Chapter Fourteen #2
“There’ll be something you’re wanting,” the woman said. She had her head on one side like a curious bird. Her eyes were suddenly very bright. “How can I help you?”
Lucy met her gaze and had the disturbing feeling she already knew exactly what she wanted.
“I am a little anxious for my health,” she said rapidly. “I understand that there are medications that you make...”
The woman nodded slowly, the secretive look still in her eyes.
“I have been a little fragile these last few months,” Lucy continued, “and my doctor warned me—” She swallowed hard, the lie so difficult to force out.
“I need to wait a little before I have children,” she said, the words coming in a sudden rush now. “Wait and build up my strength. So I am anxious to avoid...That is, I should try not to conceive...”
The woman nodded again. “You and the laird will be finding another way around the inheritance, then.”
“That’s right,” Lucy said, smothered in guilt.
“We have already discussed it. The courts will rule in Lord Methven’s favor—” The lies dried up in her throat, but the woman was already nodding again, turning away toward a little wooden cabinet on the wall as though the workings of the king’s courts were of absolutely no interest to her.
“There is a tincture of herbs that might help you,” she said. “Rue and pennyroyal.”
Lucy’s relief was so great that she felt her knees weaken. She grabbed the back of the chair for support. “It works?” she whispered.
“It works well.” The woman smiled. “There is more than one woman in the town can attest to that.” She opened the cupboard with one of the little keys that hung on the chain at her waist. “I’ll get you a jar.”
Lucy put several sovereigns down on the table. She saw the woman’s gaze rest on them; then she scooped them up and they disappeared into the deep pocket of her gown. She placed the jar softly on the table. “Take it every day,” she said. “That way you will be safe.”
Lucy’s hand was shaking as she grabbed the pot and shoved it into the pocket of her cloak.
“Thank you,” she said. Her voice was shaking too. The wisewoman nodded one final time, the same incurious blank gaze back in her eyes now, and then Lucy was out of the cottage, gulping in the cold air and stumbling down the path.
Outside, the fog was as dense as before.
It seemed to wrap Lucy about with sorrow as she hurried up the road, past the kirk where she was to be married that afternoon, back toward the inn.
The hard shape of the jar bumped against her leg as she walked, reminding her at each step of her betrayal.
Instead of relief now, she felt guilt and unhappiness and shame at what she had done.
“To keep you safe...” Mairi’s words echoed in her head and she told herself that the tincture was no more than a safeguard and a way of protecting herself if Robert did not keep his word.
Nevertheless she felt miserable. Robert had been honest about his need for an heir and had told her that with time and trust he believed she would feel safe enough to consummate the marriage.
Lucy hoped so too; she desperately wanted it to be true and she was desperately afraid that it would not be, that the damage the past had done could never be undone.
She had not expected to feel so unhappy to be deceiving Robert.
He was too good a man to blame her for her failure to conceive.
He would go to the courts and argue his case, and with luck and a good lawyer he would win and keep his northern estates.
And he would never know that she had deceived him.
Lucy was shivering as she lifted the latch and hurried back into the warmth of the Methven Arms. She met Isobel coming down the corridor toward her. The landlady’s anxious expression dissolved into relief when she saw her.
“Thank goodness!” she said. “We thought you had run off!”
Lucy’s teeth were chattering with cold and reaction. “I needed some fresh air,” she said.
Isobel’s eyebrows shot up. “You are soaked and chilled to the bone! Come inside and get warm. It’s almost time to start getting ready.”
While the landlady hurried away to commandeer hot water and hot food, Lucy went upstairs.
There was a fire burning in her chamber now and the room felt warm and cheerful.
She spread her cloak over the back of a chair and heard the pot in the pocket bump against the wooden frame.
Quickly she grabbed it and pushed it to the bottom of the Armada chest.
She could hear Isobel’s step on the stair and Bessie’s excited voice. It was time to dress for her wedding.
* * *
THE FOG HAD lifted by the time that Lucy was ready to go to the church and a pale sun was peeking through the clouds.
Iain McLain was taking the role of her father and giving the bride away and he, Bessie and Isobel walked beside Lucy through the town to the kirk.
It was very quiet. There were no crowds lining the streets or people hanging from windows to see her pass.
The silence was so deep it almost felt funereal.
Lucy felt her spirits sink still further at the silence.
“Oh dear,” she said. “I knew no one would want to celebrate the marriage of the laird to a relative of Wilfred Cardross, and who can blame them?”
Robert was waiting for her at the door of the kirk, as was traditional.
He looked shockingly handsome, the breeze ruffling his dark hair.
When he saw her his expression relaxed almost as though he had truly been afraid that she had run out on him.
Lucy remembered Dulcibella leaving him standing at the altar and felt a sudden and fierce pride that she would be the one standing beside him today.
Her feelings shook her. They were so unexpected when she had been prey to such nightmares and dark fears.
But Robert was here now and he looked so strong and so steady and protective that Lucy’s world steadied too.
As she walked up the path toward him, there was the clatter of hooves on the road behind and she swung around to see two riders galloping toward them, cloaks flying. One of them Lucy recognized as Robert’s handsome cousin and groomsman from the ill-fated marriage to Dulcibella. The other...
“Mairi!” Lucy’s voice wobbled as her sister flung herself from the saddle and ran toward her, grabbing Lucy into the tightest hug.
“Tell me we’re not too late for the wedding,” Mairi said. “We’ve ridden all day and all night.”
For a moment Lucy could not speak, she was so overcome with emotion. “Don’t cry,” Mairi said, seeing her brimming eyes. “It is not a good look for a bride.”
“They’re happy tears,” Lucy said. She rubbed her palms against her wet cheeks.
“I couldn’t resist standing as your groomsman a second time,” Lucy heard Jack Rutherford saying as he clapped Robert on the back.
“I’m not sure I should allow it,” Robert said. “The first time was a disaster.” But he was grinning as he shook Jack’s hand.
“It depends on how you look at it,” Jack said, bowing to Lucy and giving her a wicked smile. “Lady Lucy, your servant. I’d say Rob had a lucky escape last time around if it means he can marry you. Thank you for your sacrifice in taking him on.”
“Well, at least he did not have to marry me,” Mairi said.
“That would have been a sacrifice too far,” Jack said with feeling, and they glared at each other through a very taut silence.
“Tell me,” Lucy said quickly, looking from her sister’s flushed, angry face to Jack’s tight one, “how you got here in time. Lord Methven only proposed to me last night.”
“Robert always was confident,” Jack said. “He sent word from Durness four days ago.”
“And Jack always was tactless,” Robert said, into the heavy silence. “I took nothing for granted.”
“Arrogant,” Lucy heard Mairi murmur, “just like his cousin.”
It was turning into the most awkward wedding day on record and they had not even reached the altar yet. Once again Lucy threw herself into the breach.
“Well,” she said, “we must not keep the minister waiting.” She grabbed Mairi’s hands, drawing her along the path toward the door. “You may be my matron of honor. Bessie is my bridesmaid.”
“I’m scarcely dressed for it,” Mairi said, looking down at the splashes of mud on her hem, “but I would be delighted.” She smiled at Bessie, who dimpled and dropped a curtsy.
“...a complete nightmare,” Lucy heard Jack say in a stage whisper to Robert as they made their way in at the door.
“Almost strangled her several times on the journey. I hope for your sake that the sister is different. I had a letter from Forres, by the way, sent by special envoy. The duke sends his best wishes to you both and thanks for the brandy.”
“Brandy?” Lucy said, turning.
Robert smiled at her. “It is an old island tradition when asking for the hand in marriage of a man’s daughter. You present him with a bottle of your best brandy.”
“Bribe him more like,” Mairi said tartly, “to overlook the scandal.”
“Don’t mind me,” Lucy said.
“Sorry.” Two bright spots of color still burned in Mairi’s cheeks as her gaze rested on Jack. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
“Well,” Lucy said, “I am a scandalous bride, no question. I should be grateful to Lord Methven for rescuing my reputation after the tarnish applied to it by cousin Wilfred.”
“Lord Methven is lucky to be getting you,” Mairi said, glaring at Robert as though he had committed some heinous crime.
“You are doing him a favor. As for his questionable relatives—” She looked down her nose at Jack, who grinned back at her, unabashed.
“One must hope you are not obliged to spend too much time in their company.”
“Perhaps we should have asked both of you to leave your weapons at the door,” Robert said, looking from Mairi to Jack and back again. He drew Lucy’s hand through his arm. “Are you ready, my love?”
My love...