Chapter Twenty #2
Lara walked to meet them and lifted the bloody sheet that covered the boy’s body. Philippe appeared to be sleeping, his face unmarred by whatever death blow had killed him. As she raised the sheet more, Hugh took her wrist to stop her.
“Do not, lady.”
She stared at him for a moment, but it was enough to make him free her hand.
The boy’s face was apparently the only place not touch by the violence of the battle.
A grievous wound split his shoulder and neck and another cleaved open his chest. Gasping and unable to control herself, she fell to her knees and wept openly.
She had caused this. Her need to feel important. Her need to regain a place in her clan had killed this boy as surely as if she’d held the ax in her own hand. Her refusal to accept her husband and his king—and now it was too late. Too late for the boy and the others who had perished this day.
Even Malcolm had warned her that no good would come of her resistance. He had urged her to grab hold of the life that Sebastien offered her, and she had ignored him, taking the route of deception and betrayal that had led her here—to this lad’s death.
Sir Hugh’s strong hands clutched her shoulders and lifted her to her feet, allowing the men to carry Philippe’s body to the front of the church. She stumbled after them. A boy so young should not lie alone in the dark. She knelt next to him and reached under the sheet to take hold of his hand.
“Lady, you should come now,” Hugh said softly.
“Nay, someone should be with him.” Lara shook her head.
“Lady, please come away?” His touch on her shoulder followed his plea.
Shrugging his hand away, she screamed out at him. “Get away from me. He should not be alone in the dark. I will stay.”
She did not turn to see if they obeyed or not. Dawn could not be far away and then the priest would arrive. Until that moment, she would stay to keep Philippe company. Rubbing his cold hand, she touched it to her cheek and bowed her head to murmur a prayer she knew would be for naught.
“Forgive me, Philippe. Forgive me.”
Indecision and guilt tortured her the next weeks.
The Mass and burial tore the heart out of everyone at Dunstaffnage.
The sight of Malcolm’s thin shoulders sobbing silently at his friend’s death nearly destroyed her.
Cat walked the halls carrying the pieces of rope that Philippe had used to teach knot-tying.
Even worse than her choice of words, the child now retreated into the silence of grief.
Callum disappeared from Dunstaffnage and, to many, his departure spoke of treachery.
But no one was more painful to watch than Sebastien.
He dealt with the boy’s death by ignoring it and carrying on each day as though nothing had changed.
Once, when he seemed to forget, and called out Philippe’s name for some task, Lara ran crying from the room at the pain of it.
He spoke not of it, to her nor to anyone, as much as she could tell, and she carried her grief and guilt in her heart.
Lara was able to learn the details of the raid that turned into a battle through a series of people. Sebastien gave a report of it to Hugh, who in turn shared some of it with Margaret. Then, Margaret gave her an account that made Lara’s blood run cold in her veins.
When Sebastien stood frozen over Philippe’s body, frozen in shock and grief, her cousin and his men had surrounded him and taunted him over the death.
They’d taunted him with the treachery that had led to it, and promised they would take back Dunstaffnage and all that was theirs.
It was only the quick action of James Douglas that had saved Sebastien’s life and turned the battle into a complete rout.
Screaming for vengeance, he’d become the Black Douglas that everyone feared, and had led the king’s forces to victory.
Margaret whispered that none were left alive when they were done. Only a handful had escaped into the mountains surrounding the keep on the River Creran. Lara suspected that Eachann had survived, even if he had had to sacrifice others to insure his own safety and escape.
Sebastien finally came back to their bed after nearly a week of not sleeping, or sleeping elsewhere, but he was changed.
Only once had he turned to her in that bed and made love to her, with a desperation that frightened her.
Other than that, he kept his grief completely within himself.
Even when word came of the Earl of Ross’s surrender to the king at the end of October, it did not seem to lighten his spirits or his grief.
Truthfully, Lara knew not what to say or what to do. There was so much guilt inside her that she thought of making a confession to him. Perchance she could explain why she had done what she had, and he could forgive her? One look at his expression that day told her of her folly.
But, when her courses did not come for the second month in a row, Lara knew that she must do something, she simply knew not what. The furtive delivery of a sealed parchment to her by a man she did not know took the decision out of her hands.