Chapter Eighteen #2
Helene caught Cuthbert’s cursory glance before he spun on his heel and exited the room.
Struck by guilt, her chin dipped to her chest. She’d come to Drumocher with one purpose in mind, and now, having achieved it, culpability weighed even heavier on her conscience.
This tight-knit family rallied to do her bidding, and in so doing they, and the people of Drumocher, would be temporarily without their laird.
The journey to London would not be without danger, and despite Lachlan’s prowess as a fierce Highland warrior, she prayed there would be no adverse consequences for either of them, especially for Lachlan on his return home.
Warm hands grasped hers, and she raised her head to see Grizel softly smiling at her. ‘I’ll rally Cook to prepare as much food and wine as ye both can carry.’ She turned and dashed away.
Lachlan addressed Helene with direct formality. ‘How soon can ye be ready?’
‘As soon as I source men’s clothing.’
‘I’ll see to that,’ volunteered Caitrin. She swept an assessing gaze over Helene. ‘I’ll have the clothes sent to yer room, lass.’
‘You’re most kind. Thank you.’ This was all too humbling for Helene. Her thoughts filled with self-loathing.
Drumocher’s matriarch glanced over to her sister. ‘Best we all do not abandon Agnes. Do ye mind staying here to keep her company? I’ll rejoin ye shortly.’
‘Aye,’ said Lady Sutton. She stayed Lachlan with a hand on his arm just as he turned to leave. ‘A word before ye go.’
‘Auntie?’
‘Ye must show Helene how to protect herself with a sgian-dubh.’ She swung her gaze to Helene. ‘’Tis a wee dagger small enough to conceal on yer person.’ Then to Lachlan she added, ‘’Tis wise for the lass to ken self-defence. Promise me ye’ll take all precautions to stay safe.’
‘Aye. I promise.’ He glanced over to Helene. ‘Meet me in the inner bailey in two hours.’
Helene watched him go and swallowed at the chilling possibility of having to wield a weapon, yet at the same time she knew, without doubt, Lachlan’s life was as much a priority to her as was her sister’s. If required of her, she’d fight and defend them to her death.
Agnes struggled to stand on her feet. ‘You must let me help you pack a few things.’
‘Absolutely not.’ Helene coaxed Agnes back down onto the chaise and sat beside her.
‘But I feel like such a useless invalid.’
Helene clasped her friend’s hands. ‘There’s nothing for you to do except promise me you’ll continue to rest. When your ankle heals, you’ll be up and about and enjoying the Highland summer, as you well should.’
Agnes squeezed Helene’s hand. ‘I’ll do more than that. I’ll pray for your safe return to London and that all is well for you and your family.’
Helene hugged Agnes close. ‘Thank you, dear friend. That is the most I could ever ask of you.’
*
Lachlan scanned the inner bailey in search of Helene. He turned to Cuthbert at his side and said, ‘What the devil is taking the lass so long?’
Cuthbert lifted one shoulder. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘I’ll see what’s keeping her.’ Lachlan strode with purpose in the direction of the great hall. Clan folk were quick to clear a path for their laird, except for one whose forward approach set the two men on a collision path.
Lachlan kept up his pace and shouted a warning. ‘Out of my way!’
The tall, thin clansman stared him down and ignored the order.
‘I said, out of my way!’
The man did not alter his course. Was he deaf?
The distance between them closed with every step, and the bastard showed no sign of backing down.
Defiance towards a laird, and in full view of his clan, must not go unpunished.
Lachlan’s hulking body would knock the gomerel to the ground, but that would not be punishment enough for the fool’s dogged insolence.
Lachlan prepared himself, his right hand clenching into a fist as he strode forward. In the second he drew back his arm, his challenger pulled up short, cowering in fear with forearms raised and crossed to protect his face.
‘Lachlan. It’s me! Helene!’
In horror, Lachlan froze mid-manoeuvre. A reactionary reflex followed, and he recoiled from her, stumbling back a step or two. He steadied himself, sucked in a shuddering breath, and let it out on a rasp. ‘Christ! Helene!’
If she hadn’t have spoken to identify herself, he’d have unleashed on her the brute force of his fist. He suffered the burn of bile at the back of his throat with the mere thought of it.
‘Forgive me, lass. I didnae ken it was ye!’ His remorse-filled heart thumped inside his chest.
She whipped off the bonnet, and the weight of her plaited hair fell over her shoulder like a thick rope. ‘Then my disguise worked. Did it not?’
He baulked at the triumph in her voice, aware of the curious stares of clansmen all around them. ‘Aye, it did. Too well. Ye should have called out or warned me.’
She gave him a wide smile. ‘But my idea was to evaluate the authenticity of my disguise and see just how long it took for you to recognise me.’
Relief over not harming her suddenly switched to anger, and he took hold of her shoulders in a firm grip.
His mind’s eye tortured him with the horrendous consequences had he not gained swift control over his actions.
The sickening crack of her cheek bone. An eye dislodged from its socket.
The perfect line of her straight nose smashed beyond repair. Split lips and a bloodied face.
His eyes shut tight, and he shook his head to rid himself of those heart-wrenching images. The worst-case scenario turned his stomach. His eyes snapped open, and his chest rose and fell with each laboured breath.
‘One blow to yer head and I could have killed ye, lass!’
She stared at him in wild surprise, as if baffled by his stern outburst.
His racing heart skidded to a halt and anger left him when she softly cradled the palm of her hand against his cheek.
In a quiet voice, she said, ‘I’m sorry, Lachlan. I didn’t mean to cause you distress, and you’re right. I took my disguise too far. I should not have done so.’
His eyes followed the gentle curve of her jawline, her rose-coloured lips, flawless delicate skin, and perfectly arched brows. His gaze fell into hers and fell deeper again until he was drowning in a sea of shimmering green.
He covered her hand with his and spoke on a strangled whisper. ‘If ye’d have died by my hand, lass, I’d have plunged my dirk into my own heart.’
She gasped in shock at his candid declaration. In the next instant, she slid her hand from his cheek.
Lachlan cleared his throat, mindful of their growing audience. His gaze swept the bailey, warning curious bystanders to go about their day.
‘Now,’ he said to Helene. ‘Let me have a good look at ye.’
She looked every inch a tall, gangly youth. In one hand she held a lichen-green Highland bonnet made of wool. A waistcoat sat beneath a woollen coat, and beneath the former, a linen shirt with a stock tie, tied in a square knot and tucked neatly into the top of her waistcoat.
Lachlan’s gaze sank lower to take in breeches and riding boots. The overall fit of her clothes was by no means tailor-made, nor did they appear remotely new. This, together with the earthy colours, would see her blend in and mark her as a Highlander of no particular means.
‘Perfect,’ he said, lifting his gaze to her face. ‘My mother has done well in securing these clothes, because the last thing we need is to draw attention to ourselves. Except . . .’
‘Except what?’ she asked with a glint of concern in her eyes.
Even dressed as a man, her beauty transfixed him. ‘Ye’re a very pretty man.’
Cuthbert sidled up to them just as Lachlan uttered those words. ‘You mean to say I have some competition?’
Lachlan gave him a wry grin. ‘Ye cannae hold a candle to Helene.’
Cuthbert feigned great umbrage to the insult before turning serious.
‘You are indeed a fair beauty, Helene. Should you cross paths with other travellers, then tug your bonnet low over your brow and keep your head down.
Clean, manicured nails and small, dainty hands also give you away. Hide them in your pockets if necessary.
‘Your voice will also betray you, so if there’s any talking to be done, leave it to Lachlan.’ He paused for a moment before adding, ‘Safe travels. I wish you and your family well.’
Lachlan watched Helene with keen interest. She had no idea he knew of hers and Cuthbert’s dealings and that she was now in possession of Cuthbert’s promissory note. Why she needed the money was still a mystery, one he felt confident of solving when they reached London, if not before.
Her eyes flitted between the two men, and she appeared to be taken aback by Cuthbert’s genuine sincerity. ‘Thank you. I shall heed your sage advice.’
Lachlan glanced over her head and saw his mother and Grizel making their way towards them. He continued in conversation with Helene.
‘If ye’re going to complete the look of a Highland clansman, then there’s a few more things we need to add to yer disguise.’
‘Like what?’
‘Ye’ll need to wear a sword at yer side, even if ye dinnae ken how to wield one. No man travels without weaponry. I’ve a sgian-dubh to hide on yer person too, so I’ll instruct ye how to use it when we make camp tonight.’ He nodded to his mother and sister as they joined the trio.
Grizel pointed to the animal hide satchel strung over one shoulder. ‘’Tis from Cook. Inside ye’ll find food pouches containing cheese, nuts, dried berries, smoked venison, oats, bannocks, and bread.’ Her gaze shifted to her other shoulder. ‘And in this one ye’ve flasks of whisky and wine.’
Cuthbert relieved her of the satchels.
‘Son?’ said Caitrin, pointing to Helene’s clothes. ‘What do ye think of my handiwork?’
‘Ye’ve done well, Mother. In fact, I didnae recognise her at all until she spoke her name.’ Lachlan refrained from admitting he’d come within an inch of assaulting Helene.
‘Aye, weel, sorry for the delay. Helene has a small foot, and ’twas the wee boots I had trouble sourcing.’ Caitrin gestured the way forward. ‘We’ll see ye to the stables and on yer way, then.’
It pleased Lachlan to see Helene take his mother’s arm and walk companionably with her to the stables. He overheard her thank his mother for her warm welcome to Drumocher, for her understanding Helene’s urgent need to return home, and for providing her with the appropriate attire.
‘I do not take for granted your son leaving Drumocher on my behalf,’ said Helene. ‘I’m eternally grateful to you, to Lachlan, and your family and clan, and I apologise for the inconvenience of it all. If there’s anything I can do to repay your kindness, then name it.’
‘Ye can promise me ye’ll return to Drumocher,’ said his mother. ‘For ye’ve nae had time enough to experience what the Highlands truly have to offer. Ye will promise me this, won’t ye, lass?’
Lachlan strained to hear Helene’s reply, drowned out by the excited whinny of his horse upon sighting its master.
Lachlan glanced over his shoulder to see his mother smile and pat the back of Helene’s hand.
He surmised Helene had answered in the affirmative.
An honest response, or was it one to appease his mother in the moment?
In the ensuing minutes, Lachlan strapped to Helene a leather sword belt, sheathed in the scabbard the lightest of rapiers, befitting her stature.
Helene embraced his mother and Grizel, repeating her thanks and her goodbyes, and said, ‘I’ve already bid farewell to Lady Sutton and Agnes, however, please do reiterate my thanks to them both for escorting me here to Drumocher.’
‘I’ll do as ye ask, lass,’ said Caitrin. ‘Yer belongings will be loaded onto their carriage when they return home.’
Grizel giggled and swept admiring eyes over Helene. ‘Ye make a fine-looking Highland warrior.’
‘Well, if nothing else,’ said Helene, ‘these clothes are far more comfortable than being wrapped, strapped, and cinched in skirts and corsets.’
Lachlan gave her a leg up into the saddle and took from his coat pocket a sgian-dubh. ‘’Tis kept on the side of yer dominant hand,’ he said. ‘Ye might as well get used to wearing it now.’
He walked around to her right side. ‘The blade is inside this safety sheath. I’ll tuck it into the top of your woollen sock inside yer boot. The hilt will be visible, the idea being ye can quickly and easily retrieve it.’
He concealed the small stabbing knife in the way he’d explained, adding, ‘’Tis a functional blade aside from being used as a weapon, and it comes in handy when cutting bread and cheese, or fruit and meat.’
Helene grimaced. ‘I hope the cutting of food is the only use I’ll have for it.’
‘Aye. Well. Ye can put it to the test when we stop to eat.’
Lachlan took Grizel in his arms and hugged her tight. ‘Take good care of Mother, won’t ye, lass?’
‘Aye. Of course I will. And ye take care of yersel’ and Helene.’
Lachlan felt the tickle of Grizel’s breath by his ear when she whispered, ‘I like her, ye ken. She’s a brave lass. A verra bonnie, brave lass.’
She stepped out of their embrace and winked at him with a knowing smile.
Lachlan had no trouble reading between the lines, but he was thankful Helene busied herself with the reins and therefore did not hear or witness the exchange.
He then stepped into the circle of his mother’s open arms and held her close.
‘Stay safe and Godspeed, son.’
Lachlan pulled back and felt the gentle squeeze of her hands in his. ‘Thank ye, Mother. I’ll return directly home once Helene is with her father.’
‘Take whatever time ye need,’ she said. ‘I daresay ye’ll discover a few home truths about the lass between now and when I next see ye.’
‘Aye. No doubt, and if needs must, I’ll have a wee word with her father.’
She leaned in closer. ‘And dinnae forget yer grandmother’s words of wisdom when it comes to matters of the heart.’
One corner of Lachlan’s mouth lifted in a half-smile. ‘I willnae forget.’ He planted a soft kiss on the backs of both her hands. As he turned towards his horse, Cuthbert took him aside.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked Lachlan.
‘Of course,’ said Cuthbert with one of his enigmatic smiles.
‘I just had a quiet word with Helene and asked her not to inform my father of the mishap with Agnes and her sprained ankle. He need not worry. I also asked that she keep to herself any knowledge she might have of my private affairs.’ He inhaled a deep breath.
‘Now, rest assured I’ll do you proud in your absence. ’
‘Aye. I ken ye will.’
‘And . . .’ Cuthbert switched to Gaelic in a quieter voice. ‘Thank you for your understanding. You know of what it is I speak, and you have my eternal gratitude.’ His gaze darted in Helene’s direction. ‘I wish for you to piece together the puzzle of your heart’s desire.’
Lachlan laid a hand on Cuthbert’s shoulder. ‘Mar sin leibh an-dràsta.’
‘Aye, goodbye for now.’