Chapter 8
At the house, precisely at three, Elspeth bid farewell to her family.
Her stepmother offered her a surprisingly vehement embrace and wished her all the best. Her father, looking calm as a cat, told her that she’d done well and had the marriage she deserved, which made Elspeth glow with happiness.
Averill reminded Elspeth not to neglect her gift (saying so with a wicked smile).
But it was Mairi who undid her, giving her countless hugs. “Oh, you’re going away, my little Pest!” Mairi said, as if just now realizing that fact.
“Married, not buried,” Elspeth whispered. “We’ll see each other again.”
Then she was in Struan’s carriage, heading toward the harbor.
Struan informed her that they’d make the initial part of the journey by ship to hasten their arrival at his—no, their—home.
They would sail as far as Wick. At the small port town, they’d have a carriage waiting to finish the last part of the trip overland.
The journey north was a revelation for Elspeth, who’d never been more than two days’ ride from Edinburgh.
She had never sailed before, and she discovered that she loved it.
Everything about the ship was well-ordered, tidy, and logical, which appealed to Elspeth’s sensibilities.
Once she learned how the ship moved beneath her feet, she enjoyed strolling on the deck, shifting her body weight side to side, tipping forward or back on her feet to meet the pitch in the waves.
When Struan came on deck, she waved happily to him. He slowly made his way over to her. He didn’t seem to mind the ship’s motion, but he took his time to reach her.
“This is so much fun!” Elspeth said when he was close enough. “I love my cabin. Everything fits perfectly into place and it’s all bolted down just so. It’s like…well, I don’t know what it’s like! Do you sail often?”
“When necessary.”
“Do you not enjoy it?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me. The sea’s mild today. You might feel differently about sailing if we get caught in a squall.”
“Oh, I’m sure the crew knows exactly what to do if that happens. How long will we be on the ship?”
“We should be back on land the day after tomorrow. So two nights aboard. Why?”
“Just wondering. I’ve never slept on a ship. Well, I’ve never done anything on a ship. Which includes sleeping. You must have.”
“Whenever I was deployed, yes.”
“And where did you go?”
“The Peninsula for a few years. Then northern France, until last year. After I was injured, I came back. Eventually.”
At the tension in his tone, she hesitated before saying, “May I ask a rather personal question?”
“You’re my wife,” he replied, which wasn’t exactly an invitation, but she plunged forward anyway.
“I wanted to know if your wound still causes any pain. I noticed that you don’t turn your head when you look at something, you turn your whole body. Is that due to the scarring on your neck?”
He said nothing, but his jaw tightened further.
“Excuse me, it was an impolite question,” she said in a rush. “I’ve no right to ask, but it bothered me to think of you hurting after so long. A year, you said?”
“Fifteen months,” he said in a low voice. “And yes, to answer your first, rather personal question, it still hurts.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Can a doctor not give you something?”
“Doctors have given me plenty. Mostly some form of laudanum or opium, which I don’t wish to take.”
“Perhaps a poultice? To aid the skin’s healing so you can move freely. It must be annoying to not be able to twist one’s neck without—”
“The scarring extends beyond my neck,” he said abruptly. “And any poultice—” (he spoke the word with utter disdain) “—would require half a day to apply, not to mention leaving me looking like a well-wrapped mummy.”
Elspeth felt thoroughly reprimanded for her careless inquiry. Why should she speak of doctors and remedies as if she knew better than those who already treated him?
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to add to your distress.”
“I’m not distressed,” he countered, obviously lying. “But I will thank you to not bring it up again.”
Elspeth bowed her head. She’d displeased him. So much for the wisdom of admiring from afar! If he’d tried to court her the usual way, he surely would have decided she didn’t suit him. Now he was stuck with her.
Well, she’d simply have to work that much harder to show him that she could be a good wife.
Luckily, Elspeth was skilled at running a household, thanks to her years of experience keeping her father’s home.
She’d do her best at Linneliath, so Struan wouldn’t feel that he’d made a mistake in that regard.
“I do have one more question.”
“What a surprise,” he said dryly.
She blinked at the hint of humor in his voice. “Did you just mock me?” she asked, unexpectedly delighted.
He didn’t seem to know how to react to that. “I might have,” he said finally. “I didn’t mean to.”
“No, it was funny. Do you know any jokes?”
“Was that your one more question?”
“Oh, no! I had meant to ask…well, obviously when we’re in public I’ll address you properly as Mr MacInnes. But I wanted to know if you had a preference for what I should call you at home, when it’s just us. That is, if you prefer to remain Mr MacInnes, I am happy to do so—”
He put a hand up, cutting her off. “You could call me Struan, when we’re not in public. Which will be most of the time.”
She said, “Struan isn’t a name that lends itself to any variations, is it?”
“No,” he agreed. “Unlike Elspeth, which has a dozen. What does your family call you?”
“Just Elspeth,” she replied, somewhat puzzled by the question.
It was true that Elizabeth contained multitudes: Lizzie, Liz, Beth, Bette, Liza.
Elspeth was the Scottish version of the name and she imagined that some people shortened that too.
But her own father never did, and his wife and Averill followed his lead. Only Mairi differed.
“Mairi calls me Pest,” she shared.
“Excuse me?”
“When I was little, I couldn’t say my own name well. It came out as Els-pest. Mairi thought it was hilarious. But she uses it in an affectionate way.”
“I don’t expect you’d like your husband to call you a pest. How about Ellie?”
“Oh! Yes, that’s nice.” She smiled happily.
“Your mother never came up with a pet name for you?” he asked, now watching her instead of the ocean.
“She died giving birth to me.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear it.” He looked genuinely troubled at the revelation. “Your father didn’t mention the fact.”
Had he mentioned any facts about Elspeth’s life to Struan?
Increasingly, it seemed not. “It was a long time ago,” she said.
She realized his hand had dropped to cover hers on the wide wooden gunwale.
The skin was deeply tanned, sinewy, and peppered with tiny scars.
It looked like a hand that had done a great many things.
Her own hand felt small under his, fragile.
Not the hand of someone who’d done much at all.
“Twenty years isn’t that long. You speak as if you’re an old crone.”
“Not yet,” she said. “I suppose I have a little while before I sit by the fire all day and complain about my bones creaking.” The image pleased her. “Perhaps I’ll keep a cauldron over the flames and tell all the children that it’s a potion I’m tending.”
“What sort of potion?”
“Oh, depends on the child. If they’re loud, it will be a potion that takes their voice. If they’re anxious, it will be a potion that sends them to sleep. And if they’re sad, it will be a potion that grants happiness. Really, of course, it will be cider. I like cider, especially in winter.”
“You seem to have everything planned out. Though I think you’d make a terrible witch. You’re too cheerful.”
“I’m afraid that’s true. But I don’t expect to be a witch for a long time yet.” She took a deep breath. “I’m excited to see your home. Can you tell me about it?”
“Linneliath is…rather large. More than what I need, but it was built for a big family, so there are rooms that are empty now but that I remember others living in.”
“Is it close to a town?”
“A small village,” he said cautiously, “so don’t expect must diversion there. There are a few shops for necessities. Everything else must be ordered from a larger town or shipped from Edinburgh.”
“How many families live there? Or near there?”
“I’m not sure. Several dozen? Probably more. I…I’ve been away.”
“You must be eager to come home at last. Or will you still have commitments in regard to the army?”
“No, I’m of no more use to them,” he said, and the bitterness was back. “Once a soldier is done, he’s on his own again.”
She turned her hand under his, their palms now touching. “But now you have me.”
Struan looked down at their hands, and seemed surprised to find them clasped.