the older men of the clan spoke to him. “How fare ye and yer lady, me laird?”
“Well enough.” Alistair took a swallow of his mead, and only narrowly avoided spraying it across the table when the man spoke again.
“And how fares the siring o’ an heir? I’ve heard rumors that ye and the lady are well matched…” The man smirked, the red on his cheeks indicating that he’d had more mead than was good for his health. Alistair cursed the fact that the man’s brother sat on the Council, and he couldn’t simply knock the older man out, or toss him in a dungeon cell until he’d regained his sobriety, his wits and his respect for his laird.
“I’ve little tae speak tae on that score.” Alistair saw Niamh stiffen in her seat, her cheeks flushing, and amended his statement. “Ye ken, ‘tis unwise tae speak afore we ken…”
“Och, but ye must have some idea! Surely yer lady kens when and how tae tell if she’s with child.” The man grinned at Niamh, whose flush deepened. “Or is it that ye’re waiting fer a particular day tae announce it? Perhaps ye’ll have special words fer the clan at Samhain?”
“I cannae speak tae that. I wouldnae wish tae invite bad luck.” He was trying not to say anything that might imply some difficulty or fault with Niamh or himself, but it was hard, especially when he wasn’t about to reveal the truth to the assembled folk.
“Och, well, in that case…” The man raised his tankard, drawing the attention of the whole table. “Tae yer health, me laird, and yer lady’s, and the anticipation o’ good news come Samhain’s Eve!”
The words were echoed by many along the supper tables, and Alistair would have been perfectly happy to leave it at that, had not one of the more curious wives of his councilors asked “And what good news are we hoping fer?”
“Why, the announcement o’ an heir tae be born, and when!”
Alistair was tempted to thump his head on the table. He would have, had it not been beneath his dignity.
“Is that so? Ye’ve nae mentioned this in Council, Laird MacDuff.” Dearmont spoke up.
“There’s naught tae say as yet. Master McKell is simply expressin’ his hopes.”
“Well, it has been near a fortnight since yer wedding, man. Surely ye aught tae ken something by now.”
“’Tis nae always easy tae ken.” Catriona spoke up, trying to offer him a graceful way out, but it was too late. Whispers were darting up and down the Hall, and Niamh’s expression was getting tighter and tighter, her cheeks red and her hands clenched so tight around her goblet that he was glad it was a sturdy one of polished wood, rather than softer metal, or the glass chalices they used for special occasions.
Gods and spirits above, could they not leave the matter alone for a single moon? Yes, he’d been married a fortnight, he and Niamh, but it was barely that, and there had been much to occupy both of them. Besides, it often took a season or more for a babe to be conceived, even if they had been regular lovers. Sometimes longer. His mother hadn’t conceived him until a year after wedding his father.
And for all the council knew - and all they had a right to know - Niamh could be at any point in her moon cycle.
Conceiving a bairn wasn’t like breeding a horse or growing crops. It happened in its own time, when the powers that be willed it, and the woman was ready.
He’d married. As far as anyone knew, including Catriona, he and Niamh were like any other wedded couple when it came to activity in the bedroom.
Why cannae that be enough fer them? I ken there are threats on the border, and every clan fears losing a laird without an heir, but they’ve Ewan tae follow me if I fall without issue, and Catriona’s husband after that, among others. And I’ve written me chosen line o’ succession and presented it tae them. I did that almost as soon as the dirt settled on me faither’s grave.
The rough scrape of wood on stone wrenched his thoughts back to the conversation, just as Niamh rose from her seat. “If ye’ll excuse me.” She turned and left the hall before he could even try to convince her to stay.
Alistair wasted no time in rising. “I should see that she’s well.”
“Aye, ye should.” McKell had the nerve to give him a sloppy smirk and a wink. “They say a woman’s temper is the shortest when she’s expectin’ something tae come…”
Alistair scowled, but made no reply, choosing instead to leave the Hall before he said something he shouldn’t. He did, however, stop a serving maid and tell her to pass the word that McKell was to have nothing save cold barley water at his meals until Samhain night.
A little enforced sobriety might teach the man to hold his tongue.
He found Niamh in their quarters, walking in little circles, her expression tense and strained. “Niamh…”
“Why did ye nae tell him tae be silent? That it was nae his business?” She whirled to face him.
“Because if I had, he’d have asked more questions. And so would everyone else who heard him. McKell’s a fool and he was drunk, but his braither’s a member o’ the Council, and he wanted the word as much as anyone else.” Alistair scowled back, disliking the reminder that he’d be dealing with more veiled questions the next time the council met, if not before then.
“It’s nae any o’ their business.” Niamh hissed. “And ye’re a laird. Ye should be able tae stop them.”
“I could, but I’d start a thousand more rumors in the tryin’.” Alistair retorted. “And would ye prefer I told them the truth, or led them tae believe that there was some problem with sirin’ a babe?”
“I’d prefer if everyone left the matter alone.” Naimh’s cheeks flushed. “Why cannae they just… ‘tis my choice!”
“It should be, and I’ve done me best tae give ye time tae make it, but ye’re the wife o’ a laird. ‘Tis something a laird’s clan is constantly wonderin’ about, until an heir is born.”
“I didnae want tae be married! And ye… if ye’d just…”
“Just what? Left ye alone?” Alistair stepped closer. “Sooner or later, this day would come fer ye, as a laird’s daughter. Would ye rather have a husband who wouldnae have cared fer what ye wanted, or what ye feared?”
The color in her cheeks deepened. “That’s nae what I’m saying. ‘Tis just…”
She was afraid, and she had good reasons to be. Perhaps she was afraid, however, that the constant pressure from members of his clan would be enough to make Alistair change his mind. She had scarcely known him for a moon. No matter that they were married, or that they were growing closer to each other with each passing day. She had lived with her fear for a score of years, and the one man she’d trusted to understand it, her father, had tried to trick her into marriage, and then let her be led away by her prospective husband.
How could she not fear that he might change his mind, or decide that she’d had enough time to worry? He’d shown her what pleasure could be had from a man’s touch. There were men he knew, good men, even, who would have thought that he’d been patient enough. And that, if she was so willing to give herself to him for pleasure, then why not for more?
He opened his mouth, just as she did, and the words came forth at the same time.
“Ye ken Ewan is my heir…”
“I think I want tae have yer child.”