A NEW START
Walking back from the clearing, it seemed to Richard as if he was asleep and dreaming. He kept on glancing to his side, to radiant, beautiful Arabella, her red hair soft in the dusk, her sweet curves gleaming in the forested gloom.
His wife.
It made no sense and so he stopped trying to make sense of it and simply walked beside her, letting the unreality and wonder fill him with utter unbelievable delight.
The walk back to the cottage took almost an hour, but it seemed like time did odd things – longing making the time interminable, joy making it fleet. He carried on one shoulder a host of provisions, almost all of which they would donate to the woodsman who'd sheltered them.
“How much further?” he asked Arabella, whose knowledge of the paths was greater still.
“About ten minutes,” she said shyly. Her voice was soft and she glanced back at him with that sweet smile that made him so aroused. He smiled back.
“Well, then,” he whispered. “Good. I can't wait.”
Arabella grinned, her smile a glow in the darkness. “Well, me either.”
They headed toward the cottage.
When they reached it, the thought occurred to Richard that they were being foolish. Should they trust the man? What if he'd told someone of their presence? They could be walking into a trap.
“Arabella?” he asked. “Should we wait...just to see who's in there?”
Arabella frowned. “Dougal wouldn't betray us,” she said firmly.
“I hope so,” Richard said softly.
“I know,” she said.
All the same, when they neared the place – dark except for the orange glow of the hearth fire that shone through one of the two low windows – Richard felt his heart tense.
“I don't like this,” he cautioned.
“I'll go in,” Arabella said firmly.
Richard sighed and, not wanting her to go first, followed her.
“Dougal!” Arabella said, smiling at the man. Richard, eyes adjusting to the gloom, saw the pale face and the man's shocked expression.
“Whist! Lady Arabella!” he sighed and collapsed onto the stool by the fire, relieved.
“Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you,” she demurred.
“The guardsmen,” Dougal said in a low voice. “They're searching everywhere. They would have come here, but they got word of news in the village. They're searching the place now.”
“Oh.”
Arabella and Richard looked at each other in horror. They'd got away just in time! The priest knew they'd been there, but he had promised not to betray their secret, and he'd keep a promise.
“Thank Heavens,” Arabella breathed.
Richard nodded.
They restocked the larder and Dougal stared as if the Grail had descended in a ring of fire into his home. They ate well that night.
While they ate, they made a plan. Richard wanted to go back to the troops. Dougal agreed.
“You'll be safer there,” he nodded, pulling a piece off a wheat loaf and chewing it thoughtfully. “Milady will be safer as a soldier's woman.”
Richard felt his heart swell with pride at the thought that he had a wife. He grinned. “I hope so.”
The woodsman nodded. He spooned up some of the soup Arabella had cooked them, grinning absently at the flavor of wild mushrooms and onions. “I know she will be. But you should go tomorrow, at first light.”
Richard nodded. As he thought about it, his stomach contracted in alarm. The army was safe, but it did carry its own problems. Or, rather, one problem. Major Rowell.
“You had word from Fearrick?” Arabella asked, reaching for a slice of dark bread that she soaked in the gravy as she spoke.
“Aye,” he nodded. “Place is full of guardsmen, milady. The earl your father's,” he added.
“We must go,” she nodded. She glanced at Richard who saw the look of worry in her eyes and wondered if she had the same thought.
I would the fellow simply disappeared!
He sighed. It was unlikely to happen. He would have to think of something else.
As he reached for a slice of cheese, the woodsman leaned back with a sigh. “Heaven did me a good turn when he brought the two of you to my door,” he nodded absently. “Now. I think I'll take my rest in the barn tonight. I couldnae sleep afore...all that rustling in the thatch. Blasted rats,” he added, glancing suspiciously up.
Richard caught a faint flush in Arabella's face and knew she was thinking what he was thinking – there were no rats in the thatching. The noises he heard had a different origin. It must have been their own.
“Well, goodnight, then,” Richard nodded. “And greatest thanks.”
“Aye, goodnight to you two and all,” the man nodded. He rose stiffly to his feet, gathered his cloak off the chair and retired through the back door to the barn.
Richard glanced at Arabella. They were alone together.
Her eyes lit with warmth and he smiled, aware, suddenly, of her legs beside his under the table. She blushed and stood.
“We should tidy,” she demurred.
Later, they lay before the fireplace and he held her in his arms, looking down into her sweet face. His body was sated, his heart full of love. He kissed her.
“I am the happiest man in Scotland,” he whispered, kissing her brow. “The happiest in the world.”
Arabella smiled and stroked his hair. “Oh, you.”
They lay to sleep, but though he dozed off for a while, contented, he woke later. He found himself staring at her profile, his heart sore, his mind worried.
“Keep her safe,” he whispered to the night. “I don't care what else happens, to me or aught else in the world. But keep her safe.”
Finally, exhausted, he slept.
The next morning, they woke and found the woodsman already gone. They ate leftovers for breakfast and Richard stood, stretching.
“I'll rinse my face under the pump,” he nodded, heading into the yard. Arabella nodded, rinsing the dishes in the pail.
When he got back, he found her all packed – their few belongings besides what they wore – the apron, the old kilt – she'd wrapped up in the plaid. The dress, she'd torn up and put beside the fireplace. He frowned.
“I'll have none of it – it was part of my old life.”
Richard smiled, but felt a little uneasy. He went out to fetch a walking staff, salvaged from the hoe he'd stolen from the tannery – and his uneasiness grew. What had he done? He'd stolen an earl's daughter, a woman so highborn she'd probably never even met a minor baron's son before. He'd married her. In those two acts, he'd condemned her to a life beneath her station.
She's a capable woman. She'll not mind that. I wager she's fuller of resources than me, and strengths!
All the same, the nagging uneasiness persisted as they set out.
She was quiet too, he noticed. As they walked on, heading south, deeper into the woods, her silence lengthened.
She's probably regretting it too, he thought sorrowfully. I can imagine that. She must curse herself as a fool for ever having wed me. Not only am I leading her to danger, I am so far beneath her I'll never give her what she was born to.
“Shall we stop for lunch?” he asked. He had noticed Arabella was limping and he felt like a fool for not having suggested it sooner.
It was almost midday, he judged from the position of the sun, and he was starting to think wistfully of the bread and cheese he carried in their bundle, strapped to the stave.
“Yes,” she murmured.
“You seem tired.”
“I am.”
She stopped walking once she reached the bank of the stream, and stood and looked down pensively, watching the swirl of the clear, crisply scented water. Richard stood back. He could see from the set of her shoulders and her stiff, formal posture that something was bothering her. He felt guilty.
“We should have stopped earlier,” he said. “I should have thought about your getting tired.”
“Perhaps.”
They settled on the bank of a stream. He passed her a chunk of bread and a small, sweet apple.
She ate it in silence, and they watched the water curl round mossy banks, whispering and laughing to itself, seemingly, as it gurgled over the rocks and round the stones.
“Arabella?” he whispered, the silence becoming unbearable as it stretched between them.
“Yes?” she turned, one brow raised in mild inquiry. She looked as serene and indifferent as the carvings on the court, and he felt his guts churn. She was clearly angry with him, and he was sure he knew why. He was probably the worst thing that had ever happened to her.
“I know...” he paused, swallowing hard as the words blocked up his throat. “I know I brought you to this place without asking you, and I know that you're not suited to this life, but...”
He stopped speaking as she glared at him. “Not suited?” she challenged. “How so? Why do you say that?”
Richard felt his guts crimp. Whatever had he done now? Worse than indifferent, she was angry.
“I mean,” he continued, feeling himself digging into the mire of his own words, “that you're not used to living this way, and it doesn't suit you, and...”
“You mean to say because I get tired sometimes, and I'm not good at cooking stew, that I'm a bad wife to you? Is that it?” She blinked, and to Richard's horror, he saw a tear streak down her face.
“No!” he exclaimed. “I didn't mean that. I...oh, Arabella, please...”
“Please what?” she sniffed, reaching into her sleeve for a square of linen she must have salvaged from something.
“Please don't think I meant that,” he said wretchedly. “I would feel awful if I thought I'd insulted you.”
“Well, you have,” she sniffed, folding the square. Her eyes met his. They were so dark he could barely see the pupils, narrowed and tensed with emotion. They shone with tears.
“Please,” he whispered, setting aside the bundle, his heart sore. “Don't think I meant that. Oh, I feel such a fool...” he covered his face with his hands, not wanting to even think about how he'd upset her. He wished it would all just go away.
“If you think I don't suit your life, if you think you were foolish to wed me, just say so,” she said tightly. “I can walk away and join a convent and you'll never have to think about it again.”
She tensed and he could almost see her consider walking away. His heart twisted in alarm.
“Why do you even think I mean that?” he said, raw terror of her carrying out the threat filling him then. “Do you have to think the worst of me?”
He saw her flinch and regretted saying that.
“I'm sorry,” he sighed. “I spoke out of turn. I didn't mean that.”
“You've said a lot of things you say you didn't mean,” Arabella said in a small, tight voice. “I do think you must have meant some of them.”
The silence stretched and Richard looked at her, sitting so proud and regal on the bank, her hair shining in the sunlight that filtered through the trees. He thought again how wrong he'd been to condemn such a beautiful woman to such a life as this.
“I did mean what I said,” he ventured, quietly. “I mean, about the fact that, well, I feel so awful for bringing you to a life so ill-suiting you.”
“Ill-suiting?” she snapped. “And why do you even think that?”
“Well...” he paused, considering his words carefully this time. “When you were so quiet, I guessed you must be unhappy, and I thought...”
“Quiet?” she asked. Her voice was a whisper. It held the strain of tears. “It might have occurred to you that I have other things to worry about, besides you and how much you may, or may not, wrong me.”
Richard felt embarrassed. He had automatically assumed he, and his impact on her life, was all that was bothering her.
“I'm sorry, lass,” he murmured. “I just, well...I suppose I feel I don't deserve you.”
She looked at him. For the first time that afternoon, he saw softness in her eyes. It made his heart glow with warmth.
“Richard,” she sighed. “I hate to be the one to tell you, but you do deserve me. Whatever sort of fate that means you're in for, you do deserve it. Utterly and completely. And I think I deserve you, too. I might regret saying that, mind,” she added as he felt his cheeks lift with a grin, “but all in all, it means I'm a lucky girl.”
His heart stopped. He drew in a breath, discovering that he did, after all, remember how to breathe. His entire mind, all his body, seemed to have frozen on the strength of those words.
“You're lucky, to wed me?”
“Yes, I am,” she said, her eyes soft. “You'll no' make me say it twice, mind,” she teased, broadening her accent just for him. “But yes, I reckon I am.”
“And so am I,” he sighed. “I'm so lucky. So wonderfully blessed.”
They kissed.
Afterward, when the silence, long and comfortable, had stretched between them a while, he stroked her hair.
“My dearest,” he murmured. “What was it that was worrying you? Really? You can tell me, whatever it was.”
She looked at him with wide eyes. “What will we do,” she murmured, “If I discover I'm with child?”