Beitris sat beside Alasdair for the longest time, just listening to him breathe. Every time he hitched a breath or moaned softly in his sleep, she froze, wanting to reach down and shake him back to consciousness. Her heart had been warmed by the brief conversation they’d had earlier. It was the first time since they’d been married that they had expressed personal feelings about their marriage, their reaction to it, and their present situation. She had meant what she said.

She knew Alasdair was a good man. He had done what he felt was right and just when he joined the Jacobite rebellion. She couldn’t understand why the English were so determined to punish those who had been involved. Hadn’t thousands died on the battlefields? Hadn’t the English already shown their superiority in numbers? Would Alasdair be hunted for the rest of his life? Would they have to leave, move somewhere else?

Unfortunately, Alasdair’s facial scars would prevent him from hiding anywhere in Scotland, especially if the English printed wanted papers or sent information about his likeness to rural surrounding counties. But why focus on Alasdair? Or was this happening throughout Scotland, throughout the Highlands, and in the lowlands? She reminded herself to ask Elspeth to find out if she could, unobtrusively of course, from the sheriff. She gathered that the sheriff would do what he could to protect Alasdair, whether out of friendship, the same beliefs, or because he loathed the current English monarchy. She supposed it didn’t matter.

She knew that for at least the near future, her life would be unsettled. She also knew that there was a chance that Alasdair might have to go away for a while. The thought brought her some sadness. As she sat next to him, listening to him breathe, she realized once again how comforted she felt by his mere presence. She wanted to talk to him again, to enjoy the kinship they had shared, at least in regard to the agreement their fathers had made. She had told him the truth about her feelings, and she sensed that he too had felt much the same, even though she knew he had held back. That his first reaction probably was annoyance over the burden he would carry with a blind wife. Still, she sensed the truthfulness of his words, that he didn’t find her a burden whatsoever. She smiled, comforted with the thought.

And so, though she longed to speak with him again, she knew he needed rest, and would have to content herself to sit quietly next to him, her will determined and strong while her mind tried to think of a way that she could make everything turn out all right. How long would the English soldiers, mercenaries, or even Scots bribed with coin search for Alasdair before they forgot about him? And what about the townspeople? Elspeth was right. For want of a few coins, friends would turn against friends, townspeople against their neighbors.

She pushed worrisome thoughts from her mind, the warmth of the fire soothing her tired muscles, warming her, the closed environs of the cave offering a sense of security. She was glad Elspeth had found this cave. When had her friend had time to explore? Then again, it wasn’t as if Elspeth followed her around all day long.

It was at times like this that Beitris truly regretted her lack of eyesight. If not for Elspeth, how could she possibly have found a hiding place for Alasdair? It grieved her to no end. Thankfully, they were both strong, and Elspeth had made a pallet of two poles, some leather strapping, and several blankets she had taken from their beds. They had tied the leather straps of the pallet to the horse’s saddle, and each holding onto the bridle, Elspeth had guided the horse past the field and into the deep woods, along a rough path that wound its way among trees and shrubs. Her senses had been filled with the scent of budding sweet briar and pine, wych elm, and elder and yew. She caught the scent of hazel, imagining the squirrels ravaging the last of the sweet nuts to fill their bellies, and occasionally caught a whiff of wild rose.

She stumbled several times and had tripped over a tree root snaking its way across the path and fallen to her knees with a startled cry. The horse paused as Beitris quickly regained her feet, assuring Elspeth as she was all right, her hand now wrapped around a chunk of the horse’s mane for better support. The horse didn’t seem to mind. Her other hand swung out carefully, slapping branches from her face, some before they thwacked her. Once they’d arrived near the cave entrance, they had untied the pallet from the horse and between the two of them, struggled to pull Alasdair into the cave, Elspeth guiding her, telling her to duck, to turn, to watch for a slight dip in the soft dirt off the cave floor as they finally pulled him as far back into the cave as they could. The actual opening of the cave was slightly taller than herself, and just as wide. Ten steps in, the walls took a sharp turn to the right, then opened up into an area that Elspeth described as slightly bigger than her sleeping chamber in the stone house. They could stand comfortably. From here, Elspeth assured her, a fire couldna be seen from outside the cave.

Elspeth reassured her that no one would find the hiding place and she had left a wee while ago to make her presence known around the stone house and the farm, giving the appearance that both she and Elspeth were on the property. If someone came by and asked for Beitris, Elspeth would tell them that her friend was indisposed and was not to be disturbed. She doubted anyone would come by though; no one had before the sheriff, Beitris’s father, and that English magistrate had wandered onto their property. Since they had lived at the house, no one had come to bring good tidings, wedding congratulations, or to see Alasdair. Certainly, no one had come to visit with Beitris, which she didn’t mind at all. She’d never made any true friend in the village, besides Elspeth.

Waiting for Elspeth to return, she again felt a surge of gratitude for her friendship. Elspeth had been the only child similar in age in their village to attempt to befriend her. In her friend’s eyes, and as she had told Beitris many times, she was not any different from anyone else other than her lack of eyesight. She had always treated Beitris as normal, and other than guiding her around town, had often remarked on her intelligence, her ability to sense everything going on around her, and, much to Beitris’s amusement, her jealousy of Beitris’s extraordinary hearing.

“I truly believe that when a sense is gone, others become stronger,” Beitris had told Elspeth many, many years ago. Nevertheless, Elspeth always seemed surprised that Beitris heard sounds and voices that she couldn’t. It was true. In church, Beitris was easily able to follow whispered conversations, even those that took place on opposite sides of the building. Walking by a shop or a home, she was often able to pick up on conversations occurring indoors even though she was outside. She also had an uncanny ability to sense changes in weather, often announcing to Elspeth that it was going to snow, or rain, or be a hot and humid day well before anyone else knew.

Living with her father, sheltered and sequestered in so many ways, she knew that most of the villagers gave her a wide berth because they felt uncomfortable around her, perhaps even feared her. Her blindness confounded them, particularly because she acted like she wasn’t blind. When she entered a shop to purchase supplies, seeds, or grains, she often felt their eyes on her as she used her fingers and her sense of touch and smell to choose this over that, to identify one type of grain from another. Her sense of touch was highly attuned, as was her sense of smell, almost as extraordinary as her hearing.

And so it was that she was able to sense every breath, every facial twinge of pain that her new husband expressed even though only darkness surrounded her, broken only by a glimmer of dull reddish-orange light when she looked directly into the fire nearby. Not for the first time in her life, she wanted to see. She wanted it so much she felt the pain of her loss deep inside. She had explored her husband’s face with her fingers, pictured him in her mind, but she wanted to see him. Without touching, without having to be attuned to every breath, every sound that came from his mouth, without trying to anticipate his movements by the brush of his clothing. For the first time in her life, she truly felt sorry for herself.

She gathered that Alasdair did not have any true friends either, though he was well-known in the village. Even so, after he had left to join the Jacobites, very few people had spoken of him. Upon his return, they commented on his altered appearance. Elspeth had told her that many looked at him with fear and horror.

Beitris knew what it was like to be ostracized. Not obviously, but particularly cruelly, nevertheless living as an outsider. Och, people were polite to her, but other than Elspeth, no one had made many attempts to befriend her. It was another thing that she and Alasdair had in common, and now, with his scars, she felt it would always be that way. People would avoid the oddly matched couple living so far outside of the village, in the stone house by the lake. The blind woman and the scarred man. Och, the gossip she knew traveled through the village and its outskirts. They were perfect for one another, both cursed, both not whole, either in appearance or in spirit.

Over the past few weeks, she had become more accustomed to Alasdair and sensed that perhaps, deep inside, he continued to harbor doubts about her, not only as a wife, but as a woman capable of taking care of herself. He still had to adapt his thinking, that he didn’t have to be with her every second, watch over her every moment. She knew that gradually, and with time, he would grow more confident in her abilities and learn that she could be everything he wanted in a wife. The fact that he hadn’t wanted a wife in the first place was beside the point. Any more than she had wanted a husband. Much to her surprise, she realized that she wanted to be a wife in more than name. If she could only—

“Beitris, why such worry on yer face?”

She startled and sat up straighter, looking toward his face. It was the one thing for which she yearned to see more than anything, to see his expressions and not try to gauge those expressions by tone. Oddly enough, she felt at the moment that he was smiling by that slight lilt in his voice. She heard no pain in it, no anger.

What to tell him? Which worry? That he might be found by the English magistrate? Chained or decapitated? Or that she worried about his injuries and that there was still a good chance they might become infected, and that he would wither and die.

“Yer safe here,” she told him, ignoring his own question. While she desperately wanted her own worries assuaged, she also knew that she had to assuage his. He might not express them, and being a man, probably never would, but if she put herself in his place, discovery, being hunted, and more than likely killed would certainly be crossing her mind.

“Aye, I believe I am. But I worry about ye. And Elspeth. Yer both taking a big chance hiding me—”

“I am yer wife. It is as much my duty to protect what is mine as it is for a man to protect what is his.” She heard a slight rustle of movement, a muffled grunt, and then his response.

“And is that what I am? I am yers? Yer property?”

She nodded slowly. “In the eyes of God and the Church, we belong to each other. Yes. Ye are mine.”

He said nothing for several moments. She heard nothing but his steady breathing, and once again, knew without a doubt that he looked at her, perhaps even studied her, as a we lad boy might a curious insect, perhaps trying to delve into her mind, to anticipate her thoughts and feelings.

“Are ye in pain?” she asked, hoping to prevent personal questions for the moment.

“Some, but not impossible to deal with.”

She heard some movement, rustling of clothing. “What are ye doing? Dinna move around,” she cautioned. “It took us some time to staunch the bleeding. Ye lost a lot of blood. Ye’ll be very weak for a while.”

He grunted.

Beitris sighed and extended her hand toward him, placing it on his chest. “Tomorrow, I will go visit my father, try to find more information on what is happening with that English magistrate.” She heard his intake of breath and sought to quickly reassure him. “No one will be suspicious of me visiting my father. Please, dinna worry.”

The following day, Beitris and Elspeth rode into town in their small wagon. She worried about leaving Alasdair in the cave alone, but Elspeth assured her that he was healing, that the broth she had given him had been mixed with a powder that would make him sleep, preventing any chance of him attempting to follow.

“I’ll leave ye with yer father and go to my house to make sure that no one has rummaged through it in my absence. Then I will visit the apothecary for some medicine and supplies—dinna worry, Beitris, I will tell him that ye’ve been feeling ill, with some vague aches and pains.”

Beitris smiled. She should know better than to question her friend. She always thought of everything. She felt now that the two of them behaved much like spies, trying to garner what information they could about the English seeking Scottish renegades. Elspeth didn’t say it, but Beitris also knew that she would pay a short visit to the sheriff if possible, now that they knew that he was on their side and that he wouldna betray Alasdair.

“I dinna want to stay too long at my father’s house,” Beitris said, frowning. Since the news of her betrothal to Alasdair, her father’s attitude toward her had changed somewhat. He had grown more distant, and once again she could only wonder if he was relieved to be rid of her and the burden of her care. Even so, she felt it was her duty to pay a visit when she came into the village.

“I understand,” Elspeth said. “Perhaps an hour, that’s all I need. Is that all right with ye?”

Beitris nodded. Further conversation was curtailed as Elspeth pulled the horse to a halt. “We are here, at yer father’s house. Do ye want me to help ye?”

Beitris shook her head, already climbing down from the wagon. She had long ago memorized the features of her childhood home. She hadn’t quite reached the door when she heard the slap of the reins and Elspeth urged the horse forward along with the creak of the wood wheels as the wagon continued down the path toward the village. Arms out in front of her, prepared to make contact with the solid wooden door of her former home, she paused a moment. Should she knock? She’d never had to knock before, but she didn’t live here anymore either. She knocked. After waiting several moments with no answer, she knocked again, louder this time. Still no one answer.

She frowned. At this time of day, her father was usually in the house, eating his midday meal. Perhaps he developed some new habits since she’d left home. She tentatively pulled the latch on the door, opened it a wee bit, and called him again.

“Father?”

A wet-sounding snore answered her. She pushed the door wider, stepped inside, head tilted at an angle as she caught the scent of ale. A strong scent. More like a stench.

“Father?”

She stepped inside and closed the door, none too softly, immediately annoyed and disappointed in her father. He’d been drinking much too frequently before she had left, and now it seemed he had taken to drinking even earlier in the day. To be fast asleep, likely drunk in his chair in the middle of the day? Disappointing.

“Father!” she said again, stamping her foot against the floorboards. She heard the creak of his chair at the small table in the kitchen area, followed by a loud thud. She quickly moved toward the table because it sounded as if her father had fallen off his chair.

“Beitris,” Bruce Boyd scolded, grunting as he clambered from the floor, righted his chair, and took a step toward her. “What’s the meaning of ye just barging in without announcing yerself?”

Beitris frowned deeper, holding her ground. She felt her father’s sour breath on her face, grimaced, and looked at him, hoping that he saw disappointment in her gaze.

“I did, Father, several times in fact. What is happening here? Why are ye drinking in the middle of the day?”

“What difference does it make to ye, daughter?” he responded belligerently, his words slurring slightly. “And I haven’t been drinking that much. Dinna nag me.”

“I can smell the ale in the house, and it is heavy on yer breath too, along with the stench of yer clothes. Have ye not been taking good care of yerself?”

She didn’t know what to think. This was a side of her father she rarely experienced. He smelled awful, his clothes rank with stale sweat, and the small house in which they lived felt stuffy. A sneeze began to tickle her nose. So, it was dusty as well. Was he upset that she had left? It was his decision to marry her off, not hers. For a few moments, regret flooded her senses as she stood still, listening to her father stumble around the small table before once again sinking into his chair with a groan. Likely nursing a headache, and it served him right.

“Can I make ye some tea? Something to settle yer stomach and—”

“Ye know I dinna need ye to make me some tea,” he grumbled. “What are ye doing here anyway?”

A sting of hurt jabbed at her. “I came to the village to visit with ye, Father. Why else would I come?”

“How would I know?” he muttered.

Something slid on the table, a wooden mug slammed down, and then she heard the sound of liquid poured into his mug. “Father, ye’ve had enough, dinna ye think?”

Sudden movement and the chair falling backward startled her. She took a step back, eyes wide.

“How dare ye come in here and start questioning me, telling me what to do! Why dinna ye go back to that rebel of a husband of yers?”

Before Beitris could answer, her father turned away from her.

“Maybe it would just be best if something happened to him, if...it did, the land would revert back to me.”

Beitris couldna believe what she heard. “Father, how could ye say such a thing! Yer the one who betrothed me to him!”

“Well, maybe I’ve had a change of heart.”

Beitris stilled. “What do ye mean?”

“The English magistrate is paying good coin for a reward—”

“Father, he’s my husband!” Beitris gasped.

“In name only,” he mumbled. “Unless ye’ve bedded the rogue and are carrying his ill-gotten seed.” He paused. “Are ye?”

Beitris stood stunned, mouth agape. What had gotten into her father? He was the one who had been responsible for her marriage to Alasdair Macintyre! “I dinna understand yer change of heart. Yer the one who arranged the marriage with his father! Are ye telling me that ye betrothed me to someone ye didn’t trust or even like?”

Her father offered a laugh, a rumbly, drunken laugh that erupted from deep in his chest and ended in a cough.

“I dinna have to like yer husband, Beitris. But I am having second thoughts… not about ye marrying, because God knows, it’s about time. Still, I had to give so much away to bribe—”

Beitris clapped a hand over her mouth before she uttered words that she might regret. Pain stabbed at her heart at her father’s callous words, and though tears burned in her eyes, she desperately blinked them back. How could he say such things to her? How could he… Could her own father be so desperate to be rid of her that he would say such a thing?

She swallowed, stiffened her spine, and followed her father’s not so steady movements through the small room toward his chair by the fireplace. Another creak as he sat down with a groan.

“Ye know how things are, Beitris. I can’t take care of ye forever. I’m going to die someday and then who’s going to take care of ye? What I did was for yer own good.”

She didn’t believe him for a moment. It was his comment about the dowry that convinced her that he had not betrothed her to Alasdair for her own benefit, but to get rid of her. That thought was followed closely by another, especially as she recalled his comment about the coin offered by the English magistrate. Could he have been the one to betray Alasdair?

“Father, I’m going to ask ye just once. Was it ye who told the English magistrate where to find Alasdair?”

Her father offered another sloppy cough, his words further slurred as he replied in a low, rumbling voice. “And if it was? Not saying that it was, mind ye, but if it was, I dinna believe ye would much care, would ye? Why, if he was out of the way, ye could live there with Elspeth and—”

Without a word, Beitris turned and made her way to the door. The tears she had tried so hard to force back blurred even the vague shadows of gray and black in front of her. As she reached forward and felt for the door, she turned her head over her shoulder, facing the fireplace and her father. “If ye wanted to be rid of me, ye could’ve sent me to live there without marrying me to Alasdair Macintyre!”

“Aye, daughter, I could have,” he mumbled in agreement.

He sounded half asleep, so drunk that he probably wouldn’t remember any of this conversation. Still, she had to know. “So why did ye betroth me to Alasdair? Why insist that I marry him? Ultimately, what have ye gained from this?”

He didn’t answer. A snore was her only response. She shook her head, opened the door, and stepped outside. She slowly made her way from the house to the cart path, putting the sun to the right side of her face as she slowly walked along it. She walked a short distance from the house, far enough so that she knew if her father did wake up and peer out the window, he wouldna see her sitting on the fallen log lying close to the side of the road, waiting for Elspeth to come fetch her. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she recalled her father’s words. She had not gotten a straight answer from him, but deep in her heart, she realized what her father had done.