THE HEART’S VOICE
The light flowed through the window and fell on the still, curled form by the fireplace. Arabella stared down at him, her heart thumping. She smiled, studying Richard while he slept. He was lying still as a carving on a tombstone, his muscles sculpted as if formed by a master craftsman. She sighed and stared down at him. He was so handsome!
As though he'd heard her, he stirred and shifted, sighing in his sleep. She felt her heart thump as his eyelid flickered, and her body broke out in chills, recalling the previous night and all the wonderful things that had happened. She sighed and lay down again, pressing her cool body to his warmth.
He sighed and reached out, his arm wrapping her. Arabella felt as if her heart would melt. She closed her eyes and lay beside him, contentment seeping through her body as she recalled the events of the night.
“Good morning,” he whispered, startling her.
She tensed and then relaxed, finding his eyes open, staring into hers. He smiled. She smiled, too.
“Good morning,” she whispered softly.
He reached out and, melting her heart, laid his hand against her cheek. She lifted her own hand and touched it, they lay side by side, her gaze holding his, breathing in the wonder that was him, and her, and their new-found love.
“Warm enough?” Richard murmured, reaching for the cloak that covered them.
Arabella's heart melted as he gently covered her up.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I'm quite warm.”
He lay beside her and she felt as if she never wanted to move. However, they had to. The present and its demands crept slowly back into focus...she recalled, suddenly, that they were not alone. This was the house of the woodsman, and he was likely somewhere in the room.
“Richard!” her voice was a whisper. Her heart almost stopped on panic.
“What, sweetest?” he murmured, stroking her hair.
“I...the woodsman! Is he...” she trailed off as Richard reached over to touch her shoulder, a gentle gesture.
“He left early this morning.”
“He did?”
He nodded. “Heard the door.”
“Whew,” she sighed. The thought of what he must have seen occurred to her and her cheeks colored red. “He...he saw us?”
Richard shrugged, and smiled. “I doubt it. He went out while it was still dark.”
“Oh, good.” She let out a long, shuddering breath. The enormity of what she had done, in lying with Richard, was something her brain couldn't quite fathom. She wasn't ready to think about it yet.
As if in answer, he smiled. “Anyhow, what matters it? We're married.”
Arabella felt the warmth in her heart suffuse her chest, her body, her world.
“You mean it, Richard?” she whispered. “You want to marry me?”
He grinned. “How can you doubt that? Of course, Arabella.”
She smiled, the warmth shining out in her big grin. “Oh, Richard,” she sighed. Even the sound of his name was intoxicating, a sweetness that whispered through her heart.
“Well, then,” Richard said, rolling over. “We should find a preacher. Or, breakfast first. Then the church. What say you, sweetest?”
Arabella couldn't help laughing. “You mean it?”
“I certainly do. I'm starving. And when we're married, then we'll discuss what to do next. The two of us are both outside the law.”
“We are,” she whispered, with a kind of delicious wonder. She was a vagabond. So was he.
They got dressed with a kind of hazed unreality. Arabella looked at the shift she'd worn the previous night with a kind of distant amazement. Had she really fled the fortress wearing that? She could barely remember. It was torn and dirtied, the one sleeve torn where she'd fallen against something, the skirt stained thickly with mud.
“You ready?” Richard asked. He was wearing the too small shirt. He also, Arabella noticed with delicious amusement, had the cloth from the kilt wrapped round his waist, but was clearly in some confusion as to how to put it on.
“You need help?” she asked, unable to hide a grin.
“I am afraid so.” He went red. “I had Bromley – my manservant – to help me yesterday. Heaven knows how he got this thing round me. How do you wear them?”
“Well, I don't,” Arabella quipped, still grinning. “But Douglas does, sometimes, for gatherings. I think I know how to fasten one. We need to wrap it round, then pleat in the extra, like this...”
As her hands worked, she couldn't help but be aware of the contact she was having with his muscular body. She glanced down, noticed a rising hardness below the cloth, and felt her own body flood with warmth in a response.
He chuckled, going red. “I'm afraid you have a powerful effect,” he said. “It might not assist your labors over much.”
Arabella laughed. “Oh, you.” She couldn't think of anything more to say.
When she had finished the kilt, he reached over and his hand gently clasped her neck, drawing her toward him.
They kissed.
Arabella gasped as they moved apart, a fire that she hadn't expected starting to kindle inside of her. She forced herself to calm, keeping her hands held loosely at her sides.
“So,” Richard said softly, “shall we see what the woodsman has in his kitchen?”
“Oh!” Arabella felt her hands fly to her mouth in shock. “We can't eat his food! Poor fellow.”
Richard paused. “Well, what we could do is to use what we have here now, and then use some of our coin to restock his larder when we're in the village later. Yes?”
Arabella nodded, feeling better. “Agreed,” she said.
They opened the cupboard and stared inside.
“Well,” Richard commented, leaning back with a frown. “We have bread.”
Arabella laughed. “Oh, you silly. Look! We have eggs, too,” she pointed out. “And I think that's cheese. We can have a fine breakfast. Let me get the eggs on to boil.”
Richard grinned somewhat shyly. “I suppose I'm used to the army – I get whatever's being served in the mess tent. Or Bromley does it. How do you know anything about cooking?”
“I learned as a girl,” Arabella said with a smile. “I wasn't supposed to, mind – a highborn lady probably shouldn't even know there's a kitchen in the house – but my sister and I grew up half-wild. Our cook raised us, more or less. So I spent much longer than is reasonable in the kitchen.”
He laughed. She blushed. When she looked up, sure she'd find some critical gaze on her, he was looking at her with a sweet intensity.
“You're remarkable.”
She went red. “Oh, you! Why would you say that?”
“Because you are. I don't know anyone like you. You're unique.”
“Oh, you.”
Sweet wonder flowed through her. She focused on the task at hand – setting a pot of water, gleaned from a bucket by the fireplace, to boil on the stove, selecting eggs to boil from the basket on the table by the window – and studiously ignored him.
“Right,” he said, surprising her. “That's that.”
“What?”
“Stoked the fire for you,” he said, blushing. “And cut the bread.”
“Oh!” Arabella smiled. “Thank you, Richard. These are almost ready.”
The eggs boiled with much rattling and noisiness and then they settled down for breakfast.
“That,” Richard declared, wiping a streak of egg from his face with his handkerchief, “was the nicest meal I have ever eaten.”
“You flatter me, dearest,” Arabella laughed. “But yes, it is lovely. A good meal in the best company.”
He grinned and held her hand. The breakfast was simple – boiled eggs, slices of bread, vast slabs shaved off the impossibly hard salted cheese in the back of the cupboard – but it was delicious. And, Arabella mused as she finished a third slice of bread, I'm starving.
By some strange result of their activity the previous night, her appetite was enormous. It seemed as if all her senses had awakened that morning, her eyes, ears, skin, even the sense of taste, was heightened. She felt like she was experiencing the world anew.
“So,” Richard said, pushing back his chair with a query in his soft smile. “Shall we go?”
“Oh!” she flushed, recalling their imperative journey planned for later. “Yes. Let's.”
As they tidied up the cottage, leaving it in a semblance of order with a promise to return and improve it later, Arabella had a thought.
“Um, Richard?” she asked as they walked out into the mist-swathed morning.
“Yes, dearest?”
She blushed. “Um...never mind.”
“What?” he asked, looking about. They had no means of transport save their feet and the nearest village, as Arabella recalled, was twenty minutes' ride away. She guessed he was worried about that, and held her silence.
“It's nothing,” she demurred. She looked down at her hands where they were folded before her carefully.
“What, dearest?” he inquired. He gave her a concerned frown.
It was two thoughts, actually. The first was less worrisome, so she cleared her throat to voice it. “If...if we are to be married now, then...”
“Then what, dearest?”
“What shall I wear?” She went red. “I mean, I know it doesn't really matter but, well...I had rather hoped to have something else...” she looked down again.
He laughed. “Oh, of course! My loveliest Arabella! Of course we shall find something else. I can't expect so beautiful a woman to wear such a thing to wed me. Lovely as you are in any garment, you deserve a wedding befitting you.”
“Oh, Richard,” Arabella said, her heart melting.
They walked to the village.
It was mid-morning when they arrived, the sun high and starting to burn off the mists. They reached the place and Richard paused at the edge of the woods, looking at it.
“Should we go in?” she asked, feeling her heart tense with sudden worry. If they simply walked in, what would happen? Word would doubtless have spread of her capture and in the small village of Fearrick, they were more than likely alert to the problem. Some of the villagers would certainly know her. What would happen to him?
If they are out searching for a tall, powerfully built fellow in brogues and a kilt, they'll only have to set eyes on him to spring to his capture.
“I have an idea,” Richard said.
He filled her in on it, she contributed her own revisions, and then they headed toward the village.
“Name and purpose?” the sentry at the gate challenged them.
“Dougal McAdam,” he said quickly. “And I'm here searching for the thief who pinched my bagpipes.”
“You laid a charge?” the man inquired, and Arabella noticed with some excitement that his eyes held a glimmer of interest. Their plan was working!
“I have!” he exclaimed. “Fellow attacked me like a demon, so he did! I was lucky to escape with my life! Madman, he must have been. Who attacks village musicians? Of all the wickedness you can imagine, that's the worst imaginable.”
Arabella bit her lip, watching as the sentry was slowly won over to their side. Richard's Lowland Scots had improved within the time she'd known him – after all, they used it almost always when they were together – and the man clearly believed him utterly.
“This is interesting,” the man said, nodding slowly. “We had reports of a feller in disguise. Must be the feller you mentioned. You didn't spy what he was wearing?”
“It was dark,” Richard said boldly. “But he was wearing hose and doublet, that is for certain.”
“Oh,” the man nodded. “That's interesting.”
Arabella could almost see him making notes, planning to tell his superior officer this latest information. Their whole plan hinged on the likelihood that the real victim of Richard's theft was somewhere else.
“And the lass?” the sentry asked, eyeing her with evident interest. Arabella bit her lip and wished she was wearing more layers. She felt her whole body go tense as the man stared at her and she wouldn't have been able to think of an answer – real or imagined – to his query if she tried.
“My wife was setting out our tent when it happened,” Richard said succinctly. “The cursed fellow gave us such a turn that all our things were left where they lay, while we chased him hither and thither. When we got back, our things had gone.”
Arabella nodded and did her best to look tragic, which wasn't difficult in the circumstances. “And that's why you see me in such disarray, sir,” she whispered. “All my clothes...” her voice trailed off effortlessly. She had changed her accent a little, modifying it to make it more like a country lass and less like a highborn person. It seemed to be working. The sentry nodded gravely.
“Och, you poor wee things,” he said sympathetically. “Come on. Let me show you tae the inn. And buy ye a pint?” he inquired, raising a brow at Richard mildly. “Least I can do. We should go and see the guardsmen later. There were reports from the castle of a fellow, as I said. You'll want to be talking to the guard – mayhap you can help them find him. He stole a lass from there. Earl's daughter.”
Arabella felt her heart thump as his gaze wandered over. She tensed, sure he'd noticed the similarities. Then she had to laugh. What was she thinking? With a torn shift, her hair a mess, her skin pale from lack of sleep and unwashed from the escape the day before, she looked nothing like an earl's anything.
“That's terrible!” Richard shouted. “The poor lass! Shocking. How could he do such a thing?”
“No idea, Mr. McAdam,” the sentry nodded. “Now, let's get that pint. I'll go and find my superior.”
“Thank you,” Arabella breathed.
The moment they were in the inn, they looked at each other.
“Shall we go?” Arabella hissed.
“Let's not run too fast, it'll be suspicious,” Richard demurred.
They waited for five agonizing minutes, during which Arabella imagined themselves captured a thousand times over. Then he stood.
“Let's go.”
Dizzy with relief, they headed into the village.
The first thing they did was find a seamstress's shop. Arabella felt her heart melt at the thoughtfulness of that, as Richard went inside with her. She spotted the dress she wanted almost instantly. Simple linen, with a border of homemade lace around the opening for the under-skirt, it was simple, well-made and just like the sort of dress she'd imagined herself.
“That dress,” she whispered. “Is it...”
“I made it for Lady Bernadette,” she said. “But then she moved out of the Manse and now I'm selling it. You want it?” She sounded almost skeptical, as if she doubted Richard could afford such a thing.
“I do,” Arabella breathed. She glanced at Richard.
“Price?” he said.
“Three silver pieces.”
Arabella bit her lip. It was expensive, at least compared to what she guessed were their current means.
“We'll take it.”
She looked at Richard in wonderment. He shrugged. Handed the woman the coins. Her eyes went round. The dress changed hands. Arabella, stroking the bundle as they walked out, thought her heart would melt.
“Oh, Richard,” she breathed. “It's lovely! How could you?”
He shrugged. He'd bought himself a shirt and trews too, and seemed quite satisfied with the result of the morning's purchase. “I got my wages the week before I left,” he said. “Why shouldn't we spend them?”
“Oh, Richard,” she sighed.
They kissed.
Later, they retired to the woods and changed, the priest waiting in the glen outside the church. Oddly shy, Arabella waited until Richard had turned round before she took her dress off over her head and worked the new under-dress on over her body. When she turned round, he was buttoning his own shirt, staring at her. She blushed.
“You!”
“What?”
She laughed. “You know.”
They kissed again.
“Now,” she ordered firmly. “You go and stand at the edge of the trees with Father Brogan.”
It was ill luck for the groom to see the bride dressed before the wedding – or so she'd been told. Richard, resplendent in his new shirt and trews, headed off wordlessly.
Arabella struggled to hook up the buttons behind herself, and managed to get them all done save two. She looked down at the dress, feeling a sweet sense of peace settle on her soul. This was right. This was what she wanted.
Then she walked out of the woods and into the clearing. Before her, his back tall and straight, stood Richard. The preacher was before them and, as she took her place beside Richard her heart felt like it shone within her as the ceremony started that would make them man and wife.
When the ceremony was over, the priest departing hastily, she looked up into his eyes. The glade was dusk-pale, the sun set. They kissed.