Chapter 13
Kirsten awoke and, as usual, the bed was empty.
For such a big man, Marcas was incredibly light on his feet seeing as how he was able to leave the bed without waking her.
Kirsten had gotten used to his habit and wasn’t dismayed about his absence in her bed any longer.
She rose and hummed a sweet tune to herself as she got dressed for the day, eager to go and pick the lavender flowers as it would hopefully lead to another wonderful moment with Marcas.
She fetched a basket from the kitchen and smiled at Caitriona and another few servants; they responded positively.
She could feel happiness brewing throughout the castle, as well as in her own heart.
Before she left, she picked out an apple and took it to Skye, wanting to treat her to something nice after Skye had been so accommodating the previous day.
Skye enjoyed the apple thoroughly. Kirsten noticed how some people in the stable were brushing down the horses, so she asked to be shown how to do it.
They looked at her as though it was a strange request and asked her if she was sure, because it wasn’t typically something the lady of the clan should do.
Kirsten responded by saying that she wanted to learn how to take care of her horse, and they duly obliged.
She could tell that Skye enjoyed being brushed and started to see how Marcas could have such an affinity for animals.
After this, Kirsten wandered out to the fields, where Roderick had told her she would find the flowers she needed.
On her way, she passed by the monument that stood alone in the field, marking the battle that had happened ten years earlier, where Marcas’s father had lost his life.
The monument was a simple stone obelisk that had been slightly weathered over the years, and in front of it a sword had been plunged into the ground, its blade resting deep in the earth.
As Kirsten approached, she was filled with awe at the size and might of the man who must have wielded this beast of a weapon.
It was clear that Marcas must have taken after him, and she was sad that she would never have a chance to meet his father.
She sank to one knee and bowed her head, pressing one hand flat against the earth.
She spared a thought for the man she would never know, and vowed to him that she would take care of his son and do everything she could to prevent tragedy from striking at the heart of the clan again.
Kirsten moved on, wiping tears from her eyes.
She strolled toward the other end of the field; the field was devoid of life apart from cattle and sheep.
Everyone else was either at the castle or occupied elsewhere.
In the distance, she could see vague hints of movement from people going about their business, but for all intents and purposes, she was alone.
The air was calm and the world around her was vibrant, beautiful with all the natural colors of the forest. The sheep were timid, but the cows were uncaring and came towards her if it meant they could graze on some fresher grass.
She spotted the hay bales Roderick had mentioned and walked behind them, hoping that the flowers wouldn’t be too difficult to find.
Islay had always been the one that had been good at foraging.
Kirsten had merely enjoyed the act of being in the forest and experiencing all the different colors and scents that lingered in the air.
To her joy, the purple flowers were easy to find, standing out in stark contrast to the green grass around them.
She placed her basket on the ground and carefully plucked the flowers, placing them into the basket.
She wasn’t sure how many she needed, so she made sure she had more than enough.
It wasn’t as though she was in a rush, so she took some time to enjoy the sunshine and the clear air, and the sense of idyllic beauty.
It felt as though this day was the first day she could truly enjoy being a part of this world.
So far, she had been filled with doubt and anxiety about how Marcas felt about her, but after spending more time with her, she was certain that they could have a good marriage.
She touched her belly, wondering if there was a baby growing inside.
She wasn’t entirely sure how long it would be before she knew, and since she didn’t have any of the symptoms she had been told about, she wasn’t going to visit a healer.
Like love, she had always been told that being pregnant was something she would be able to intuit, and the fact that she wasn’t certain of it probably suggested that she wasn’t with child yet.
But after experiencing what it took to make a child, Kirsten certainly wasn’t in a hurry for the method to succeed, as it would prove an enjoyable endeavor to keep trying.
However, she did make a silent prayer that she and Marcas would be blessed with a child.
It would provide a neat bow on the present that was their marriage, and it would surely go a long way to showing Marcas that he needed to think more of the future than the past. Kirsten was certain that Moira would be a wonderful aunt.
They really had everything they needed to be a happy family, including time.
The hours drifted away before Kirsten realized that she had been in the fields for a long time.
The sun had moved across the sky, and her stomach was rumbling.
She picked up the basket and returned to the castle, but as she grew closer, she sensed some tension in the air.
Guards were marching to and from the castle, muttering orders about reinforcing the guard posts.
The servants were frantic, and panicked whispers were exchanged.
There were fewer horses in the stables as well, and Kirsten wondered what had happened while she had been in the field.
She strode into the castle and found Moira, who was sitting pensively, gnawing on her fingernails.
As soon as Kirsten walked into the room, Moira rose to her feet and hugged Kirsten.
“What’s wrong? What’s gaeing on? Why is everyone sae agitated?” Kirsten asked.
Moira spun away from her, worry etched on her face. She wrung her hands and paced around the room. Max was with her, and he also seemed uneasy. He whimpered and lay flat on the ground, as though he was sinking.
“Oh, it’s terrible,” Moira said in a fretful voice. “There are invaders from an enemy clan, the same clan that attacked us ten years ago—the Calbraiths.” She said this with derision.
“The Calbraiths?” Kirsten asked. Even Max growled when the name was mentioned.
“Aye, our oldest enemy. They’re the ones who attacked when Da died.
They live on the coast out west, and they’ve always been envious of us because they think we’re stopping them from expanding.
They think we should just give them some land because they want it!
But we’ve never stopped them from living there; they’re just tae prideful tae pledge fealty tae us.
They want their independence, and they want us tae give them charity.
They’re greedy, and when they get desperate, they test our resolve and see if they can try tae cut off some of our land.
I suppose eventually they think we’ll be tae weak tae care, but they hae nae reckoned with Marcas.
” She spoke grimly. At the mention of her husband’s name, Kirsten’s heart skipped a beat, and her face became lined with fear.
“Marcas has gone?” she said, her voice a squeak.
“Oh, aye, did ye really think he would miss the chance tae battle? It’s just what he wants, really: a chance tae get revenge.
He’s been itching for them tae attack again over the past ten years.
I suppose he was right when he said it was only a matter of time.
He led the charge as soon as he got the news.
He was nae gaeing tae miss this, Kirsten. ”
“Oh, I hope he’s safe,” Kirsten sat down as the strength disappeared from her legs.
Although she knew Marcas was a warrior and bred for fighting, she hadn’t actually expected him to rush into a battle, especially not without saying goodbye to her beforehand.
Then again, him rushing off without speaking to her wasn’t exactly out of character.
But she feared that if the worst happened, they would never have had the chance to say goodbye.
And how could she be a widow at such a young age?
No, it didn’t do any good to think of these grim things when there was so much left in the balance.
Marcas was a skilled warrior; she doubted that anyone could slay him.
And yet his father was a mighty warrior as well, and his sword was resting in the ground where he had been buried.
Would Marcas’s sword find a place there as well?
“And what are we supposed tae dae? Dae ye know when they will return?” Kirsten asked, running her hand through her hair and playing with the soft curls at the end.
Moira shook her head. “There’s no telling what will happen in battle.
It will take them the better part of a day tae ride out there, and we dinnae know what’s waiting for them.
I hate it. I hated it then, and I hate it now, this feeling that there’s naething we can dae.
Now I know how Marcas felt when we watched our da gae intae battle.
He wanted tae fight as well, but Da told him he was tae young.
He told Marcas that he had tae stay here tae protect me.
Marcas haes always blamed himself for nae being on the battlefield tae protect Da.
I’m worried that he’s gaeing tae dae something reckless, that he’s gaeing tae let his guilt overwhelm him and try and wipe them all out. ”
“He’s already done something reckless,” Kirsten said bitterly. “He shouldnae be out there at all. He’s spent sae long training his men that they should be able tae carry out his orders without him. He should be safe behind these walls.”
Moira gave a dry laugh. “I know ye hae nae been here for very long, but surely ye know my brother better than that. He’s the laird; he haes tae lead them.”
Moira was right. It was in Marcas’s nature, for better for worse.
It was noble for him to lead his army into battle just like his father did, but it was fraught with danger, and after all that had happened, after they had just begun to make a connection with each other, Kirsten thought it would be the worst thing in the world for Marcas to die before they had a chance to fully enjoy their married life.
Kirsten stayed with Moira for the rest of the day.
There was little they could talk about as anything apart from the battle seemed inconsequential, and they didn’t want to talk about the battle too much because it only increased their anxiety.
However, there were moments when they tried to reassure themselves by reminding themselves of Marcas’s prowess in battle and how well he had trained his men.
Given how hard they worked and his sheer bloody mindedness, it seemed unfathomable that anyone could defeat the Monroe clan in battle.
And yet war was a chaotic, ungodly mess, where anything could happen.
Until he returned safe and sound, Kirsten had no way of knowing if he was alive or dead, and the uncertainty plagued her.
The hours rolled by interminably. She tried to eat to settle her stomach, but she could only force a few things down.
By the time she dragged herself to bed, she was exhausted even though she had done nothing but worry.
Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help but picture Marcas on the battlefield, surrounded by enemies, stalked by death.
When she returned to her chambers, Max jumped onto his bed. Even he seemed drained of energy. Kirsten looked at the dog for a few moments and then held the door open.
“Taenight ye are sleeping in here,” she said. “I think we could both use the company.” She pointed into the room, and Max duly obeyed. He curled up at the foot of the bed, finding himself a nice warm place among the blankets.
Kirsten disrobed and changed into her nightclothes.
She had carried the lavender with her, as she didn’t want to risk anyone using it for another purpose than what she intended, nor did she want it to mistakenly be thrown away.
She took the flowers and placed them under her pillow, keeping them safe.
She pulled the blanket over, aware that Marcas would not be returning late at night from a walk across the moors.
He was out there somewhere fighting, perhaps dying.
She pulled the blankets close to her and tensed her face, trying to push away all the stabbing, frightening thoughts that plagued her mind.
At least she had Max. The dog fell asleep more easily than she did, though by the way he whimpered, she wondered if he was feeling the same anxiety as her.
Her throat ran dry as she pressed her head against the pillow and forced herself to go to sleep.
Eventually, she did, but it was not a dreamless slumber; she woke up at various points during the night with dread dripping over her body.
The sheets were clad in cold sweat, and her eyes were drawn to the empty place where Marcas normally slept.
It was a difficult night for her, but far worse for him.
She wished that she had at least been able to send him into battle with a kiss or something else that may have steeled his resolve.
All she could do now was wait and hope that he was brought back alive. She had only just begun to accept the possibility that she could fall in love with her husband. She wasn’t ready to bury him.